by Ray Connolly
Danielle had first become aware of the Stray Cats’ existence while at ballet school in Paris. Her father had been in the French diplomatic service and she had been brought up largely in south-east Asia, a privileged girl from the moment of conception. Then when she was fourteen the family had been recalled to Paris when her father had been given a home post in the Quai D’Orsay. For years she had imagined herself in love with her elder brother Jean-Claude, but that love had been quickly terminated when he had followed his father into the diplomatic service. She had seen enough of the boring life of embassy cocktail parties, furtive adulteries in far-flung places, and the hideous injustices of class and race to suffer that life for a moment longer. And so at the age of seventeen she found herself without a champion, and that she was willingly, even wilfully, allowing herself to be drawn further into the world of the bohemian which was still fashionable in mid-sixties Paris. And it was across this world that the name Jim Maclaine first briefly strayed.
By the time of their first European tour in 1965, Paris had already heard of Jim Maclaine, but Danielle Peronne had no interest at all in pop music and had refused free tickets to see the Stray Cats at their opening date at the Olympia. Even after she had noted the overwhelming prettiness of the lead singer during a television show she was still not attracted to him, and indeed it was not until she met Jim Maclaine quite accidentally at a cocktail party for the opening of an art gallery in the following year that her interest in pop and the Stray Cats began to grow. Even so it was not an instant romance. She had by now had other men, more sophisticated and worldly men, and it took a little time for her to make up her mind about becoming involved with a pop star. So for some time she remained on the periphery of the Stray Cats entourage, watching and observing, and gradually becoming increasingly drawn towards Jim. She didn’t like the retinue which followed him everywhere, with its meek sycophancy and smiling eyes, but she thought she detected in him a strength of character which was quite missing in the rest of the group.
From the very start she fell foul of Mike. She didn’t mean to, in fact at first she would have done anything just to make Jim happy, but Mike’s continual presence had an eerie quality to it. It seemed almost that she could never get to be alone with Jim apart from when they were in bed, and even then it was not unknown for Mike to walk in and begin a business discussion. Sometimes, she thought, he seemed to be behaving with incredible boorishness just for the sake of needling her, although she couldn’t imagine why. It was clear, however, after only a few weeks with Jim, that Mike resented her presence and was happiest when she wasn’t around. And for her part Danielle resented Mike: while Jim was making some attempts to better himself socially, to educate himself, Mike was content to be the flash, ex-fairground boy he had always been, interested only in his own cunning for manipulating events. In Danielle Peronne there was more than a streak of the bourgeois, more than a hint of the once privileged little girl from the French colonies.
To Jim she was quite the most perfect girl he had ever met. There had been lots of beautiful girls since he had made it, leggy models by the dozen picked at happy random out of discothèques or photograpers’ studios, but no one anything like Danielle. There had been débutantes and their patronizing parents wanting the Stray Cats to play free at charity balls, and there had been show-biz and beauty queens. But there had been nothing like Danielle. Nothing so simply beautiful: clear blue eyes, little make-up and dark, straight hair. After she came into his life there could be no time for chasing any of the groupies and crumpet which daily besieged him.
By the time of the Belle Vue Pollwinners Concert the relationship between Jim and Danielle had reached a critical stage. Against the wishes of her parents she had moved in with him, but bowing to the good pragmatic sense of Colin Day and Mike she managed to keep a very low profile, so that the Press were, as yet, hardly aware of her. As always, during the shows, Danielle never hung around the wings or took the front seats with the other Stray Cats girls, but sat alone amidst the fans in the stalls until the very last song, before nipping round the back to meet Jim and race away in his limousine. Belle Vue, like every other date they had played, was the same hectic nightmare of bedlam, screaming, hysterical girls, loud, out-of-tune music-since the screaming made it impossible for Jim to hear himself sing - and then the inevitable hiding on the floor of the Daimler as it tried to force a way through the police barriers and the ecstatic crowds.
Now, in a way, Belle Vue was the beginning of a new life. Immediately after completing the concert the whole group was driven to Stansted Airport where a special charter plane was ready to fly them, plus Press, retinue and God-knows-who-else, to New York for the beginning of a 42-city tour. The Stray Cats had gone as far as it was possible to go in Britain and Europe. Now they had to conquer America as other bands had done before them if they were to continue to survive. And as always Colin Day had organized everything with perfect precision.
For over a year, each of the Stray Cats had listened with the fascination of small boys hearing mariners’ tales to the stories which other musicians had brought back from their tours of America, but nothing they had been told really prepared them for the reality of the place. In Britain to play a 5000 seat concert hall was a big gig, but when it came to 20,000 and 40,000 seat stadiums the sheer enormity of the excitement they were able to generate frightened all of them.
Despite the rows which had followed the chaotic Beatles’ first stay at the Plaza Hotel in New York, Colin Day had managed to persuade the hotel management that his group were not likely to be causing any riots, and so it was that after a heady and rapturous welcome at Kennedy Airport, organized largely by the good promotional offices of Radio WMCA, four of the Stray Cats, plus a handful of English roadies and American groupies, found themselves sitting locked into their suite watching the world go by outside. As soon as the charter flight had landed Jim, Danielle and Mike had been rushed away to television studios for Jim to appear on a chat show, while Colin Day had excused himself to do some business with a prospective American partner.
‘I can’t find the bloody sound.’ Stevie was fiddling with the colour television, and looking for news of the Stray Cats’ arrival in New York. A fair, spotty groupie came to his assistance, and leaning provocatively across him so that both her thigh and her breasts came into shock contact with his gratified little body, she turned up the volume, just as film of their arrival was being broadcast. The Stray Cats watched themselves with excited fascination.
Today the Stray Cats, the latest of the pop music invasion from Britain, landed at Kennedy Airport,’ ran the commentary. ‘When asked if he liked our American girls, lead singer Jim Maclaine quipped that he liked them better than American boys.’
A ribald cheer went up from the rest of the group. In England they had always felt left out as Jim had moved increasingly into the foreground but now it looked almost as though they were to be nothing more than a backing group for pretty Jim. One of the groupies rolled a joint and passed it to J.D. who, halfway through his steak and chips, swallowed hard before inhaling. Stevie went back to the television as the newsreel finished.
‘I thought you said the leader was being interviewed,’ he said.
‘Try Channel 8,’ someone volunteered. Stevie flicked the station finder, and came up with a close-up of a very dandified Jim Maclaine.
‘Well, well, isn’t he pretty?’ Stevie shook his head derisively.
‘Sieg Heil, mein Führer!’ screamed J.D. and leaping to his feet, gave a Nazi salute before going into an exaggerated goose-step all around the room.
Kevin and Alex watched in amazement. A year of living as second-class citizens to Jim Maclaine had made them all resentful, although each of them realized in his own way how important Jim’s looks and talent were to the future of the group. When the goose-stepping parade had dispersed, the gathering managed to get their attentions back to what was happening on the screen. Jim was talking: suddenly he was the instant pundit, the worldly phi
losopher. Both Danielle and Mike had tried in their different ways to stop him from giving his views on world events about which he was singularly ill-informed, but when that spotlight shone and that television camera was turned towards him, he just couldn’t resist the opportunity.
‘… I mean the older generation are making such a mess of the world, aren’t they?’ he was saying. J.D. and Stevie giggled at his pure crassness. ‘It’s about time they gave us younger ones a chance to run things. I mean just look what’s happening everywhere …’ He waved an arm airily, presumably meaning somewhere far off about which he had intimate knowledge. ‘I mean there’s all that money being spent putting men in space, when there are millions starving in India …’
‘The bugger’s got more front than Selfridges,’ said J.D.
‘More money, too,’ said Kevin.
‘I mean I think the law on drugs is silly …’ Jim was carrying on with his interview. ‘I think people should be left alone to do what they think is right for them. That’s what democracy is about, isn’t it? Everyone talks about freedom, but everywhere you go there are people in uniforms saying you can’t do that. I sometimes think I ought to go and live somewhere in China - I mean where they get things done.’
‘You mean you’re in sympathy with the Communist system, Jim?’ The interviewer was reaching for branches from which to hang the cute little twerp on whom he was having to waste television time.
‘Oh no, I’m not saying that.’ Jim was quick to see the potential trap. John Lennon had been virtually pilloried in the States the year before for comparing the Beatles with Christ. Jim didn’t want to upset Mum and apple pie. ‘No, all I mean is that in their way the Chinese do get things done - I really wouldn’t want to live there myself. I like freedom too much.’
Hell, thought the interviewer. But he said: ‘What about girls, Jim, and marriage?’
Jim looked momentarily uncomfortable: ‘Well,’ he said while he thought of something suitably profound to say. ‘I think that if two people want to live … let’s say, to be together, then it’s all right for them … what I mean is that marriage isn’t, strictly speaking, necessary any more.’
The interviewer clutched at another straw: ‘Jim, do you live with a girl… or practise free love … as they call it?’
‘Well, no … no I don’t think that it would suit me personally. I’m really an old-fashioned sort of boy, but I mean I think it’s okay for those who want to …’
‘So for the moment you’re a happy bachelor?’
‘That’s right’
‘Thank you, Jim Maclaine of the Stray Cats. We all wish you good luck on your visit to the States.’
Jim smiled at the camera and a commercial for dog food came on to the screen. J.D. and Stevie looked at each other helplessly.
‘What a prick!’ said J.D.
Sitting in the studio after the broadcast Jim felt pleased with himself. He had avoided any potentially difficult areas and he was sure he’d sounded very meaningful. That was what Americans liked, they’d told him, good, meaningful interviews.
‘Okay, thank you, Jim.’ The floor manager was allowing him to get up and, smiling round at the assembled crowd of technicians, make-up people and girl fans from the station’s clerical department, he made his way blinking through the lights to where Danielle and Mike were waiting. As irony would have it, despite their mutual antipathy towards each other, they seemed not infrequently to be thrown together in this way. Jim was just about to reach them when a new, quite harsh voice spoke virtually in his left ear.
‘Jim … Porter Lee Austin.’ Jim turned away from his friends and found himself looking into the smiling eyes of a handsome, well dressed, Texas businessman of about thirty-five. Even as he turned the guy had his hand out and taking Jim’s, began pumping it up and down in a warm and sincere welcome. ‘Jim, just let me tell you, I’m really delighted to meet you after all this time.’
He paused. And Jim looked at him, not for a moment understanding any of what appeared to be going on, or who on God’s earth Porter Lee Austin was.
The newcomer carried on: ‘As you know I’m your new manager … and I want you to meet Felix Hoffman, my friend, attorney and chicken noodle computer.’ A smooth, fair man in an expensive suit stepped forward. Jim looked at them both: at the Ivy League Hoffman, and the smiling, homespun Porter Lee.
‘I’ve got a bloody manager.’ Aggression was getting the better part of his confusion. Christ they hadn’t been in the States five minutes and here were a couple of con-men telling him they were going to manage him. He looked at Mike for support, but Mike looked as confused as he and decidedly worried.
‘You mean you don’t know? My God! What about this Felix! Is this the way the English do business? Jim, I’ve gotta tell you, that just this afternoon Colin Day sold me seventy-five per cent of Stray Cats Incorporated. From now on Maria Industries of New York has a majority shareholding in you and the Stray Cats.’
Jim was beginning to get frightened in the confusion: ‘What d’you mean?’ He was shouting now. ‘They can’t sell without consulting me. Colin Day can’t just sell us, we’re not a commodity in a supermarket.’
‘That’s right Jim … but hold on.’ Porter Lee Austin was a master at settling unruly young people, and he began to lead Jim out of the studio where a rather embarrassing crowd had been gathering. ‘Just let me tell you one thing before you get excited or uptight. There’s no one in this whole world who is a bigger fan of you than I am. Believe me, I mean it from the bottom of my heart. There are things in your music, Jim, that I feel I’ve known all my life but never been able to express. You know, those private emotions … those feelings you get.’
Jim was still protesting but Porter Lee was firmly in control of the situation as he led the threesome down the labyrinthine corridors which led off from the studio. Behind them a group of office girls followed in animated excitement. All the time Porter Lee kept talking: ‘Now Colin Day … I love the guy like a brother, but you’re new in the States and he knows, and I know, that to break you big, really big, the way that someone of your talent deserves, you have to have someone who knows the territory and the business. And I’m here to tell you, bullshit aside, that you won’t find anyone who can do more for you financially, artistically, in merchandizing or in any other goddam field you care to mention, than Maria Industries. Colin Day knew that, and that was why he sold.’
Jim would have liked to have said something as Porter Lee paused for breath, but there was simply nothing he could say. The pace was too fast for him.
‘Look,’ Porter Lee was verballing on in top gear, ‘this has to be some kind of shock for you. Right? But let me tell you, and you can check it, no one ever walked on me. No artist ever walked on Maria Industries.’ He put a hand-cut suited arm around Jim’s shoulders: ‘Jim, you gotta understand you’re in a jungle now … a jungle that’s full of apes just waiting to start ripping you off … believe me, they can piss away millions of dollars in franchises, royalties, tour payments, you name it, without you even noticing. But you better believe me, nobody ever ripped off Porter Lee Austin. And you know why?’ He paused, smiling widely for dramatic effect. ‘Because I’m the biggest ape in the goddam jungle.’
Following closely behind, Felix Hoffman, human computer and attorney, smiled engagingly at Mike: ‘You must be Mike. Colin Day told us a lot about you, and the way Jim and you were inseparable. How’re you enjoying the States, Mike?’
Mike looked at him, and then at Porter Lee: ‘I think your ape-men are wonderful,’ he said seriously.
When Colin Day had left the Stray Cats at the airport nothing had been further from his mind than that he should sell as much as seventy-five per cent of the American slice of them but Porter Lee had made him a good offer and it was true that he did know the territory better than anyone else. Porter Lee Austin was a well known man in the American music business, and he was known as a generally straight man although he drove a hard Pargain. When the trouble over
payola in the fifties had brewed, it had never stuck to him, and when he said that no artist had ever left him he was telling the truth. He was so good at his job that no one ever wanted to leave him. All the same, Colin Day would have been much more interested in giving him a much smaller slice of the Stray Cats than three-quarters, but then Porter Lee was happy to let Day hang on to all the United Kingdom, plus the worldwide music publishing excluding the U.S. and Canada, so as Colin Day saw it there was no way he could be a loser. Porter Lee, for his part, was taking a calculated gamble. To get the Stray Cats off Day he had had to fork out a considerable amount of straight cash, to be deposited in a bank in Bermuda where both he and Day had summer houses and indeed, where they had both met years earlier. It was a good deal, and Colin Day was only sorry that Porter Lee insisted that he should be the one to break the news to Maclaine. It somehow seemed as though he was letting the Stray Cats down. Nonsense, said Porter Lee, you’re doing them the biggest favour you ever did. And inside Colin Day knew that to be a fact. He only hoped that the boys wouldn’t take it too personally. Of course they did.
The Stray Cats’ first tour of the United States and Canada began in the winter of 1965 and 1966. It was an ideal moment for their promotion. Everyone knew that the Beatles had had enough of touring and were ready to give it all up (indeed their last concert of all took place in San Francisco in the summer of 1966), and a vacuum was already being created for the Stray Cats to flow into. Already the musical style of the Beatles was becoming contrived and gimmicky, and the sheer driving sound of the Stray Cats’ basically simple rock and roll attracted audiences as yet too young to be taken along on the acid music which was to predominate from the end of 1966 until 1969. The Stray Cats were a good bluesy group, more acceptable than the Rolling Stones who were always the arch villains of rock, and throughout that first winter in the States they moved with the persistent force of a blizzard. That was Porter Lee’s plan for them, and it worked. The hits they had had before coming to the States were reissued and all entered the charts again, and by mid-April they had four numbers in the Top Forty.