Remember when long-haired British rockers made teenage girls swoon — and parents go nuts? “Britmania” revisits the British Invasion of the 1960s in movies (“A Hard Day’s Night,” “Hold On!”), TV (“Ed Sullivan,” “Magical Mystery Tour”), collectibles (toys, model kits), comics (when British pop stars met superheroes) and, of course, music. “Britmania” features interviews with members of the Beatles, the Rolling Stones, The Who, the Kinks, Herman’s Hermits, the Yardbirds, the Animals and others. It’ll make you go, “Yeah! Yeah! Yeah!”
ISBN-13: 978-1-60549-115-8 ISBN-10: 1-60549-115-2 54395
9 781605 491158
TwoMorrows Publishing Raleigh, North Carolina ISBN-13: 978-1-60549-115-8 $43.95 in the U.S.
All characters & properties shown are TM & © their respective owners as indicated within. PRINTED IN CHINA
It’s a gas, gas, gas!
The British Invasion of the Sixties in Pop Culture COME ON
THE BANDS
Introduction 4 Overview 8 Timeline 10 American influences 12
The Rolling Stones 34 The Dave Clark Five 44 Gerry and the Pacemakers 45 The Who 46 The Kinks 54 The Yardbirds 58 The Spencer Davis Group 62 The Blues Breakers 63 The Zombies 64 The Animals 65 The Hollies 66
ORIGINS
Liverpool to Hamburg 14 ‘My Bonnie’ 20 Tony Sheridan 21 Pete Best 23
TELEVISION
Living room rock 88 The animated ‘Beatles’ 90 Kiddie shows 92 Sitcom stars 93 ‘Magical Mystery Tour’ 94 ‘Rock and Roll Circus’ 95 British TV imports 96 Brits on American TV 97 David McCallum 98
MAGAZINES
THE INVASION The Small Faces 68 The Moody Blues 69 Herman’s Hermits 70 Pink Floyd 76 Hitmakers 78 The cusp of history 81
Mainstream magazines 100 Overseas fan magazines 102 American fan magazines 106 The fashion scene 110
SOLOS & DUOS Across the universe 24 ‘Meet the Beatles!’ 26 Ringo Starr 30 The floodgates open 33
Singular sensations 82 Petula Clark 83 Chad and Jeremy 84 Peter and Gordon 86
Insets: Quarrymen and newsreel image © current copyright holders; Rolling Stones publicity photo; Beatles cartoon © King Features Syndicate; Rave magazine cover detail © George Newnes Ltd.
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HUMOR
MOVIES A lens on the phenom 152 ‘A Hard Day’s Night’ 154 ‘Help!’ 157 ‘Ferry Cross the Mersey’ 158 ‘Having a Wild Weekend’ 159 ‘Hold On!’ 160 ‘Mrs. Brown’ 161 ‘The Ghost Goes Gear’ 162
Rock and droll 112 Mad about the boys 114 Sick, Help! and Cracked 117
COMIC BOOKS Written & designed by: Mark Voger Publisher: John Morrow Proofreader: Scott Peters
New kind of comic hero 120 ‘Official’ Beatles comics 122 Romance comics 124 In the Archie Universe 126 In the DC Universe 128 In the Marvel Universe 133
COLLECTIBLES
‘Blow-Up’ 163 ‘Yellow Submarine’ 164 ‘Sympathy for the Devil’ 165 ‘Let It Be’ 166 ‘Gimme Shelter’ 167 Pop stars as pop stars 168 More British genres 169
HERE, THERE Shea Stadium 170 Beatles vs. the Stones 171 Swinging London 172 Grooviness seeps in 174 ‘Paul is dead’ 175
AFTERMATH
Musical merch 136 Band-emblazoned buttons 139 Ditty-playing dolls 140 Edible ephemera 146 Model kit krazy 148 Print mint 150
And in the end 176 George Harrison, solo artist 178 Paul McCartney and Wings 179 ‘Exile on Main St.’ 180 Dec. 8, 1980 181 Gone before their time 185 A long road (literally) 186
LET IT BE Epilogue 188 Acknowledgments 190 Index 191
Front cover: Modeling With Millie #54 cover boy by Ogden Whitney and John Romita (1967) © Marvel Comics Inc.; Rolling Stones button and Herman’s Hermits ad © current copyright holders; “Downtown” album cover (1965) © Warner Bros. Records; John Lennon mask © SELTAEB & © Ben Cooper, courtesy Heritage Auctions; Dave Clark doll © Remco, photo by Michael DiMaria Frontispiece: “Both Sides of Herman’s Hermits” (1966) cover by Frank Frazetta © MGM Records Back cover: Model kit art by Bill Campbell (1965) © Revell; “Hold On!” poster detail (1965) © MGM; Ringo button © current copyright holder; “The Beatles” cartoon (1965) © King Features Syndicate; “Ferry Cross the Mersey” poster detail (1964) © United Artists; Paul McCartney doll (1964) © SELTAEB & © Remco; Hofner bass from 1963 publicity photo; Summer Love #46 cover detail (1965) © Charlton Comics Group
For Bobbi and Mary, fighting the good fight “Britmania: The British Invasion of the Sixties in Pop Culture” © 2022 Mark Voger ISBN-13: 978-1-60549-115-8 First printing, October 2022 Printed in China All rights reserved under international copyright conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from Mark Voger, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review. Address inquiries to Mark Voger c/o: TwoMorrows Publishing. Photos credited to Kathy Voglesong © the estate of Kathy Voglesong
Published by: TwoMorrows Publishing 10407 Bedfordtown Drive Raleigh, North Carolina 27614
Insets: Mad’s “Blecch” Ringo © Warner Bros.; Millie the Model #41 cover detail © Marvel Comics; George Harrison doll © SELTAEB and © Remco; “A Hard Day’s Night” © United Artists
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COME ON
Introduction
Not many 5-year-olds were aware of the Beatles in early 1964. I was no exception. “The Flintstones” were the only rockers I knew. So the Beatles’ historic first appearance on “The Ed Sullivan Show” on Feb. 9, 1964, would have been something I learned about later in life — and thought, “Gee, I wish I had seen that” — if not for a moment of real, live Beatlemania that magically transpired in my family’s living room. It was a cold Sunday evening in Woodcrest, a largely Jewish, largely middle-class neighborhood in Camden County in South Jersey. (We were the rare Irish-Catholic household.) I was in my pajamas, most likely watching “Walt Disney’s Wonderful World of Color” on our black-and-white TV set, when my mother received a frantic call from our family babysitter, Debbie, who lived in the house directly behind ours. Debbie pleaded with my mom to allow her and two friends to come over to watch “The Ed Sullivan Show.” (The way I remembered it, Debbie’s family’s television had suddenly gone on the blink, just as she and her girlfriends were settled in to experience the Fab Four.) As Debbie’s tone of voice made this sound like a matter of life and death, my mom immediately agreed. So there I was in my pajamas in my living room watching three girls screaming — I mean screaming — at the television! I had no clue what was going on. But I am very grateful it happened that way, because I witnessed the dawn of Beatlemania with my own 5-year-old eyes in my own living room. Forty years or so later, I attended the funeral service for Mr. McDermott, Debbie’s father. I reminded Debbie of that night long ago when her family’s TV set went on the fritz, but Debbie corrected me. The television was fine, she said, but her father — a dedicated and unapologetic sports fan — wasn’t about to change the channel in the middle of a game he was watching. If he had, I would have surely finished watching “Walt Disney’s Wonderful World of Color” instead of witnessing a live broadcast of the Beatles’ first-ever performance in America. So to you, Mr. McDermott, I say: Thanks a million. OVERNIGHT, THE BEATLES WERE ON EVERYONE’S lips. Broadcasters, newspaper columnists, comedians and sometimes even clergy all chimed in. The response was unanimously condescending — that is, unless a given commentator was 24 or younger. But in those days, print and broadcast media were (surprise!) very much an older White males’ club. I recollect that in the Feb. 10, 1964, edition of The Philadelphia Bulletin — this was the day after the “Sullivan” appearance — a staff columnist ended his piece with the following (and I paraphrase): “I will stick my neck out and predict that in 10 years or so, we’ll be asking, ‘Whatever became of the Beatles?’ ” I wish I still had that clipping so I could name (shame?) the offender.
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The album that kept us kiddies up at night. © Capitol Records I did, however, come across a clipping from the front page of the same edition of The Bulletin, as well as the “jump” page. In a United Press International (UPI) wire story titled “Beatles Send Teen-Agers Into Ecstasy,” it is reported: “The four are John Lennon, 23, the so-called ‘Sexy Beatle,’ George Harrison, 21, the ‘Quiet Beatle,’ Paul McCartney, 21, the ‘Bouncy Beatle,’ and Ringo Starr, 23, the ‘Beatle Beatle.’ ” (Whatever that means.) Accompanying the UPI article was a staff report titled “British Quartet A Real Menace, Barbers Assert.” The uncredited writer reported that John J. Monachelli, then president of the Pennsylvania League of Master Barbers, “wasn’t even sure the Beatles — with their collar-length hair in the back and eyebrowlength bangs — should have been let into the country without being sprayed first. ‘You know,’ he said. ‘Like they do to sheep.’ ” This Beatle-bashing from the older generation was not limited to the media. It was happening everywhere, and my neck of the woods was no exception. Local adults in Woodcrest scoffed at the Beatles. But in telling ways, the grownups would acknowledge, albeit grudgingly, the group’s appeal. Everyone admitted the Beatles were “cute.” Some admitted they were funny. Some even admitted that their songs were (gasp!) catchy.
MY FOLKS USED TO THROW BOOZY parties on a Saturday night. My sister, brother and I have deeply ingrained memories of lying in bed at night trying to fall asleep, while downstairs, a noisy party raged. This drunken thrum was the soundtrack of our childhood. As the invited crowd grew louder and laughier, the turntable kept pace. (Two records I remember my father playing are “Java” by Al Hirt and “Lester Lanin Goes to College,” just to clue you in on the level of hipness here.) At some point around 1965 or so, when I was in the first grade, we kiddies heard something mighty strange coming up through the floorboards during one of my folks’ boozy parties. Somebody had thrown on a Beatles album. What? How? It was an entire album side of Beatles, one song after another. The reaction of the well-oiled crowd was, at first, uproarious laughter. (I’m guessing Mr. Jacobs jumped up on a table and played air guitar, in mockery of the Fab Four.) But with each passing song, a more sincere response coalesced. Against all logic, the adults were beginning to have straight-up fun with the music. They were dancing. We could tell. Few sounds are more distinct than stout ladies in overtaxed heels stomping on a linoleum tiled floor. From that evening on, Beatles music became an entrenched part of the ritual during the boozy parties my parents threw. Late into a given night, when everyone was good and drunk, the needle was dropped on the Beatles album ... and the crowd went nuts. Speaking of Mr. Jacobs, he mocked the Beatles in another memorable way. Back during the first flush of pervasive Beatlemania, fake hairpieces called “Beatle wigs” were marketed. (Ed Sullivan famously posed for photographers wearing one.) Mr. Jacobs purchased such a wig. He was kind of a squat guy, and kind of a joker. He put on a suit and the wig and, strumming a toy guitar, made like the Beatles as Mrs. Jacobs filmed him. The Jacobses brought over their little 8mm masterpiece to show on our projector. Problem was, the movie was four minutes long, with no other gags or props or any sort of “finish” — just four minutes of Mr. Jacobs acting like the Beatles. It was hilarious for the first 30 seconds. I EVENTUALLY SPOTTED THAT BEATLES album in my parents’ record collection. It was “Something New,” a 1965 compilation, as opposed to a proper album of all new material. (When the question “What’s your favorite Beatles album?” comes up, the answer is typically “Meet the Beatles!” or “Rubber Soul” or “Sgt. Pepper.” No one ever says, “I can’t get enough of ‘Something New.’ ”) “Something New” closes with “Komm, Gib Mir Deine Hand,” the German-language version of “I Wanna Hold Your Hand.” (Give it a listen — it’s positively joyful, not to mention culturebridging.) To this day, when I hear it, I’m back in pajamas in the top bunk, wondering what the hell’s going on. A lifetime later, I asked my mother why, why, why there was a Beatles album in their collection. She explained that one Saturday night, my parents had invited to their party a younger couple who were new to the neighborhood. These two poor, unsuspecting
Breaking news from the front page of the Feb. 10, 1964, edition of The Philadelphia Bulletin. © The Philadelphia Bulletin young’uns materialized, bringing along their copy of “Something New” (presumably to spice things up for the oldsters), but forgot it upon exiting the party. This couple, it turns out, never again attended one of my folks’ boozy parties — it wasn’t their generation, after all — nor did they even return to reclaim the album. The result: They may have lost a Beatles album, but they made Woodcrest a lot more hip.
5
ORIGINS
Liverpool to Hamburg Does it need to be said? The Beatles were born at the moment John Lennon and Paul McCartney first laid eyes on one another. This occurred on July 6, 1957, a Saturday, at an event put on by St. Peter’s Church in Liverpool. From this humble first encounter, the Beatles saga would take many twists and turns: personnel shifts, band name changes, poverty, petty theft, encounters with strippers, “uppers”-fueled marathons, jail time, deportations, death, a lot of laughs and, of course, a lot of great music. It all had to happen before the world would be conquered by, all together now, “four lads from Liverpool.” Lennon (born 1940 in Liverpool) was the leader of the Quarrymen, a skiffle group that performed at St. Peter’s social that fateful day. Formed the previous year as the Black Jacks — even in this embryonic stage, name changes happened — the Quarrymen were made up of school chums from Lennon’s alma mater, Quarry Bank High School for Boys. McCartney (born 1942 in Liverpool) grew up in a musical family. His father was a trumpeter; there was a piano in the house. On the recommendation of a mutual friend, McCartney saw the Quarrymen. He had musical ambitions of his own. Lennon recalled that the Quarrymen did Gene Vincent’s “Be-Bop-a-Lula” on that day. McCartney recalled them doing the Del-Vikings’ doo-wop hit “Come Go With Me” (and goofing up the lyrics). The boys struck up a conversation about (what else?) rock ’n’ roll. Lennon was impressed that McCartney could sing and play Eddie Cochran’s “Twenty Flight Rock.” Not long after that initial meeting, he invited McCartney to join the Quarrymen.
John Lennon, then 16, fronting the Quarrymen in Liverpool on July 6, 1957. © Current copyright holder
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The next February, McCartney recommended a school chum of his, George Harrison (born 1943 in Liverpool). McCartney pointed to Harrison’s ability to play Bill Justis’ instrumental “Raunchy” note-for-note. Harrison demonstrated same, and Lennon invited him to join also. Just like that, three-quarters of the Beatles were in place. THE FIRST-EVER JOB THAT THE BEATLES’ first-ever manager hired them for wasn’t exactly a path to superstardom. Lancashire native Allan Williams (1930-2016) was a promoter and cafe proprietor in Liverpool who was instrumental in bringing the Beatles to Hamburg: He booked them, drove them there in his van, and fed them along the way. This became the make-or-break period that made the Beatles. “At first I didn’t know they had a group,” Williams told me in 2003. “I had a coffee bar, the Jacaranda, which was situated, oh, about 100 yards from the unemployment exchange. And all the groups didn’t like working, because it interfered with their rehearsing. The groups would come to the Jacaranda after they received their ‘dole’ money (unemployment benefit). It was known as ‘rockin’ dole’ in those days,” Williams laughed. “I used to let them rehearse in the basement, because the basement wasn’t used until night.” This is where the Beatles, which then included Lennon’s friend Stuart Sutcliffe (born 1940 in Edinburgh) came in. Recalled Williams: “Unknown to me, the Beatles — who I just knew from the art school, which was also about five minutes away — they used to miss their lectures and hang around the Jacaranda, listening to the groups like Gerry and the Pacemakers, the Big Three and like that, all big names in Liverpool in those days. Well, I had a problem with the graffiti, you know, in the ladies’ toilet (restroom) upstairs.
Lennon, George Harrison, Paul McCartney and Pete Best in an iconic 1962 promo card for the Cavern Club in Liverpool. The boys were still wearing the black leather that marked their Hamburg days, but not for much longer. Publicity photo “I had to share the toilets in the daytime with a little sweet shop. These old ladies were complaining about the obscene graffiti which the girls used to write. You can guess what they wrote. “Stuart Sutcliffe — you know, the first Beatle — and John Lennon were from the art school. I just had them down as what we called ‘coffee bar layabouts.’ They were always bumming free coffees and toast from the girls. And then knowing these lads were from the art school, I said, ‘Do you fancy redecorating the ladies’ toilet for a weekend? Because I’ve got complaints about the graffiti.’ And so the first contact, the first money I ever paid them, was painting the ladies toilet! I preferred the graffiti to the mess they made of it. They must’ve thought they were budding Picassos.” WILLIAMS, STILL UNAWARE THAT LENNON AND Sutcliffe were in a group, put on a concert of Liverpool bands at a boxing stadium in May 1960. The multi-act show was attended by Larry Parnes, an influential London-based promoter. “After the show,” Williams said, “we all went back to the Jacaranda for coffee and that. And Larry Parnes was so impressed with the Liverpool groups. The Beatles were in the audience. And they were listening to the conversation between Larry Parnes and me. And Larry Parnes wanted me to send my Liverpool groups to Scotland to back some of his rock ’n’ roll stable, like Johnny Gentle and a fellow called Duffy Power. “When I went in next day, John Lennon approached me and
said, ‘Hey, Al, when are you gonna do something for us, like?’ I said, ‘Well, there’s no more painting to be done here.’ And he said, ‘No. We’ve got a group.’ I said, ‘Well, I didn’t know that. Where do you play in the area?’ He said, ‘Oh, we play in the art college every Saturday night. Would you manage us?’ ” Lennon told Williams that his band was called the Beatles. (Sutcliffe invented the name, which was inspired by the Crickets. As for the B-E-A-T spelling: Well, the boys were a “beat group.”) Continued Williams: “I said, ‘A very strange name, that, isn’t it?’ Because it was always: Cliff Richard and the Shadows; Cliff Bennett and the Rebel Rousers; Tommy Steele and the Shadows. The groups were just backing groups to a singer, as it were. “I didn’t even audition (the Beatles). I just thought: These are pleasant lads. It’ll cost me nothing to give ’em a helping hand.” But the Beatles needed a drummer. Williams asked Brian Casser of the Big Three if he knew anyone, and Casser met with the group. Recalled Williams: “Cass said, ‘What’s the name of the group, lads?’ And John said, ‘The Beatles.’ ‘Oh,’ he said, ‘that’s f***ing stupid. You’ll never get anywhere with a name like that. Who’s the leader of the group?’ And John said, ‘I am.’ And Cass said, ‘Well, how about Long John Silver and the Beatles?’ “They didn’t like the name. But because he (Casser) was more influential on the Liverpool scene then, they went out and called themselves the Silver Beetles. But they soon got rid of the name. I think they only did, maybe, 25 gigs as the Silver Beetles.”
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Ringo Starr
“I was in the greatest show on Earth — for what it was worth,” goes a lyric written by John Lennon and sung by Ringo Starr. The song is “I am the Greatest” (from the 1973 album “Ringo”), in which Starr reprises his Billy Shears character from the Beatles’ 1967 masterpiece, “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band.” Starr was one quarter of the Beatles, arguably the most influential band in rock, if not music itself. I interviewed the drummer by telephone in 2001 and 2008. He also answered my questions during press conferences held in New York City in 1999, 2000 and 2003. Q: In the book “The Beatles Anthology” (2000), you said the Beatles were “just a group of scruffs” when you first saw them. STARR: Even though I said that in the book, they were the band that I would go and watch. You know, I still loved them as a band, but we were the big shots, Rory Storm and the Hurricanes. It was in Liverpool, and they were rehearsin’ in the back of a coffee bar (the Jacaranda), and we were off to go to Butlin’s (a resort played by the Hurricanes) to be professionals. Q: John asked you to shave your beard and get a haircut when you joined. Were you insulted? STARR: No. Because they all had this — now, it’s called the “Beatle cut,” of course, which a guy in Germany (Jürgen Vollmer) did for them. That was just one of John’s lines, you know. I mean, nothing would have happened if I’d have kept the beard. I would still be in the band (laughs). Q: What do you remember about first touching down in America on Feb. 7, 1964? STARR: It’s probably one of the many exciting moments I’ve had in my life. To come to America as a musician from England and get that reception was incredible. And that our records were sellin’ in America by then — because, we had two that didn’t sell (laughs). It’s just still one of the incredible memories for me. I even felt New York while I was on the plane flyin’ into it. I felt it even from the plane — the engines. Q: What did the four of you think might happen once you landed? STARR: Well, we were hopeful, that’s all. You know, George had gone to America on holiday, and kept goin’ into the record stores askin’ for our record, and nobody had heard of us. So we didn’t know what to expect. But as soon as we got off the plane, everything was OK (laughs). And then to get that reception (at the Plaza Hotel) that we knew nothin’ about, it was just brilliant.
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And then, besides the kids outside waitin’, just the thrill of bein’ in the hotel and havin’ all these TVs on and radios — you know, the media madness that was goin’ on. We could actually talk to the radio stations and hear ourselves on radio. We were just from England; it’s a bit different over there. So it was exciting. Q: When you filmed “A Hard Day’s Night,” it’s amazing how four amateur actors communicated so well on the screen. Were you surprised at your own success, the four of you? STARR: No. We were four clowns, really, who play instruments. Q: “A Little Help From My Friends” became like a theme song for you. What do you recall of recording the vocal track (in 1967)? STARR: The only difference of opinion we had: The original line said, “What would you do if I sang out of tune / would you throw a tomato at me?” I said, “I’m not gonna sing that.” Because we’d just been bombarded with all those jelly beans on tour, so I was not going to sing that. Q: For (the 1970 film) “Let It Be,” how did the four of you agree to play on the roof? STARR: Well, it was an idea we had around that time. You know, first of all, we were gonna play in a volcano in Hawaii and places like that. In the end, the Beatles always took the easy route. So we said, “Oh, let’s go on the roof!” Q: In the “Anthology” docuseries, it almost seemed like you, Paul and George were burying the hatchet before our eyes. STARR: Well, what hatchet was that, you know what I’m sayin’? I mean, you know, we’re all together; we’re doin’ that; we’re gettin’ on; and we finished filming; and we all went home. Q: Have you and Paul grown closer since George’s (2001) death? STARR: We’re just still old pals, you know? We’re not hangin’ out with each other any more than we did. We’re not phonin’ each other any more often. If we’re in the same city, we’ll hook up. Q: You’ve toured all your life. Do you still get a buzz from it? STARR: The gig, playin’ the show, is the best part for musicians. Gettin’ there is boring. You gotta get on the bus, the plane, the train, whatever it is. If they had a transporter — if it was actually “Star Trek” — it would make life a lot easier.
“We were four clowns, really, who play instruments,” said Ringo Starr, shown in 2003. Photo by Kathy Voglesong
THE BANDS
The Rolling Stones
The wisdom then and now is that the Beatles wore the white hats, and the Stones wore the black hats. This has served the Stones well. In 1963, when David Bowie was 16, he went to see a Little Richard show in England. Opening were the Rolling Stones. “They weren’t very well known,” Bowie told TV host Michael Parkinson in 2002. “There’s about six kids rushed to the front. You know, that was their fan base at the time. Everybody was there for Little Richard. And it was priceless; I’d never seen anything so rebellious in my life. Some guy yells out, ‘Get yer hair cut!’ And Mick (Jagger) says — and I’ll never forget these words — ‘Wot, an’ look like yew?’ “I thought, ‘Oh my god, this is the future of music!’ ” THE STONES FORMED IN LONDON IN 1962. The founding lineup is rock history itself: singer Jagger and guitarist Keith Richards (both born 1943 in Darford); guitarist Brian Jones (1942-1969, born in Cheltenham); bassist Bill Wyman (born 1936 in Lewisham); and drummer Charlie Watts (1941-2021, born in London). From 1964 through ’69, the group scored 18 Top 40 hits, including the #1s “Satisfaction,” “Get Off of My Cloud,” “Paint It Black,” “Ruby Tuesday” and “Honky Tonk Women.” The Rolling Stones continued placing singles in the Top 40 through 1989. But chart success was not the point. Considering their well-reported misadventures (drug busts, affairs, infighting) and the sharp lyrical themes of their music (“I was raised by a toothless, bearded hag” somehow springs to mind), the Stones were as much a lifestyle as a band. Most significant is the group’s track record as a live act. For more than a half-century, the Rolling Stones filled stadiums.
Rolling Stones singer Mick Jagger in 1966 with a spiffy jacket and an up-to-the-minute microphone. 34
MICHAEL PHILIP JAGGER, ACCOUNTANT: THAT seemed to be the path of the London School of Economics student. But Jagger loved to sing, and voraciously collected and listened to American blues and pop. “Eventually, as you do, I gravitated towards a number of singers who were really quite good, like Buddy Holly, Eddie Cochran, Elvis Presley and Chuck Berry,” Jagger recalled in the Stones’ 2002 book, “According to the Rolling Stones.” He remembered seeing Berry in the 1959 concert film “Jazz on a Summer’s Day.” The first album he ever bought was “Muddy Waters at Newport.” Richards recalled that Jagger had that album under his arm during the historic meet-up that led to their musical partnership, at the Dartford train station on Oct. 17, 1961. The two began listening to records together, and decided to try playing some music at the home of a mutual friend, Dick Taylor (later of Pretty Things). They started seeing bands in clubs, and first saw Jones (who then called himself “Elmo Lewis”) playing at the Ealing Jazz Club. Two more players in the pre-Stones era were Ian Stewart, a pianist with a flair for boogie-woogie, and drummer Tony Chapman. AS JONES, JAGGER AND RICHARDS got serious about music, they pooled their worldly possessions in a Chelsea apartment, affectionately remembered by Richards as “living skint and nasty in the peeling refuse bin of Edith Grove.” Two players (who were themselves destined for rock stardom) caught the early Stones at a place called the Crawdaddy Club. “We used to go and watch the Rolling Stones play near where we lived in Richmond,” Yardbirds drummer Jim McCarty told me in 2003. “We saw the Stones, and then all of a sudden we heard this R&B music that we’d never really heard before. You know, we’d only heard it, really, through the Beatles or the Stones.
Fresh-faced kids, from left: Charlie Watts, Bill Wyman, Mick Jagger, Brian Jones and Keith Richards. Colorized publicity photo “Then we formed a band through friends from school and from art school. We all combined. We actually took over from the Rolling Stones when they left their residency at the Crawdaddy. When they started having hits, they went on tour around the country, and we got their residency. So we took up where they left off.” Small Faces keyboardist Ian McLagan told me in 2013: “Someone was talking about this blues band playing a few miles from where I lived. It turned out to be the Rolling Stones. At that time, they were a blues cover band. They were great! I went to see them every Sunday. I followed them around. I helped with their gear. I talked to their agent and booked them for an art school, with my band to open. Their agent and I became good friends. “When the Stones came back from their first American tour, they put my band on the bill. Opening for the Stones! By then, they were on the rise. They weren’t a blues cover band anymore.” No, they weren’t, largely thanks to Andrew Loog Oldham who, as Brian Epstein’s employee, once promoted the Beatles. Oldham became the Stones’ manager, crafting the band’s “bad boy” image. “Andrew wanted to make the Rolling Stones the anti-Beatles,” explained Jagger in the 2012 documentary “Crossfire Hurricane.” “So if you’ve got heroes, you’ve got an anti-hero, like in a movie. You’ve got good guys and bad guys. It wasn’t just an accident. He thought the Rolling Stones would suit that image. It’s good to have an actor who’ll play the part.”
ROCK ’N’ ROLL MUSIC, THE VERY FOUNDATION OF the Rolling Stones, began in America. A foundation of another kind was introduced to the band in the United States: face powder. As Jay and the Americans singer Kenny Vance told me in 2008: “We wound up going out to California to be on ‘Shindig!’ and ‘Hullabaloo.’ They would put makeup on you. And what happened was, we kind of got used to wearing the makeup. Every time we had a show, we would put the makeup on.” Then came a 1964 gig which proved to be historic. “(DJ) Murray the K hires us to be the opening act for the first time the Rolling Stones play at Carnegie Hall,” Vance said. “So we’re all up in the dressing room. It’s one big room — us and the Stones. We’re like these ‘squares,’ you know, from Brooklyn. “I’m putting on makeup. So Mick Jagger and Brian Jones come over to me and say, you know, with an English accent, ‘What is that, mate?’ And I said, ‘Oh, it’s makeup.’ So they took the makeup sponge and they start to put makeup on themselves! “It was out of context, you know what I’m saying? These guys were wearing sweatshirts, and we were all dressed with alpaca sweaters and tight pants and doing, you know, choreography,” Vance added with a laugh. “It cracks me up to think: That was the first time the Rolling Stones ever saw a guy putting on makeup.” It wasn’t the last time Jagger wore makeup, Vance was assured. “That’s for sure,” came the singer’s reply.
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The Who
From a working-class area called Shepherd’s Bush emerged a band that became one of rock’s most enduring and influential.
As musicians, each member of the Who was unique and inimitable: singer Roger Daltrey (born 1944), guitarist Pete Townshend (born 1945), bassist John Entwistle (1944-2002) and drummer Keith Moon (1946-1978), all London boys. When performing live, Townshend, Entwistle and Moon would go off on individual flights of fancy, but they were always playing the same song. In the late 1950s, Daltrey, Townshend and Entwistle were each attending Acton County Grammar School, a boys’ school. “I suppose our town was not very dissimilar to, like, the Bronx,” Daltrey said of Shepherd’s Bush when we spoke in 1998. “We were not financially wealthy, but we were incredibly rich.” Like many British musicians of his generation, Townshend came from a musical family. His dad, Clifford, recorded as “Cliff Townsend (alternate spelling intended) and His Singing Saxophone.” Daltrey formed a skiffle group, the Detours, with a guitar he made in a sheet metal factory at which he worked. “I started making my own guitar when I was 11 to 12 years old,” Daltrey said. “By the time I was 12, 13 years old, we were playing what was the equivalent of your early American folk songs, which were brought to us by a guy called Lonnie Donegan.”
BY 1962, TOWNSHEND AND ENTWISTLE WERE ALSO in the Detours. Daltrey recalled that the band was playing the Oldfield Hotel in Greenford when they were approached by Moon, who was wearing orange hair due to a peroxide mishap. (He was a huge Beach Boys fan.) Moon told Daltrey: “I hear you’re looking for a drummer, and I’m much better than the one you’ve got.” “The first time I met Keith,” Entwistle told me in 1999, “he was like a little gingerbread man. He had ginger hair on a brown suit, a brown shirt with brown shoes and one of those fake orange tans.” Moon joined the Detours in April 1964. The clownish “Moonie” completed the equation. His thrashing, unpredictable drumming was the perfect complement to Entwistle’s virtuosity, Townshend’s power chords, and Daltrey’s macho front-man style. “He did kind of blow us away,” Entwistle said. “Actually, the first gig that we did (with Moon) was someone’s wedding, believe it or not. That was the first time he blew us away. Because he actually tied his drums to this pillar on the side of the stage, so he wouldn’t fall over when he played the solo! And the drums were, like, heaving out, sort of, at about 45 degrees, held together by this big reel of rope.” MEANWHILE, TWO ASPIRING FILMMAKERS, CHRIS Stamp and Kit Lambert, were on the lookout for a band to make a film about. By then, the Detours had renamed themselves the High Numbers, and were identifying as a “mod” band. In those days, English youths often identified as being either a “mod” (fashion conscious) or a “rocker” (street tough). Stamp and Lambert caught a High Numbers show and decided to manage the group. The band underwent another name change — “the Who” beat out “the Hair,” thankfully — just as England’s music scene was blowing up in 1963. The Who stumbled onto a publicity hook in 1964, when Townshend smashed his guitar during a gig at the Railway Hotel Harrow & Wealdstone, in Harrow. (As an art student, Townshend saw a presentation by artist Gustav Metzger, founder of the “auto-destructive” art movement. Townshend interpolated Metzger’s concept into his guitar-smashing bit.) This became a calling card for the Who. Another Townshend trademark: his “windmill”-style guitar strumming technique. “We were one of a million bands,” Daltrey said. “How do we get noticed? It was just one of those lucky things that happened. A lucky break, to coin a phrase, which got us noticed.” The band’s debut single, “I Can’t Explain” (#8 in the U.K.), was helped immensely by the English TV show “Ready Steady Go!” but failed to crack the Top 40 in the United States.
There was only one Who. From left: Keith Moon, Pete Townshend, Roger Daltrey and John Entwistle. Colorized publicity photo TOWNSHEND ADMITTED THAT “I CAN’T EXPLAIN” was inspired by the Kinks’ “You Really Got Me” in its use of power chords. This was no surprise to Kinks guitarist Dave Davies. “The Who played with us,” Davies told me in 1998. “They opened for us a few times. That was back when they were known as the High Numbers. Because they sort of hit it big a bit later — a year or two later — than we did. So they came on our heels, as it were. They were big Kinks fans. You could tell they were watching everything that we did.” Later in 1965, the Who recorded its debut album, “My Generation” (released in America the following year as “The Who Sings My Generation”). The band’s mastery of their instruments was evident from the first, in this collection of 12 pop-rock gems. Look no further than Entwistle’s iconic bass solo on the title track. “We did the album in two afternoons, I think it was,” Daltrey recalled. “It would have been about eight hours of recording.
“It was all virtually live, really. But in my opinion, for what it’s worth, any album that goes on longer than six weeks is probably going to end up a disaster,” Daltrey added with a laugh. “Where we were concerned, that’s certainly been the truth.” Still, it took until 1967 for the Who to finally pierce the Top 40 in America — even if “hits” were not what this band was about. Between 1967 and ’69, the boys charted with “Happy Jack” (#24), “I Can See for Miles” (#9), “Call Me Lightning” (#40), “Magic Bus” (#25), “Pinball Wizard” (#19) and “I’m Free” (#37). 1967 proved to be a time warp-y year for the Who. In June, the band played a blistering set at the Monterey Pop Festival, which ended with Townshend sacrificing a Stratocaster, naturally. (Next up was Jimi Hendrix, who set his Strat on fire in what the Who perceived as an act of artistic infringement.) The following month, the Who embarked on an America tour as the opening act for ... Herman’s Hermits?
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’ It s Illya-mania! He didn’t sing, but David McCallum was chased by screaming girls.
“I once took refuge in a ladies’ toilet (restroom) on the campus of Louisiana State University,” the Glasgow native (born 1933) told me in 1995. “The police barred the door so that nobody would get in. And they all came in through the windows! I was trying to get out, but the police wouldn’t let me out. I got pretty badly torn about. I wasn’t like being kissed. It felt like you were being killed.” In his blond, Beatle-esque haircut and black turtleneck, McCallum often stole the show from the more conventionally heroic Robert Vaughn on TV’s “The Man From U.N.C.L.E.” (196468). As quiet Russian agent Illya Kuryakin, McCallum lent the espionage thriller (some call it a spoof) a sensitivity uncommon to the era’s preferred concept of the superspy as a stop-at-nothing stud. Illya was deep, man.
AN UNWITTING TEEN IDOL, McCallum found himself on the cover of teen magazines alongside fellow Brits like the Beatles and Herman’s Hermits. I recalled an article in one such mag in which McCallum was mobbed by girls, one of whom asked his then-wife, Jill Ireland, for permission to kiss him. When she said yes, a kissing frenzy followed. “I think that’s apocryphal,” he said with a laugh. “That sounds like the MGM publicity department. As you know, every publicity department manipulates those occasions to the hilt. “Things like that did happen, yes. Absolute insanity at that time. But those scenes were manageable most of the time.” During the height of his “U.N.C.L.E.” fame, McCallum released four instrumental albums on Capitol Records such as “Music: A Part of Me,” and “Music: A Bit More of Me.” David McCallum as (Factoid: In 2009, Dr. Dre and Snoop Dogg rapped over a Illya Kuryakin amid sample from McCallum’s Illya collectibles. track “The Edge.”) © Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer
IN 1965, McCALLUM FOUND HIMSELF HOSTING “Hullaballoo” in character as Illya. He even “rapped” a song (sample lyric: “That’s why they call me Agent Double-O-Soul, baby!”) “I got to meet the Animals; they were doing ‘We’ve Gotta Get Out of This Place if it’s the Last Thing We Ever Do’ (sic),” he said of the experience. “And I did, during that time, Andy Williams’ show, Dean Martin’s, Carol Channing, all those shows and specials. To meet them and to work with people like Judy Garland, Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass, shaking hands with Willie Mays and Hank Aaron — I’ve always been the ultimate fan of those people. I mean, the whole of my life has been such a pleasure, in terms of meeting people.” Was it weird for McCallum to see his likeness on, for instance, the Illya doll? Said the actor: “It wasn’t until we did ‘Return of the Man From U.N.C.L.E.’ in 1983 that I was on Melrose Place going past one of those bric-a-brac shops, and I saw one in the window. It said ‘The Man From U.N.C.L.E.’ all over it, and it was this sort of blond creature in a black turtleneck. I figured, ‘That’s probably me.’ I just went in and bought it. I had to, right?”
MOVIES
Pointing a lens at the phenom YOU’VE GOTTA HAND IT TO FRANKIE AVALON AND Annette Funicello. “A Hard Day’s Night” opened on July 7, 1964. Only 15 days later came “Bikini Beach,” a Frankie-and-Annette “beach party” movie that skewered the Beatles. That’s quick work. Besides his usual role as Funicello’s fella, Avalon dons a wig, glasses and double-neck guitar as British pop star Potato Bug. (Get it? Another insect?) Avalon sometimes plays both characters at once in split-screen. As Potato Bug, he adopts a Terry-Thomas cadence, saying things that the Beatles never did (“cheerio,” “jolly good”). When Potato Bug’s singing makes the beach girls scream, the “real” Avalon grouses: “They’ve all gone ‘Beatle’ over a Potato Bug!” He barks at Funicello: “Don’t tell me you’ve flipped over that crumpet eater?” The jokes keep coming. The surf-rocking Pyramids take the stage in Beatle wigs, which are removed to reveal bald heads. When one oldster who spots Potato Bug exclaims “What is that?,” another replies, “England’s revenge for the Boston Tea Party.” “Bikini Beach” isn’t the only beach movie to jump on the bandwagon. Quips an old-timer in “Girls on the Beach” (1965): “The Crickets! The Beatles! The Cockroaches! What’ll they think up next?” The plot has three beach bums pretending to know the Beatles in order to impress some sorority girls who want to book the band for a fundraiser. The guys promise to get Ringo Starr on the phone. Their ringleader, Duke (Martin West), imitates Ringo by saying “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” “jolly well” and “pip pip.” (This nonsense eats up 8 minutes and 25 seconds!) Fans saw the Animals and the Dave Clark Five in “Get Yourself a College Girl” (1964); Freddie and the Dreamers in “Every Day’s a Holiday” (1964) and “Out of Sight” (1966); the Hollies, the Merseybeats, Lulu and the Animals in “Go-Go Big Beat” (1965); and the Animals in yet another beach flick, “It’s a Bikini World” (1967). And give the Zombies props for appearing in “Bunny Lake is Missing” (1965), a Laurence Olivier drama directed by Otto Preminger. Ooh ... classy.
MUSICIANS TRIED THEIR HANDS AT ACTING: PAUL Jones in “Privilege” (1967), John Lennon in “How I Won the War” (1967), Ringo Starr in “Candy” (1968) and “The Magic Christian” (1969), Mick Jagger in “Performance” (1970). The Yardbirds appeared as an alternate-reality version of themselves in “BlowUp” (1966), Michelangelo Antonioni’s thriller set in London. “We were pretty much down at the time,” former Yardbirds guitarist Jeff Beck told me in 1999. “We’d changed managFrankie Avalon ers at that point. Simon as Potato Bug. Napier-Bell took (Get it?) over; he pulled a few strings. By hook or by crook, we were asked to do this ‘Blow-Up’ scene, which was great. Four days of lying around, falling asleep on tables and chairs, waiting to go on and do our number. It was fun. Big movie. Big-bucks movie.” “It was all done over five days,” Yardbirds drummer Jim McCarty told me in 2003. “Tell someone from the film business now and they say, ‘That’s incredible! You spent so long doing that shot!’ “We’d be up in a studio out in Hertfordshire, 30 or 40 miles from London. We’d spend all day doing that bit of music. The set was very odd, because it was an exact copy of a club we used to play in Windsor called the Ricky-Tick. You walked onto the set, and it was like walking into the club.”
© American International Pictures
WHY DID “STROLL ON,” THE SONG THE Yardbirds played in “Blow-Up,” sound so much like Tiny Bradshaw’s “Train Kept A-Rollin’ ”? “When we got the gig, we decided to go and write some songs, one of which we’d play in the film,” McCarty recalled. “Antonioni didn’t like any of those. He said he’d rather hear ‘Train Kept A-Rollin’.’ But, you know, for the sake of copyright, we changed the lyrics. But basically, it was that song we played in the film.” The Yardbirds’ sequence culminated in Beck destroying a guitar onstage, Pete Townshend-style — something that wasn’t part of Beck’s act in real life. “Antonioni wanted Jeff to break up the guitar. Obviously, he’d gone to see the Who,” McCarty said with a laugh. “The rumor was that he’d asked the Who to do the film, but they’d turned it down. But he liked that sort of destructive element. He even gave us some acoustic guitars to practice on. It was pretty funny.”
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