John Bonham

by Mick Bonham

  ‘John had spent his year of non-residency in hotel rooms in New York, Jersey and the south of France, fighting off boredom and other people.’

  John had spent his year of non-residency in hotel rooms in New York, Jersey and the south of France, fighting off boredom and other people. Originally a world tour had been booked to coincide with the time the band would be away from England. That had to be shelved after Robert’s tragic car accident, and with no gigs the year dragged on for what seemed like an eternity. One break in the monotony came when the band were in Montreaux, at the same time as the Jazz Festival. John Paul Jones had talked John into going to see the Count Basie Orchestra. While watching the show John had become interested in the drummer and Jonesy asked if he’d like to meet him. John became apprehensive, asking why Basie’s drummer would want to meet him, but backstage the roles were reversed. It turned out that the drummer was one of John’s biggest fans and had studied his style and copied a lot of his techniques. That meant a lot to a drummer in a Rock’n’Roll band.

  Still, during the band’s exile the fans had not forgotten about Led Zeppelin and in both the Melody Maker and New Musical Express polls, Zeppelin took eight awards. Although it was a great achievement for the band, that elusive Number One drummer slot still eluded John. Making up for that somewhat was the news that the band’s new album ‘Presence’ had already gone platinum in America, on advance orders alone.

  ‘Still, during the band’s exile the fans had not forgotten about Led Zeppelin and in both the Melody Maker and New Musical Express polls, Zeppelin took eight awards.’

  Arriving back home in May 1976, we all met up at the Conservative Club in Studley and, although it had been a year since our last night out, I was glad to see that silliness was still the order of the day. What still amazed me was that John could still get away with it, even at the Club. While playing a frame of snooker, John hit the cue ball so hard that it left the table and demolished one of the wall lights. His punishment? Cries of “Good shot John” from the other members watching the game. Now if I had done that the committee would have held an emergency meeting and a suitable candidate would have been chosen to kick my arse out the door.

  During the time I hadn’t seen John, his now 10-year old son Jason had become involved in Schoolboy Moto Cross, and with immense help from Pat’s brother-in-law Allan, had started racing at local meetings. While John was away Allan would become a one-man pit stop, doing all the mechanics, being transport and making sure Jason was alright. Lin and I finally saw him race in June ’76, and although I thought that cowboys and indians would be a much safer bet, Jason wasn’t scared and became a very competent rider. Soon the whole Schoolboy thing would become a big part of John’s life too.

  Above

  Jason Bonham

  Chapter 19

  BIRTHS AND PREMIERES

  While John had gone back to America to be at the premiere of the new film The Song Remains the Same in New York, then a few days later in Los Angeles, I was at home trying to console a wife with a rather large bump where her slim stomach had once been. On 30 October I began to suss out that something odd was about to happen when I was sent to the shops on two occasions, firstly for chocolate and then tinned pears. Upon my return with the pears I found that Lin’s mum and dad had called in for coffee. Lin arrived in the kitchen and announced that her waters had broken. This is where all the studying on the subject really helped as I shouted, “Shit, don’t tell me, tell your mum!”

  I was immediately sent back to the shopping centre to find a phone box and inform the hospital that we were on our way. I had left the house in such a panic that it wasn’t until I felt my feet getting wet in a puddle of God knows what, that I realised that I’d left the house with no shoes on. As I rushed back to the flat, carefully sidestepping the multitude of sharp objects strewn around the place, I repeated that happy mantra “Ooh, ah, shit” over and over again.

  The night was spent sat with other, rapidly ageing expectant fathers, and it really didn’t look like there’d be enough cigarettes to last until morning. Amidst all this chaos a nurse entered the room and said that Lin was having a bad time and calling for me. Early on in the pregnancy it was decided that I wouldn’t attend the birth because I was the bloke who covered his eyes when Bambi’s mother got shot, but it was too late now. As I sat there holding Lin’s hand, staring into her eyes, she took great pleasure in systematically crushing every finger I possessed. The pain soon disappeared as Emma Michelle coughed and spluttered into life.

  After making several phone calls informing the new grandparents, I went over to tell John and Pat the good news. Celebrations were held in the best possible taste, with the consumption of a couple of bottles of the old Dom Perignon, while I spoke incessantly about the previous night’s events. With the excitement still buzzing through me I returned to the hospital to be with Lin and Emma. The celebrations would carry on later that evening, at The Green Dragon in Sambourne, along with Jacko and two close friends, Alan and Sue Pitt. At 8.30pm the party got underway and grew louder as the night wore on, terminating with John and I passing out at the same time and being driven home. Lin and our little girl arrived home on 6 November.

  On 4 November the UK premiere of The Song Remains the Same ran concurrently at the Warner West End cinema and the ABC in Shaftsbury Avenue. A little over two weeks later, on the 21st, it would be premiered in Birmingham at the Futurist Cinema in the centre of town. The evening would begin at Old Hyde with a gathering of friends and family, while we waited for the coach that had been laid on to take us to the cinema. As we had a couple of drinks at the house, John looked rather nervous and then he told me he was a little worried how people would take to the film.

  Nerves soon started to disappear when everyone had arrived and we set off for Brum in the old charabanc (good old name for a coach in Brum and pronounced ‘sharabong’ in the Black Country accent. Don’t forget, up here ‘bonk’ isn’t sex, it’s what you sit on when you’re fishing).

  The film had met with a very mixed reaction from the critics. Some loved it, some hated it but I LOVED it. I had waited a long time to see John’s sequence after all the hard work that had been put into it. I also wanted to see the parts that I had been involved with and maybe, just maybe, I might be spotted by a director and end up in films. Come the end of the movie I realised that the only person who would spot me would be the chap who empties the bins in the editing suite. Shit, even Old Sam the horse had got his face in.

  Above

  Melody Maker Awards. John Bonham and Jimmy Page with band members from Camel and Uriah Heep receiving their awards

  Above

  Bonham and Page with Billy Connolly centre, the only person to interview John live on TV. (The interview lasted two minutes!)

  After the premiere a reception for all the guests had been arranged at The Opposite Lock, a nightclub at the side of the canal by Gas Street. Whilst everyone ate the volau-vents and discussed the film, a DJ took his position and the party really started. After a while young Jason spotted a drum kit on the stage so he got up and played along with the records. As a young drummer he was having the time of his life and the audience responded with rapturous applause. But, and you just knew there’d be a but, the DJ said something about Jason’s drumming and said “Play this…” putting Sandy Nelson’s ‘Let There Be Drums’ on. It’s a piece of music most drummers would have trouble copying. Not one to refuse a challenge, Jason gave it his best shot, but ended up looking a little embarrassed. The DJ was peering down from his position behind a window above the stage and as we all looked up a large arm appeared in the window, grabbed the DJ around the neck and he disappeared. A little later a loud splash was heard in the canal. Whoops, somebody must have fallen off the ‘bonk’. Apart from that small incident the night had been a great success.

  Bonzo on the Band

  “The whole group gets on well. To me some groups get too close, and the slightest thing can upset the whole band. In this group w
e’re just close enough. It’s never a case of somebody saying something and the whole band being on the verge of breaking up.

  You get more enjoyment out of playing with each other if you don’t know everyone too well. Sometimes it isn’t any fun anymore to play with a group you’ve been in for years, but with Led Zeppelin we’re always writing new stuff, doing new things, and every individual is important and getting into new things themselves.”

  BONZO ON DRUMMING

  On playing drums with his hands:

  “I can get an absolutely true sound. It hurts at first, but the skin soon hardens and now I can hit a drum harder with my hands than with drum sticks.”

  “I’d like to have it publicised that I came in after Karen Carpenter in the Playboy drummer poll! She couldn’t last ten minutes with a Zeppelin number”

  (Interview 1975)

  “I really like to yell out when I’m playing. I yell like a bear to give it a boost. I like our act to be like a thunderstorm. My ambition is to record the 1812 Overture. I would over-dub all the rhythm sections – the bells, cannons and timps. I’ll do it one day”

  “When I started playing I was most impressed by those early soul records. I like the feel and the sound they achieved. I suppose I said to myself, ‘I’ll get that sound too.’ I’ve always liked drums to be big and powerful. I’ve never used cymbals much. I use them to crash into a solo and out of it, but basically I prefer the actual drum sound.”

  (Interview 1973)

  “I never had any lessons. When I first started playing I used to read music. I was very interested in music. But when I started playing in groups I did a silly thing and dropped it. It’s great if you can write things down.”

  (Interview 1973)

  “I’ve always been obsessed with drums. They fascinate me. Any other instrument – nothing. I play acoustic guitar a bit. But it’s always been drums first and foremost. I don’t reckon on this Jack-of-all-trades thing.” “I think that feeling is a lot more important than technique. It’s all very well doing a triple paradiddle – but who’s going to know you’ve done it? If you play technically you sound like everybody else. It’s being original that counts.”

  “I don’t consider that I’m particularly influenced by anyone or anything. But when I started playing, I was influenced by early soul. It was just that feel, that sound.”

  “When I listen to drummers I like to be able to say ‘Oh! I haven’t heard that before.’ Being yourself is so much better than sounding like anyone else. Ginger Baker’s thing is that he is himself. So it’s no good trying to do what he does.”

  (1973)

  “It’s all to do with the swing. You get a much better tone with a big stroke than you do with a short stab.”

  (1973)

  “My son Jason – he plays you know. I’ve got him a little Japanese drum kit, made to scale. It’s got a 14 inch bass drum. He’s got his mother’s looks, but in character he is just like me. He’s always drumming, even when we go out in the car he takes his sticks to bash on the seats. Before the end of Led Zeppelin I’m going to have him on stage with us at the Albert Hall.”

  (Interview with Chris Welch, June 1975,

  talking about Moby Dick.)

  “I usually play for twenty minutes, and the longest I’ve ever done was under thirty. It’s a long time, but when I’m playing it seems to fly by. There have been times when I have blundered, and got the dreaded look from the lads. But that’s a good sign. It shows you’re attempting something you’ve not tried before.”

  Above

  A rare sight. Bonham takes centre stage with, from left, Max Middleton, Ronne Lane, Keith Moon, Ray Harper and Jimmy Page, performing at The Rainbow

  Chapter 20

  THE CHRISTENING

  Emma lay fast asleep in her cot, unaware of all the preparation being made in the other rooms of the flat on her behalf. She was too young to realise that today was 27 February, 1976 and at 4.00pm that afternoon, Emma Michelle Bonham would be christened at St. Peter’s Church in the parish of Ipsley.

  As Emma slept, Lin and I busied ourselves getting everything ready for all the family and guests, who would return with us after the service for the party to celebrate Emma’s christening. Lin was in the kitchen making cakes, trifles and other fancies while I set the bar up in the lounge. As Lin and I occasionally bumped into each other it was apparent that nerves were slowly starting to fray. This was to be the first time since becoming man and wife that we had entertained all of the family at our flat.

  Suddenly the sound of food preparation was overshadowed by the sound of a four-month-old baby crying for her breakfast, and when Emma cried you took notice (something that has never changed to this day). Lin took charge of her while I stocked the fridge with bottles of wine and beer. As zero hour grew nearer it was time for us to get dressed; Emma in a beautiful white christening gown, Lin in her posh frock and me in a suit that looked like it’d had more outings than a Sunday school bus. As we left through the front door to go to the church, both Lin and I glanced back at the flat. Everything was in its place. Lin gave me a look begging assurance that everything would go to plan, but in my heart I knew why she was worried. John and I had only seen each other a couple of times since the fight, which had nearly split us up for two years. But we were older now and hopefully wiser, so there was nothing to worry about.

  As Lin and I arrived at the church with Emma, all the family and guests had already arrived and were waiting outside. Considering it was February the weather was being kind to us, bathing the church in warm sunlight. St. Peters is a very pretty little church on the outskirts of Redditch, set on top of a hill surrounded by trees. The mild weather had meant that some of the spring flowers were beginning to show through, adding a dash of colour and speciality to the occasion. But as I neared the church, the beauty of the surroundings faded as I saw John and Pat, stood with Jacko, Mum and my little sister Debbie making a family picture that hadn’t, for one reason or another, been seen in a while.

  Once inside the church Lin and I took our positions by the font and were joined by the chosen godparents. John was to be godfather, while Pat, Lin’s sister Rosita and our Debbie were to be godmothers. The service was taken by The Reverend Eeves, which, when you consider that he shared the parish workload with The Reverend Adams, suggested that the Lord’s work was certainly being carried out in Redditch.

  Water splashed, prayers said, hymns sung and it was time to leave God’s house and go back to ours for the party. As the guests arrived at the flat they made their way into the lounge while Lin and I busied ourselves serving refreshments – sherry for the ladies, beer for whoever wanted one. Eventually everyone found a seat and relaxed into conversations regarding the day, which gave me time to have a good chat with John about what was happening with Led Zeppelin and things in general.

  Well, so far the day had been a great success, so when it was mentioned that some of the men should adjourn to a local public house to have ‘just a quick one’, it was agreed to be a good idea. The ladies were left to have a good natter while John, Jacko and I took Allan for a pint. A favourite venue for this kind of excursion was an olde worlde pub called The Green Dragon, a favourite haunt of our grandfather. Set on the side of the village green in the picturesque local village of Sambourne, it was the perfect place for a quiet drink. Once inside you were greeted by the lovely smell of logs burning in an open fire and the broad smile of the friendly landlord Joe Kimber. Pleasantries exchanged it was time for our ‘one pint’, and immediately our train came off the rails because Los Trios Bonzos had never been out for only one pint in their lives and tonight was no exception.

  One beer led to two, two to four and so on. Time passed unnoticed. I think we were on our sixth when an old acquaintance of ours came into the pub and joined in our conversation. His name was Rene and he owned a hairdressing salon in Studley but was now trying to get into the music management business. The only way to describe Rene, without being rude, would be to say he
really rated himself. Now, according to Rene, he had found a band called City Boy and they were apparently going to knock Led Zeppelin off their pedestal. Well, after a couple more beers and another half-hour or so of this verbal assault on John’s musical ability my stroppy side reared its ugly head and I went to John’s aide, or at least so I thought. But as soon as I went to give this bounder a bit of a slap, John and Jacko went to his aide and began telling me I was out of order. What me, out of order, I thought. That was my first mistake: mixing thinking with drinking because all the brain and mouth could come up with was “well bollocks to the lot of you” and stormed out the door. It was as I left the warm inside and entered the cold outside that the alcoholic boxing glove tried to take my head off and my legs decided that they were going to have nothing to do with me and tried to go another way. Once I had regained control over my legs, I took off in what I thought was the direction home.

  “Mick, stop being a prat and come back inside,” boomed John’s voice into the still, quiet night. Like a flash, my brain had scanned the depths for a reply. “Bollocks,” again, was the only thing I could come up with, so now it really was time to get running. I made a quick turn into a dark country lane with John in hot pursuit. After a few minutes, I stopped to catch my breath, but John had swapped shoe leather for car and it had just turned into the lane. I was off like a bullet (well pretty fast for a fat, drunk bloke). Anyway, it was fast enough for me not to notice a garden wall directly in front of me. There wasn’t enough time for the brain to get a message to the legs: crash imminent. The thorns ripped into my face as I hurtled earthwards through the rose bush and into the garden beyond.