Ain't Bad for a Pink

by Sandra Gibson

  Admiration didn’t make me want to play the music myself but I could recommend Pete to my friend Dave as a worthy teacher. Pupil and teacher had a lot in common besides the music – Dave enjoyed the riotous lifestyle. He was a keen, intuitive student and Dave loved it so much that he spent most of his time with Pete. This was the mid Eighties. He was a sponge for whatever he could get musically. There was never a guitar not being played and I sometimes joined them. Through Dave I got to know Pete better and I eventually started to go into the shop whether Dave was there or not, though there was still some reservation. It was the best laugh. They became best mates but I kept a distance because of the indie scene. I had to step out of it and be in an indie band. I was happy with it that way. I had the best of both worlds: I could leave my indie thing, go into that shop, shut the door – you were in another world.

  I started to talk to Pete about the origins of jazz in the blues. Then we were away. We didn’t become friends gradually; we became friends suddenly on the basis of a long-elusive common musical interest.

  Andy Boote. (22)

  When Andy eventually came to play for the Skunk Band I found an opportunity to make some fun out of his indie leanings. Andy was rather shy of the public gaze. He sang at parties and he went busking but never sang on stage. One night at The Limelight the Skunk Band was doing “Mamma Don’t Allow” and Mamma wasn’t allowing no indie music so I shoved some flowers in Andy’s pocket and Andy had no option but to sing a Smiths’ number. It’s just a matter of confidence, really. He now fronts a successful rockabilly band called Vavoom! with such aplomb you’d never believe he was ever hesitant.

  Vavoom!

  “I wanted to combine the raw energy of punk with the distinctive Gretsch sound of Brian Setzer.”

  Andy Boote. (23)

  Andy Boote is a serious musician who has built up considerable expertise. From his origins in indie music he went on to Charlie Christian and Django Reinhardt and was impressed by the very clever chords: chords that have been forgotten by today’s musicians. Andy studied early jazz alongside rockabilly and blues and Vavoom! (started by him in 2001) has jazz and swing influences combined with the energy of early rock ‘n’ roll, the punk era of the Seventies and the Stray Cats music of the Eighties. Vavoom! -“Hot Rod Rock ‘n’ Roll and Rockabilly delivered on demonic drums, bangin’ double bass and growlin’ Gretsch guitar” – supported Bob Geldof at the 2002 Nantwich Jazz and Blues Festival and have toured with James and The Happy Mondays. (24)

  Vavoom! At The Imperial

  Vavoom!’s versatility and professionalism are impressive. They capture the strutting rhythms – essentially young, virile, Brylcreemed and male – of early rock ‘n’ roll. This pristine moment in pop music, created by Elvis, Gene Vincent and Eddie Cochran was soon to be obliterated by the disempowering economics of bubblegum rock.

  Andy Boote’s virtuoso guitar playing, movements and mudras are as authentic as any I’ve seen, incorporating momentary ‘freeze-frames’ into the choreography. The stage was literally and metaphorically too small a place for this dynamic band.

  Sandra Gibson. (25)

  A Minnow’s Eye Left Of A Spliff

  Dave Evans was a friend of Andy who lived across the road from my shop. I lived there with him for a while after I split up with my current girlfriend. Dave was interested in the country blues and I taught him to play guitar in exchange for a 4-pack of Special Brew for which he was happy to go busking.

  Andy Boote and Dave Evans and I used to party together, one of our extended parties being a trip to France which also involved some bikers and a caravan site.

  Calvados: an apple brandy produced in Normandy, isn’t everyone’s favourite drink but it was all I had on the long train journey from Paris to St.Tropez. It was vintage paraffin standard Calvados and my mates couldn’t stomach it so I was on my own. By the time we reached the Med I felt very ill. Very, very ill. The lads found a disco on our caravan site and I don’t know if it was the thump – thump – thump of the music or the thump – thump – thump of my head that sent me back to the caravan. The only alcohol there was two bottles of beer so I drank one and took the other to bed.

  When the lads eventually returned from the disco they found me propped up in bed holding the last bottle in captivity. Fast asleep. Someone grabbed the bottle but my grip on it was so tight they had to give up. I was still fast asleep. I was lucky; some of these lads were bikers and they used to do daft things to people who were drunk. I could have ended up with half a beard, or minus an eyebrow, or covered in love bites or fully made up, or covered in paint – in fact anything that could have embarrassing repercussions the next day. But Dave Evans used to look after me so I was OK in spite of having commandeered the last bottle of ale.

  Busking Or A Blowjob?

  Knowing Pete led to some interesting places. If you were his friend you ended up in some amazing situations: horse-riding at Whitmore, yachts off Anglesey, open doors all over the place. The holiday in St Tropez is a good example of this. Pete offered to lend people money to finance the trip but it was always a grownup transaction. The deal was that the recipient had to be straight about the amount needed and then not mither Pete about it afterwards. The money was to be repaid out of the proceeds of busking and there was an interesting forfeit. Anyone defaulting would give Pete a blowjob. I’m still uncertain whether Pete would actually have insisted on this and it illustrates another facet of his personality. Everyone knew he was capable of extreme – outrageous even – behaviour. He has an air of danger or a dark side or grumpiness which shows itself in mild or extreme forms. He could threaten with a meat cleaver for his band money or he could deliver fairly devastating one-liners for preciousness in behaviour. On one occasion in the shop a young musician was giving a virtuoso guitar performance that bordered on the over-zealous. “Do you know any tunes?” was the put-down. I think Pete’s attitude is related to the apprenticeship idea. He would wind us up in an older bloke way – get others laughing at us. It toughens you up – like in the Johnny Cash song, “A Boy Named Sue”. I remember an interesting appearance to mind having eaten magic mushrooms. Pete became a silver-backed gorilla and Dave Evans a monkey apprentice.

  Another aspect of being with Pete Johnson was that there were going to be bizarre, edgy moments and plenty of laughs – often at Pete’s expense. Pete sat down somewhere in France – it must have been St Tropez – looking dishevelled as people sleeping on the beach do, and, thinking he was down and out, someone gave him a packet of fig biscuits and a box of matches. Of course, the tramp story has since been retold a lot and the charitable donation has been exaggerated. A similar thing occurred when Pete was sitting waiting for me and Dave to finish our busking. A compassionate Manuel lookalike slipped a huge pizza to him edgewise through some bars from a basement kitchen. Another time, Pete was also busking and we drew a crowd which alarmed the local restaurateur to the extent that he used tear gas.

  Loyalty has always been an important element in Pete’s friendships and whilst on holiday with me and Dave, he did have the opportunity to sleep in a caravan with some biker friends but he chose to sleep on the beach with us and I’ve cherished this gesture.

  Andy Boote. (26)

  There’s a photograph taken at Sacre Coeur with us boys sitting on the steps, a visit distinguished by the fact that tear gas played a part. Dave and Booty were busking; one broke a string and the other didn’t feel competent to carry on because he didn’t sing so I took up the other guitar to help out with the funds. It was all a bit hand to mouth: busking, drinking, eating… There were about sixty people gathered round listening. We were outside a café and the management were anxious about us affecting trade so CS gas was used to disperse the crowd. I knew straight away what it was because it had already happened to me once during that visit at a disco in St. Tropez. So I got away as quick as I could. You don’t smell a bad egg twice.

  On the way back from St Tropez two of us four lads were broke and couldn’t afford th
e train fare. Dave and Andy were lurking in the toilets, avoiding the ticket man, as the train sped north towards Paris. It’s interesting how people behave in situations such as this. When the dreaded inspector arrived the third mate wimped out and grassed them up: “They’re in there, mate.” Why did he do that?

  All I was concerned about was being put off the train at Marseilles. You’d heard such tales about the place and I felt scared.

  Dave Evans. (27)

  Once Dave and I decided to forego tobacco. If you had a smoke without cannabis in it you had to apply a forfeit, such as eating a whole jar of my hot pickled onions.

  But the daftness was interspersed with music; many a night at two or three I could be heard beating time for Dave to get his phrasing right. I’d taken my blues collection over to his flat and he was quite a grafter. I recently came across a tape amateurishly recorded at this time in the Eighties: a time capsule recorded solo under the influence of booze, dope and magic mushrooms. Zoe has edited out all the swearing so that she could play it to other people but the budgie singing away in the background still accompanies me.

  Oh – that tape! The fucking budgie sounds better than Pete!

  Dave Evans. (28)

  It’s a very informal and unplanned performance where I just play song after song to demonstrate the music to help Dave: the only audience I envisaged for this particular collection. What strikes me is how my singing, playing and repertoire have changed since then: the pitch has deepened and my voice is stronger, more resonant and more confident. I’ve noticed changes in other singers too: both Mississippi John Hurt and Son House sound slower, less jaunty but also more thought-provoking in later years. My playing style has become less twiddly and more refined. Whereas I used to do some folk and some modern songs from Dylan as well as blues, nowadays I concentrate on blues because I think my voice suits this genre better than any other.

  Hearing tapes of my performances some people think that there is more than one instrument playing but it is all down to me and the little Gibson. One person ‘heard’ a harmonising voice. I can only suggest that the guitar, played in a certain way, is a little orchestra.

  Another time capsule, probably recorded at The Limelight, shows the more public side of my playing. This is the partying, loud rock version of Vaudeville that proves so infectious. Listening to the tape I am conscious of the mistakes but in the context it didn’t matter too much. It was the party that mattered and the band involved the audience in a ball. You had to be there to appreciate it, really. It was a spirited, humorous, spontaneous, rocking performance and all the songs had this slant, either because they were chosen for this or because we treated them like this.

  The time came for my protégé to overcome his stage fright, so I took him to the Sandbach Folk Club where I always had a supportive audience. I seated Dave behind me and told him to scrub away and join in with the harmonies if he felt like it. After three songs I introduced Dave to the audience: “You might wonder why I’ve brought this friend of mine with me. This is Dave ‘King’ Evans and he’s going to sing one of my favourite songs, ‘I Wanna Be Like You.’” With that, I left the stage and left him to it. He was just gobsmacked. But it was OK. He looked just like a primate when he sang that song.

  In the end, having served his musical apprenticeship with me, Dave’s favourite thing was white country blues which he came across through some other route and to which he introduced me. This musical phenomenon was concurrent with the music of the black bluesmen – a little bit more bouncy and humorous. Dave’s band, Swamp Donkey reflects this taste for the white blues.

  Like many of my musical friends, Dave left town. His surveying job took him to Belgium and he eventually settled in Bath.

  Des Parton

  My relationship with Des Parton began in 1971 – I was twenty-two and he was twenty-five – and spans the decades since. I had a residency at a Congleton pub, playing solo once a week and several lads from Stoke asked if they could play with me, not realising the number of chords in the tunes. The only one that could keep up with what I was doing was the only one that didn’t consider himself as a guitarist and that was Des. To this day, he’s still nervous about playing with me. Thus began an enduring friendship.

  Des is a singer-songwriter and record producer from Newcastle-under-Lyme. He is proficient on several instruments including saxophone, penny whistle, mandolin, guitar, keyboard and harmonica: all played on stage and in recording situations. During the Congleton pub days, Des was trying to get himself established as a songwriter. He had worked for Social Services for a while but they had refused him his two weeks’ holiday time off to tour in Germany with his band. He tidied his desk, walked out and went to Hamburg where he worked on and off from the late Sixties till the mid Seventies.

  He’s never had to clock on since.

  Like me, Des shows an interest in biography; with me it’s instruments and songs; with him it’s bands.

  Smiling Hard

  In Hamburg, me and the band were working long shifts of about eight hours – though this was not continuous playing – in clubs such as The Top Ten and The Star Club. It would be something like one hour on and one hour off if there were two bands. If there was only one band it was forty-five minutes on and fifteen minutes off. This could go on from 7.00 pm until 4.00 am.

  The young musicians in Hamburg loved the city and many lived there for a while, including some from my band. It had that combination of glamour and debauchery so beloved of creative people. In this creative, lively city musicians received, through a rigorous schedule, a baptism into the world of being a professional musician, where they would hone their skills. Among the English musicians was Ritchie Blackmore from Deep Purple who, with the other band members, used to come and jam on stage with me and the lads. The same with Billy Preston – an American musician.

  It was at this time that I met Smiling Hard – the best band around. It was this band’s keyboard player, Spike, together with some men who played brass instruments, who later joined Dexys Midnight Runners and after that, Queen (post Freddie Mercury). It has been alleged that Spike used to spend time in the little room underneath the drum riser where he played secretly. It was the done thing sometimes to augment during a show. Some bands have extra players hidden away in other places; it’s the way it is. As Pete sometimes says,“Some people spend their lives in boxes.”

  Gary Glitter’s band formed in Hamburg after one of the little studio sessions that were going on all over the place. He originally played under the name of Paul Raven. Studios would often phone clubs for musicians to go and join in with recording. I had the chance of being in on the recording of the successful pop single Cinderella-Rockefeller but I’m now glad I wasn’t. Boney M. also used to live in Hamburg.

  Hamburg still attracts musicians; a Stoke band: The Climax Blues Band plays there quite often. It is interesting to know that Hamburg continued to be a Mecca for aspiring musicians long after the Beatles left.

  Des Parton. (29)

  Worked To Death

  Once you did Hamburg you were naturally in a network of professional musicians but although Hamburg could be a gateway, you served a harsh, dangerous apprenticeship. You were worked to death – sometimes literally – Des once had a gun pulled on him when he asked to be paid. He was living in a world of gangsters and prostitutes, drugs and low life. Pushers are instantly recognizable – they hover around musicians. The big men are invisible.

  Whilst in Germany his band split up for financial reasons so Des returned to the UK and concentrated on writing songs. He would hitch down to London with a cassette of songs and knock on doors. It was Tony Hatch’s door that let him in, partly he feels, because of the Potteries connection. Jackie Trent came from Chesterton, her brother worked there in an administrative role and there were several others who came from the area. Tony Hatch liked his songs.

  A Music Lesson With Tony Hatch:

  “Can You Hear The Quarter Notes?”

  Tony used to pus
h me, musically. I’d had no formal musical training and I loved receiving musical tuition from him. Tony would play notes on the piano and say, “Can you hear the quarter notes?” “No.” He would play again. “Can you hear the quarter notes?” “No.” He would play the notes again. “Can you hear the quarter notes?” “Yes.” And I could! I had acquired something. With piano notation from one note to another is a jump; with a cello or a violin or a trombone one note slides to another; it slurs between one note and the next. Like a slide guitar.

  People ask me how long I was with Tony Hatch. I never really left. We’re still friends – I saw him about eighteen months ago. When I do any writing I always go down to Tony’s office. I’ve been contacted by the BBC: Tony Hatch will soon be seventy.

  Des Parton. (30)