Woods
Awakes
Gene
Vincent – 11th Feb 1935 to 12th Oct 1971
I
grew up around music. For as long as it is possible to recall I possessed an
interest, albeit passing, during childhood through to early teen age. Throughout
the 1950s my mother worked at the Tottenham Royal and the names of big bands
that came to play became familiar to me. She also played the piano competently,
possessing a record collection of Sinatra, Nat King Cole and people of that ilk.
Around the mid-Fifties the house piano stool became increasingly occupied by a
ragtime piano player. His ragged but enthusiastic playing could be heard most
evenings of the week when my sister began courting the man who would become her
first husband, Denis Cooper (who penned the leader article on Louis Armstrong in
the August edition). Soon she was being taken to the 100 Club in Oxford Street
where those tender young ears were picking up names like Chris Barber and in
particular a young banjo player called Lonnie Donegan.
‘Rock Island Line’
hit big when I was in the third year of Junior School and about to break up for
the Christmas holiday. The elderly, matronly teacher (Miss Sturgeon if my memory
serves me correctly) allowed each child who chose to volunteer, as an end of
term treat, to stand up in front of the class to sing a song, carol, or whatever
took their fancy. Sweet little girls with screeching, tuneless voices
interpreting ‘Silent Night’ and ‘Away In A Manger’ and the
like. More volunteers? My hand shot up much to the amazement of all. This was
some while before I began to develop the gigantic ego that you have all learnt
to know and love. So out I meekly crept in front of the class, my mate Roger
springing to his feet and joining me at my side. His contribution was to play an
imaginary guitar and go “twang, twang, twang”, the world's first air
guitarist. I first lectured the class of nine and ten year olds that ‘Rock
Island Line’ was performed originally by Leadbelly – blah, blah, blah -
naturally all repeated parrot fashion from what I had learnt from Denis. “This
is the story of the Rock Island Line,” I began hesitantly, both Roger and I
gaining confidence as the song progressed and gaining tempo the wilder we
became, Roger at my side as we jumped around the class room bumping into desks,
shaking our heads and gyrating like maniacs.
For a while I was the hit of the
class, having kids crowd around me in the playground as I related the Lonnie
Donegan songbook - ‘Bring A Little Water Sylvie’, ‘Lost John’,
and so forth. Alas my 15 minutes of fame was soon up. For the remainder of the
decade my passing interest continued, tuning into Radio Luxembourg, watching
‘Six Five Special’ and ‘Oh Boy!’ on the telly without developing any
great passion. That is until the time the man 'Tales From The Woods' is paying
tribute to appeared on early Saturday evening television on the legendary ITV
Rock'n'Roll show ‘Boy Meets Girl’.
Gene Vincent made his first appearance of many on ‘Boy Meets
Girl’ during the legendary Gene Vincent and Eddie Cochran tour that ran from
January through to April 1960. 'Tales From The Woods' contributor of Winkles In
The Mud fame has often related the story of how he was sitting eagerly awaiting
Vincent’s appearance in the company of friends and soon to be local Southend
musicians (e.g. Gary Brooker of ‘Paramounts’ and ‘Procul Harum’ fame).
With me it was somewhat less exotic. Simply my grandmother, sister and yours
truly. Vincent's face suddenly hitting our 17 inch black-and-white screen.
Greasy curls cascading over his forehead, black leather outfit, pasty faced and
crows feet eyes. To me, a barely 14 year old kid, he looked like a million years
old. Me - eyes wide open, jaw dropped, I was spellbound. Oh no, Kats, that
armchair could not contain me, leaping to my feet, yelping and hollering,
falling down on my knees, shaking my head, much to the horror of my grandmother.
An expression of fear spread across her face. “What's the matter with him? Is
he having a fit?”
Big sister just shrugged her
shoulders not sure what to make of it. To say I broke out of my shell overnight
would be an understatement. I literally tore out of it. The quiff was born,
insisted on curlers inserted to create the curls, dressed in black, soon I was
limping to school much to the dismay of the P.E. instructor who saw the school's
potential Middlesex schoolboy champion runner (220 yards) with a newly acquired
gammy leg!
Vincent performed live on Brian
Matthews’ ‘Saturday Club’ along with a brief interview, me hanging on to
every word of his Southern drawl, Dad looking at me with a bemused expression,
glued to the radio. “What the bloody hell is he saying? Can’t even
understand him when he is talking, let alone singing,” before disdainfully
storming out of the living room.
The early months of 1960 saw Gene
Vincent and Eddie Cochran booked for a week-long engagement at the Finsbury Park
Empire. Along with two like-minded mates I excitedly took the bus the few miles
to the famous old variety theatre, which incidentally was nearing the end of its
life (before a year was it was bulldozed to the ground). Also on the bill that
night were Tony Sheridan and Peter Wynne.
Eddie Cochran closed the first
half of the show. Curtains parted, our hero’s back towards the audience. He
swung round, then lifted his guitar, whipping off his shades straight into ‘Something
Else’. The set included ‘Come On Everybody’, ‘Summertime
Blues’ and ‘Hallelujah I Love Her So’ as well as Little Willie
Johns’ ‘Fever’. Can you imagine the effect this had on this 14 year
old? Vincent hit the stage backed up by Marty Wilde’s ‘Wildcats’, with Big
Jim Sullivan on lead guitar. ‘Say Mama’, ‘Rocky Road Blues’,
‘Summertime’, along with ‘Blue Jean Bop’ which I don't recall
him doing too often on live gigs. Obviously ‘Be-Bop-A-Lula’. He also
included Jack Scott’s ‘What In The World’s Come Over You’ which
was in fact in the charts at the time. It’s difficult to relate now, all these
years later, the sheer excitement that I felt as Vincent gave it his all, his
eyes transfixed high above the audience, a vision that that only he could see.
The demented expression, totally lost on stage in a world of his own, slamming
the mike stand on the stage floor, dragging it around like a crutch, falling
down on one knee, kicking his bad leg over the mike stand. The archetypal
Vincent Stage Act.
For the encore of ‘Shake
Rattle And Roll’ and ‘What’d I Say’, Cochran rejoined the
stage, lifting his leg up, guitar held out in front as he hopped on one leg
towards where Vincent was jumping up and down centre-stage. I tell you Kats, I
don't think the stage had been swept since the days when Gypsy Mabel Cable and
the Great Goosetti had played there decades before as they became almost
obliterated by the dust. Awestruck and mesmerised by the events of the evening
on the bus home barely able to speak. That was it. That's what started it all.
40 odd years of gig going followed. (Hopefully another 40 more to come).
On the last night of the tour,
returning in a taxi from a gig in Bristol on route for Heathrow Airport, the
taxi crashed into a lamp-post near Chippenham in Wiltshire. Eddie Cochran died
in hospital a few hours later, Vincent was badly injured. Some would say he
never mentally recovered but Vincent was back within a few months. Jerry Keller
was brought in as a replacement for Eddie Cochran (if you can call it that).
Also in support and obviously much better were Billy Fury, Joe Brown and a black
American G.I. who went by the name of Davy Jones. (I wonder what happened to
him?) I saw the show at the long gone Romford Odeon, the only time I saw him
include ‘Dance In The Street’ in his act.
By the time I saw him next,
either late 61 or early 62 at the East Ham Granada, ‘Sounds Incorporated’
were by far the best British backing outfit he ever had. Vincent was now living
semi-permanently in the UK and would remain so until 1965. This was one of the
wildest Vincent gigs ever. He was positively demonic. In support on this
occasion were Emile Ford and the Checkmates and Rory Blackwell and the
Blackjacks. Next up was Walthamstow Granada with Brenda Lee, ‘The King and
Queen of Rock’ tour as the publicity machine chose to call it.
By the time the black leather
wildcat hit the Majestic Ballroom in Finsbury Park it was a different me. The
greasy forelocks had been shorn to be replaced by a college boy haircut. Peg
slacks, black shirt and leather jacket had all gone. Now I was a Mod boy. Sharp
tonic, mohair suit and Hush puppies. My first really serious girlfriend on my
arm (Anne Clark - any relation Bryan?) And it was much easier to get the chicks
as a Mod than it was being a rocker. My lifelong love affair with the Blues had
begun. To a far lesser extent I was collecting Ska records, as well as
everything I could lay my hands on of my Rock'n'Roll heroes Little Richard,
Jerry Lee Lewis, Carl Perkins, Chuck Berry, Bo Diddley etc.
‘Sounds Incorporated’ had now
gone off to pursue their own career, replaced by what was being billed as the
English Bluecaps which in effect where Chris Wayne’s ‘Echos’. Gene
included ‘Over The Rainbow’ as a tribute to Eddie Cochran. I only saw
him perform that a couple of times.
And so it went on. The
Continental club Edmonton twice. The first occasion… well, I suppose everyone
has a right to make a prat of themselves at least once during their lifetime.
That night was my night. If you want to know ask Ken Major. I ain’t gonna
incriminate myself. In quick succession the Granada Edmonton, and by now his
regular backing band were the ‘Shouts’ who were with him when he played the
Club Noreik in Tottenham during 1964. Despite the shortcomings of the
‘Shouts’ this was truly one of the great Vincent gigs. A stunning version of
Little Richard’s ‘Send Me Some Lovin’. The voice bled every bit of
emotion from the song. He drained it. ‘High Blood Pressure’ included
that night. How often did he do that in his act? ‘I'm Going Home’ along
with the most impassioned ‘Baby Blue’ ever. If you weren't there you
should have been. Not being born? Sorry, that is not a good enough excuse.
It would be several years before
I would get to see Vincent again. By 1965 he had returned to live permanently in
his home country. The following year, 1966, he had an album out on the Challenge
label. A country flavoured affair, which in the humble opinion of this writer
was one of his best efforts. Two singles were pulled from the album. ‘Lonely
Street’ and ‘Bird Doggin’. Little was heard from the man for
the remainder of the Sixties. With just weeks of the decade left he was back in
the UK for a nationwide series of gigs including the London Palladium. If you
were there you cannot have failed to spot me. I was the only one there in kaftan,
beads and purple crushed velvet trousers (oh yes Kats I have always been a
chameleon. Eat your heart out David Bowie). Come 76 I would have been a punk but
at 30 it would have been pushing the boundaries of believability). So this
idealistic hippy took an evening off from changing the world to pay homage to
his hero along with a couple of thousand Teds and rockers. Sitting centre front
of the circle receiving the evil eye from all the Teds around me as I sat stony
faced throughout the first half, while an array of pretty dire Rock'n'Roll
revival outfits took the stage.
“Why has he come if he doesn't
like it?” I heard a drape nearby say. Irritating them all the more as I tapped
my foot through the ‘Nashville Teen's’ set. By far the most professional act
during the first half in truth they should have been backing Vincent and not the
‘Wild Angels’. I even shook my below shoulder length hair around just to
wind them up even more. By the time Vincent finally hit the stage I was both
impatient and over-excited. I leapt out of my seat so high into the air I nearly
lost my balance, almost sending myself head first into the stalls. “Rock it
Gene!” I screamed at the top of my lungs. “He is one of us after all,”
some Ted remarked, the evil eye replaced by a knowing smile.
Along with ‘Say Mama’,
‘Rocky Road Blues’, ‘Wildcat’, ‘Baby Blue’ and naturally ‘Be-Bop-A-Lula’,
we also got an excellent version of Delaney and Bonnie’s ‘Get Yourself
Together’ and a spine tingling version of Hank Williams’ ‘I Heard
The Lonesome Whistle’. Backstage after the gig I finally got to meet my
hero after standing in a long queue for over an hour. The autographed photo
still takes pride of place above my piano at my home in Bromley.
In the early months of 1971 I faithfully made the
trek to the Coronation Hall in Kingston upon Thames. What I saw that fateful
night was indeed a sad reflection of the man that once was. It was impossible to
believe that so much physical deterioration could take place over a period of
less than 18 months. So okay, he always looked far older than he actually was
but on this night he looked many, many years beyond his mere 36. You could see
the pain etched into his eyes with every movement he made. He looked like a man
close to death, as indeed he was. Despite this, the voice was still basically
intact. Backed up by an outfit called the ‘Houserockers’ (no, not Rob and
Wayne). When he sang ‘The Day The World Turned Blue’ from his very
recent 1970 Kama Sutra album, gut feeling told me it was virtually over for the
years of hard living, endless touring, alcohol and painkiller abuse had taken
their toll.
‘How I Love Them Old Songs’,
the Mickey Newbury penned song (which incidentally is one of my favourite
Vincent tracks) was also performed that night. Taken from the same Kama Sutra
album, a Rock’n’Roll road song if ever there was one. Vincent was never
embarrassed to display emotion. He tore the song to pieces like a man who knew
time was running out on him. A few months later in October 1971 he finally ran
out of both road and time.
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