26
THE POOH AND LEW
(Black & White
Rag)
Lew had recovered from yet another
mild heart attack. Besides being overweight, Lew smoked about 200 cigarettes a
day and drank copious amounts of alcohol, from the first thing in the morning
until he finally fell over late at night. Winnie took Lew on a short holiday to
New Caledonia for R&R and we were soon back on the road again when they
returned.
With all the new arrangements
and new material, Winnie’s show was sounding better than ever. Sir Frank
‘Packer’ took care of the sound, while Lew enthusiastically worked the lights
for the best possible effect. As well as the two overhead spots on the piano,
Lew bought a giant follow spotlight. Michael referred to it as the “Sonic
Boomer,” because of its spaceship-like appearance. It was so big that it
wouldn’t fit inside the car, so Gavin strapped it to the roof for a few of our
in-town gigs.
One night, while Gavin and
Michael were driving home from a gig, the Sonic Boomer fell off the roof of the
car and hit a car that was following. Michael and Gavin rescued the hapless
motorist from a ditch on the side of the road.
“What on earth was that thing
that hit me?” exclaimed the dazed driver. “Sorry, mate,” said Gavin, “It was
the Sonic Boomer!”
It wasn’t until a month later
that Michael received a letter from the driver’s insurance company asking him
to please explain what a Sonic Boomer was – and could he please describe one in
detail.
Winnie was a strict Catholic
and a picture of her with the Pope took pride and place in her Narrabeen unit
and when my son Laif had his first birthday, Winnie and
Lew wanted to become his godparents. Lizzie was very embarrassed and explained
that we weren’t Catholics and we would feel a bit silly having only one child
with godparents. Winnie understood, but she still insisted on coming over and
showering him with presents for his birthday on March 16. We were all beginning
to find out what a generous person Winnie really was. Lew’s hard-nosed business
dealings were also a bit of a front, hiding the real Lew from everyone who came
in contact with him.
Lew spent his life protecting
Winnie from the real world, so that she could concentrate on her music and her
image as the Queen of the Keyboard. As far as Lew was concerned Winnie was a
real queen and he expected every one to treat her as such. Winifred Atwell was
a true star from the old school and she was happy to have us bask in her
reflected glory.
Consequently, most people were
in awe of Winnie. Besides being black, she was also a woman and everyone from
fans to promoters, were very nervous when they approached her. Whenever a fan
asked Winnie if she remembered them from one place or another, Winnie would
always deliver her favourite line. “I don’t know. All you white guys look the
same to me.” Winnie would then follow with a big smile and a wink that would
defuse any possible offence taken from her remark.
The Pooh and Lew played a
wonderful game of good-cop, bad-cop. If ever we had trouble with any of the
venues or managers, Lew would play the bad guy and make sure that everything
ran smoothly, while Winnie remained smiling and sweet and never became directly
involved. This was also a game that we could take advantage of when we were
suddenly thrown into a cheap and nasty hotel to save the promoter some money.
Winnie took offence at any form of discrimination and she regarded our little
band as part of her family. Whenever a promoter tried to separate us she would
send Lew off to give the message that the band that plays together, stays
together. And thus the promoter would be forced to upgrade us immediately.
We had a rating system for
hotels that included “Cheap Charlie’s,” “Reasonable Ralph’s” and “Expensive
Errol’s.” Luckily, in our case it was usually the latter. Part of our agreement
with Lew was Jim’s demand that whenever possible we would be given single rooms
and breakfast, as well as a generous living-away allowance.
Problems with accommodation
didn’t arise all that often, but occasionally a country promoter would be
surprised when Winnie actually arrived with a band. “I just booked Winifred
Atwell, we didn’t know she had a band!” said one disgruntled entrepreneur when
we landed at some crappy little airport out in the bush.
Lew was feeling sick after the
plane ride, so the dreaded Zarsoff Brothers took over. Lew had taught us all
well, and these were the amateur promoters that we could have the most fun
with. Our country promoter was hoping to ride with Winnie to the motel, but
there was no car for Sir Frank and the Zarsoffs. He begrudgingly arranged
another van and took us to the venue to set up.
“Winnie is not going to like
this,” said Michael with a convincing worried look. “What‘s wrong?” said the
promoter.
“There’s no carpet in the
dressing room,” continued Michael.
Jim interjected - “The piano
stool is no good either. It’s got to be at least seventeen and a half inches
high!” Then it was my turn. “Have you organised the flowers?” I said. “What
flowers?” said the promoter.
“Well, who’s going to present
the bouquet at the end of the show?” By this time the promoter was looking
somewhat panicked. “I didn’t realise there were so many things to all this show
business stuff,” he said. “Oh, well,” said Michael, “I hope you’ve got some
nice food for the banquet after the show. Winnie loves a good red wine, you
know.” The promoter was horrified. “What banquet?” he asked.
He was then drowned out by Sir
Frank making adjustments to the sound and lights. “Lower the hecka porta pie!”
Michael shouted to Gavin, using one of his favourite lines from a W.C.Fields’
movie that meant absolutely nothing. “Well, I’ll leave you to all this
technical stuff. You’ll have to excuse me … err I have to go and make some
arrangements,” stammered the promoter.
That night, after the show Lew
was surprised to see that a feudic supper had already been arranged. The
promoter was even more surprised when Lew thanked him and casually handed him
the bill. As we drove back to our single rooms at Expensive Errol’s, Winnie
commented, “Well, what a thoughtful man he turned out to be, Lew. The flowers
were wonderful.”
“Yes,” Lew agreed. “And the
red wine was superb.”
The rest of us just sat in the
back seat and said nothing.
WONDERFUL HAT RACK
Winnie’s presence could also
cause nervousness to comperes and the like. One night at North Sydney Leagues Club
the compere confessed to us, “I’ve never ever introduced a star as big as
Winifred Atwell before.” The place was packed out, and by the time I played a
timpani roll for the introduction, the compere was physically shaking as he
held the microphone.
“Ladies and Gentlemen… Tonight
we are in for a real treat. I know Miss Atwell was supposed to be here last
week but … she was feeling a bit off-colour.” Michael let out a huge laugh and
fell off his stool. This made the compere even more nervous. He continued on.
“Well, finally … here she is ladies and gentlemen, the wonderful, wonderful,
wonnerful, MISS WINA-FULL AT-FRELL!”
By this time, Jim and Michael
were laughing so much they couldn’t play. There were just one too many
wonderfuls! We eventually played our Jesus
Christ Superstar chaser, which faded as Winnie sat at the piano and opened
with the florid introduction to IL Mondo
(More).
From that night on, we were
inspired to find a few more names for Winifred Atwell – WHAT A FULL INKWELL,
WANNA FEEL AWFUL, WONDERFUL HAT RACK, and just by coincidence there was a sign
in the club that said: WIN A RED DATSUN. Winnie and Lew were especially bugged
when they saw another ad for the show advertising WINAFORD ATWELL.
With Lew back in good health
again, Wonderful Hatrack and the Zarsoffs hit the road with a vengeance. After
another two weeks in Melbourne, we flew off to Broken Hill in a Fokker
Friendship crammed to the wings with all our gear. Lew’s first priority on
landing anywhere was to find somewhere to have a drink. Consequently, Lew and
the Zarsoffs were kicked out of the ladies lounge at the Broken Hill Musicians
Club because we were ‘not accompanied by a lady’. Not to be deterred we
returned for a drink the next day with Winnie. The mood of the management changed
dramatically when they saw the Pooh. “Excuse me, Miss Atwell. We saw you last
night at the Civic Centre and we would be honoured if you would play a tune on
our piano.” “Not bloody likely,” said Lew, when he saw that it was the same guy
that had asked us to leave the day before. “If she goes in the next room we’ll
no longer be accompanied by a lady.”
We left the “Broken Down
Musicians Club” (Lew’s reference) and spent the next few days in Mount Gambier,
South Australia. Mount Gambier was a wondrous place built near the site of two
extinct volcanoes. Here we had the privilege of water skiing inside the crater
of one of the volcanoes called Valley Lake. The other volcano was called the
Blue Lake, a spooky place with no access and a depth that was unknown.
While we were setting up in
the Odeon Theatre a lady told us there was a call from Kiwi Wilson for Neil
Iceland. We told the lady there was no Neil Iceland in the group. As she walked
away, Jim called out, “Wait a minute, I bet that call is for Leon.” Sure
enough, he was right. It was Pee Wee. So, for the next few weeks, not only did
we have a Wonderful Hatrack but now we also had a Neil Iceland.
Winnie was furious the next
morning. “What is it Win?” I inquired. “They sent me those horrible brains for
breakfast again,” she said.
“Oh no!” I sympathised, trying
not to laugh. Winnie never ate breakfast in the morning, and every now and then
we would stay at a Travelodge Motel. They were the only motels that served
brains for breakfast and one of us would always order some for Winnie. She
never ever found out why it was happening. She thought it was just some
complimentary quirk that only occurred in Travelodge Motels.
No wonder Winnie always had a
recurring dream about the Zarsoffs. She confessed that it happened every time
she was dreaming about playing at a concert. Things were always going well in
her dream until she turned around and noticed that we were all playing in the
nude.
The next day it was on by car
into Hamilton, Victoria. “I had that dream again boys,” said Winnie. We all
nodded sympathetically. We knew the
dream fairly well by now.
Hamilton was a fairly dull
place, but it did hold one special memory for all of us – with the exception of
Winnie.
THE HAMILTON HECKA PORTA PIE
After our show in Hamilton, we
were signing autographs with Winnie when an attractive young girl approached
Mr. Muckle. She told Michael that she was a dancer and that she would love to
get into show business and travel to Sydney.
“It just so happens, my dear,
that I am directing a musical for the Motor Club and we are looking for dancers
for the show,” said Mr. Muckle, sounding suspiciously like his hero, W. C.
Fields. “I’d like to introduce you to Jim and Leon. They are writing the music
for the show. And this is Sir Frank. He’ll be doing the lights and sound.” The
girl’s eyes lit up. “That sounds wonderful,” she said.
“I already have a tape of the
music back at the motel,” Diamond Jim added. “I’d love to hear it,” said the
girl. “Could I audition for you?” she almost pleaded.
It seemed that Michael’s
fantastic story had now committed us all to attend his room back at the motel.
While Gavin fiddled around with one of the lamps, Jim selected the appropriate
music from his portable tape recorder. This was an essential item that Jim
always carried on tour. Whether driving through a country setting or driving
through a fog late at night, Jim’s selection of music was always perfect.
Diamond Jim didn’t let the side down on this occasion, either. Our dancer was
most impressed with Jim’s music track and so were we. For artistic reasons we
gave her the honorary name of Judy Zarsoff.
Mr. Muckle had now changed
into his ‘Ronald Colman’ smoking jacket. “Of course, there will be a lot of
free expression in the dancing and some nudity is also involved,” said Mr.
Muckle, sitting in the director’s chair. Before long our dancer had shed all of
her clothes and was dancing sensually to the throb of Jim’s music. She loved
every minute of it. As well as having the perfect body, she was really quite a
good dancer. Gavin nervously struggled with Jim’s psychedelic oil lamp while I
made a few cinematic gestures with my hands.
Just then there was a knock on
the door. “That’ll be the producer,” said Muckle. He opened the door and there
stood Lew in his suit and tie with the Wart standing behind him.
The Wart was so shocked to see
a naked girl dancing in the room; he went red in the face and immediately
excused himself. Michael pulled up a chair for Lew and he sat down with his jaw
wide open. “Well, Lew, what do you think?” I said as I casually handed him a
drink.
“She’s perfect,” said Lew with
a nervous cough.
Mr. Muckle persevered with his
role of musical director and the naked gyrations continued. “That’s fabulous,” said
Mr. Muckle, offering more encouragement. Lew sat back in awe. Long trails of
cigarette ash were collecting down the front of his suit.
“At this point in the music
you have to stand on your head. Can you do that?” we inquired. “Of course I
can,” she replied. While our nude dancer stood on her head, Muckle pointed at
Sir Frank, who was still struggling with the lamp. “LOWER THE HECKA PORTA PIE!”
he boomed in his best W. C. Fields voice. Michael’s timely outburst interrupted
the intense concentration and everyone howled with laughter and collapsed on
the floor. “Keep up the good work boys,” said Lew as he staggered out the door.
About a month later Michael
was surprised to see our dancer from Hamilton at his front door in North Curl
Curl. “Well, here I am,” she said. Michael was so taken aback, that he
fulfilled his obligation and got her a job in the ballet at the Motor Club.
Both the Pooh and Lew celebrated their birthdays
in April. With the mayor in attendance, a feudic supper was held after
our show in Horsham, Victoria in honour of Lew’s birthday on April 22nd. The
conversation soon got around to one of Winnie and Lew’s favourite subjects,
‘The Evils of Drugs’. These lectures always contained horror stories about
people who took LSD and smoked marijuana and invariably met their demise by
jumping out of buildings or leaping off cliffs. “They all thought they could
fly,” said Winnie with bulging eyes.
The usual amount of empathy
and nodding took place at the table until Lew looked over at Diamond Jim and
said, “Now, Jim, you’ve tried a bit of that grass, haven’t you?” Everyone
suddenly went very quiet and all eyes turned to Jim for a reply. Jim seemed to
be choking on a chicken bone. He regained his composure and his red eyes slowly
looked up from his dinner. “I haven’t even got a lawn mower,” he replied with a
smile. The serious mood was then broken by a lot of relieved laughter and the
subject was forgotten.
An even bigger feudic
followed for Winnie’s birthday on April 27th at the Rex Hotel in Canberra, and
Gough and Margaret sent their best wishes. Gough’s election campaign was in
full swing for the coming election in December and they apologised for missing
the party.
Winnie was later approached to
participate in the Labor Party commercial for the elections. Almost the same
week, she received a phone call from Billy McMahon, who asked her to play for
the Liberal Party. Winnie politely declined both invitations. “I try not to get
involved in politics,” she said. Not so our fearless Diamond Jim. He jumped at
the offer to play guitar on the successful Labor Party slogan of It’s Time.
THE TRAVELLING ZARSOFFS
With all our travelling, Lew
often forgot where his room was at the end of the night. We finally made it to
Darwin on May 1st for an open-air show at the Darwin Amphitheatre. Because of
the heat, Lew had been drinking all day and we held our feudic supper
around the pool. While we all changed into our shorts, Lew insisted on wearing
his suit and tie to maintain the dignity of the manager and the British Empire.
“Don’t forget to take care of
Lew, boys,” said Winnie, as she retired early for the night.
After a few more champagnes
around the pool, Lew was looking half dead in his suit and we decided to take him
to his room. We loaded him into the motel lift with his key and pressed the
button for the fourth floor. The party raged on into the early hours of the
morning with some local people from the ABC. We had to catch a plane for Mount
Isa the next day so we said our goodbyes and headed for the lift. When the lift
doors opened we were horrified to see Lew slumped against the wall covered in
cigarette ash. He was fast asleep and had been going up and down in the lift
for the last three hours. The startled motel guests must have wondered who he
was … so much for the dignity of the British Empire.
It was great to catch up with
our mates in Digger Revell’s band when we arrived in Mount Isa. They were our
supporting act for the week at the Barkly Hotel. Digger’s band included John
Charter on keyboards, Willie Fennell on drums and Digger’s life-long guitarist,
Terry Herne. Digger had already been in the Isa for a week, and they arranged
for a party every night.
John Charter was
court-marshalled in absentia on the second night on the charge of ‘protecting
an obvious bun’. This offence is when a
band member tries to protect or prevent an interested girl from rooting the
whole band. This was considered a serious breech of conduct and the sentence
was carried out on his Hammond Organ. Under the keys of the Hammond a B note
was taped to a C note and an E note was taped to an F. This produces a
wonderful discordant effect on the organ that it is very difficult to detect
while you are playing. After a few clangers, Charter spent the next few days
pulling his organ apart. Justice had been done.
It was May 5, 1972 and Winnie
became the only woman besides the Queen to be taken down into the mines at
Mount Isa. It was a pretty scary experience dropping down in the lift to find a
place almost as big as the town in the bowels of the earth. Everything was lit
up like a Xmas tree with tunnels and rails leading off in all directions. Even
though the miners gave us the full VIP treatment, there was still a certain
amount of relief when we finally returned to the surface.
A DIAMOND JIM SANG IN BERKELEY
SQUARE
Back in Sydney we spent a week
at EMI, recording an album for Winnie before she left for her annual holidays.
Every winter Lew and the Pooh took 2 months off to go to America and England.
Lew avoided taking any gigs for Winnie in England; otherwise he would have to
pay a whole year’s tax. We had the choice of either taking a retainer or having
our fares paid to London where we could stay in her flat in Mayfair. Diamond
Jim took the latter option and went to England, while Michael and I stayed at
home and received a retainer.
Winnie and Lew never liked to
talk about it much, but when Winnie was still a chemist in London, she invented
a lotion that turned curly hair into straight hair. Lew thought he was onto a
real money-spinner with his new product called “Stay Straight.” Unfortunately,
Winnie’s concoction also made the hair fall out as well. Winnie’s adventures
into revolutionary chemistry were soon brought to an end when they were sued by
their disgruntled and ever-balding customers.
Jim had a wonderful time in
England, staying at Winnie’s flat in Berkeley Square. When he arrived he was
met by two friends of Winnie and Lew’s called ‘John the Song’ and ‘Harry the
Face’. John the Song was looking after Winnie’s flat and he made a part time
living by singing songs in pubs for free drinks. Diamond Jim didn’t sing much,
but John the Song made sure he shared in the free drinks.
It wasn’t long before Diamond
Jim ran into a few Australians in London. Max Merritt and the Meteors were
recording an album in the Rolling Stones’ Mobile Recording Studio and Jim was
invited in on the session to play guitar. During this time he was surprised to
get a phone call from Johnny O’Keefe, who just happened to be in London
visiting Olivia Newton John and John Farrar. This encounter also led to Jim
meeting one of his all time guitar heroes, Hank Marvin at Abbey Road Studios.
JO’K offered to drop Jim home
to Winnie’s flat. As they drove past the London Mental Institution JO’K
shuddered and said, “There’s that bloody place they kept me a prisoner, the
last time I was here.” O’Keefe was most impressed when the cab pulled up
outside Winnie’s posh flat in Berkeley Square, Mayfair. He was convinced that
Diamond Jim was some sort of eccentric millionaire. “No one can afford to live
‘ere,” said the London cabbie.
In his bottle green velvet
coat, purchased from a fine haberdashery at Kings Row, our Diamond Jim
certainly looked the part. When Winnie and Lew arrived they took Jim out to
some of the best places in town. Winifred Atwell was quite a celebrity in
London and Jim fitted well into her circle of famous friends, which included
Roger Moore, Dorothy Squires, Matt Monroe, Petula Clark and even the infamous
Kray Brothers. Jim was having such a wonderful time that he seriously
considered jumping ship, but Lew persuaded him to honour his contract and
return to Australia.
While Jim toffed it up in
Mayfair, I played out the June break with my other job as one of the Delltones.
This included a two-week trip to Melbourne where the rock’n’roll pub scene was
really raging. The Delltones’ accommodation at the Octagon was a bit of a
downgrade from Winifred Atwell and the pace was hectic. Sometimes we were
playing shows in up to three different hotels in one night. The list included
the George Hotel, the Southern Aurora, the Dennis, the Australia, Vic’s,
Shepparton, Tottenham, South Side Six, Matthew Flinders, Dorset Gardens,
Paynesville and the Winston Charles. The best band for our show was the one at
the Winston Charles. It contained most of the still remaining Vibrants,
including guitarist, Mick Hamilton. Even though we played ten gigs a week, I
couldn’t resist sitting in with the band after the Delltones’ show was
finished. Meanwhile, our roadie cracked on to one of the best looking chicks in
the joint. He was really pissed off when she turned out to be a bloke.
Johnny O’Keefe turned up at
one of our Delltone gigs at the George Hotel. He had just returned from England
and was dressed in a black overcoat with a fur collar. He was happy to see that
I was playing real rock’n’roll again. “This is better than that bloody circus
music,” he said. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that I had been playing
for Winifred Atwell for the last 12 months. I don’t think he would have
understood.
Later, at a party, JO’K got
into a heated argument with the Bird over the merits of television. “What a
load of crap Bird! Where would we all be without television?” said JO’K. Pee
Wee disagreed. He was becoming more and more disillusioned with the rock’n’roll
scene, as well as society in general. If things didn’t improve he was thinking
of retiring from the scene altogether.
The last I saw of JO’K was
when he crawled past me on his hands and knees toward the front door. “Where
are you going John?” I asked. “I don’t know,” was the mumbled reply. The
mixture of drink, drugs and brow beating from Pee Wee must have taken its toll.
JULY
24, 1972: I
played on the very last Bandstand at
TCN9 with the Delltones, while my life-long friend Jon Hayton also played
guitar with Col Joye & the Joy Boys. It was an historical day in Australian
rock’n’roll history and Col pointed out to Brian Henderson that Jon Hayton and
Brian were the only ones in the studio that had been on the first Bandstand in 1959 and the last in 1972.
In August, Jon went off on a
Queensland coast tour with Col Joye & the Joy Boys, Sandy Scott and Little
Pattie. The Joy Boys at that time consisted of: Jon Hayton (guitar), Rex Blair
(drums), John Pickworth (piano), Ron Patton (sax), Keith Jacobsen (bass), Jimmy
the Spider (roadie) and Max Moore (manager). The cast and crew took up two rail
cars, which were hitched up to a train to take them on to their next show. The
Queensland fans turned out in droves to see Col and his travelling train show.
Even in the seventies Col Joye’s popularity hadn’t waned in the least.
After our appearance on the
last Bandstand Show, the Delltones flew to Brisbane for a show at the
Cloudland Ballroom. Another show followed in Lismore and we took the
opportunity to visit Ian Saxon’s farm. Ian was the perfect host and while we
sat around on beanbags, he told us that he had given up singing and he was now
into promoting. Given the notoriety that followed later in his career I’m not
sure if Ian was talking about promoting bands or drugs.
Winnie, Lew and Jim arrived
home from London in August and we started straight back into our first gig at
North Sydney Leagues. Winifred Atwell was still the biggest drawcard in the
country and we spent the rest of the year playing all the clubs with an
occasional tour to Melbourne or Adelaide.
OFF THE RECORD 1972
We weren’t too pleased with
the final mix of Winifred Atwell’s album with the Zarsoff Brothers. We made the
mistake of letting Lew into the studio to do the final mix. The album, however,
was a great success for Lew when Gavin sold it at the gig along with Winnie’s
other albums. The cash was used mostly for Lew’s drinking money. Lew was
convinced that Winnie had finally found the perfect band in the Zarsoffs and to
make sure we stayed together he started slipping us an extra $50 cash every
week. Lew called this his ‘goodwill money’.
Because I wrote a lot of
Johnny Farnham’s charts, producer Peter Dawkins asked me if I could write an
arrangement for a song called Rock Me
Baby. The song was originally recorded by David Cassidy and Peter needed an
arrangement in Johnny Farnham’s key. The session date was set for August 24 at
EMI and I booked the Zarsoffs (Jim and Michael) along with Tony Esterman on
piano and Tim Piper on rhythm guitar. We had to finish the backing track in the
morning so that John could put his vocal on when he flew up from Melbourne in
the afternoon.
While we waited for John
Farnham to arrive Peter Dawkins tried an experiment with the tape. We played
the tape backwards and had Jimmy Doyle over-dub the same riff played backwards.
It was a strange effect but it worked. John arrived and put down a great vocal
track with a few added harmonies.
Johnny Farnham’s Rock Me Baby was released as a single
and it went to number 6 on the national charts. The B-side was an album track
called Nobody’s Fool that I had
recorded with Geoff Hales the week before, using a full orchestra. Geoff came
up from Melbourne and he loved our little Sydney rhythm section, which included
Tony Esterman on piano, George Bruno on bass and two guitarists – Jim Kelly and
the maestro George Golla. On that session Geoff wrote some other wonderful
arrangements for Farnham including Cherry
Wine and Photograph etc. They
were all recorded in one go – vocals, strings, brass and everything, with no
over-dubbing. It was a testament to his great talent as an orchestral arranger.
Another session followed with
Peter Dawkins on September 20. Russell Morris took advantage of the fact that
the Zarsoffs were working down in Melbourne with Winnie and a session was
arranged at TCS studios at GTV9. Sir Frank went in and set up the gear.
There were also a couple of
Melbourne musicians on the session and Jim made the mistake of giving them a
joint. They became so stoned that they couldn’t play, so we had to send them
home. Jim could still play like a demon when he was stoned and he couldn’t
understand why they couldn’t.
We put down the B-side Satisfy You and returned the next day to
have a listen to a new song that Russell had written called Wings Of An Eagle. Once we eliminated a
few unnecessary 5/8 bars the song started to take shape. Peter and Russell were
pleased with the take and Jim did a fabulous rave at the end of it, which of
course had to be faded out for time. Peter Dawkins then planned to replace the
vocal doo doots in the solo with an overdub of oboes.
The finished product sounded
perfect and Wings Of An Eagle by
Russell Morris went into the top ten and became a classic.
The other memorable session
for that year for the Zarsoffs was yet another album for Frankie Davidson,
recorded at Col Joye’s ATA Studio at Glebe on December 4. Frank was a very
funny guy who seemed to do everything at a frantic pace. His album consisted of a lot of Australiana
material that he wrote including a couple of tracks we loved called Puffin’ Billy and 50 million Blowflies.
“You know you’re on a winner
when you open up your dinner,
50 million blowflies can’t be
wrong.”
That’ll give you some idea.
They don’t write songs like that anymore.
I was on a more serious
musical album a couple of weeks later at EMI with an old friend, Claude
Papesch. Claude was the blind pianist from New Zealand, who originally arrived
in Australia in 1959 with Johnny Devlin & the Devils. He wrote some great
instrumental arrangements, which he featured on the Hammond Organ. I don’t know
how he did it, but Claude knew every quaver on every musician’s part. It was
almost like he could see it on the page. It probably wasn’t much of a
commercial success but the album was very rewarding for everyone who took part.
Produced by Slim Dusty’s producer, Rod Coe, it featured; Jim Kelly (guitar),
Valda Hammick (bass), Col Loughnan (tenor and flute), Herb Cannon (trombone), Jack
Iverson (trumpet) and Ken James (sax, copyist and second pair of eyes for
Claude).
Besides being election week,
the end of November was a busy week with the Pooh - Monday, Tuesday, and
Wednesday at North Sydney Anzac Club, followed by Thursday, Friday, Saturday
and Sunday at Marrickville RSL Club. After the show on Friday night the
Zarsoffs and our girls decided to go to the Motor Club and support Australia’s
king of rock’n’roll, Johnny O’Keefe, as he entered yet another period in his
career. We ran into singer, Brenda Kristen and bass player, Owen Booth and
stayed for a late supper with our girls, Wendy, Mara, and my wife Lizzie.
When JO’K came on stage
singing Roll Over Beethoven, we
cheered and clapped along with the rest of the audience. The bright spotlight
made him look like a ghost. His suit was white and so was his face and long
hair. While he was in London, Diamond Jim had shown him how to blow-wave his
hair and it somehow looked a little out of character. We probably all looked a
little silly in those days but the seventies didn’t seem to suit JO’K at all.
He appeared conservative and
subdued as he sang through the opening number; he kept his hands behind his
back and hardly moved. Always the professional, John worked his crowd up slowly
and stuck to his O’Keefe repertoire until they were eventually won over. The
band wasn’t great but John’s determination shone through, and by the time he
closed with Shout he had the audience
all jumping up and down in their seats. The King still lives!
Gough Whitlam romped home in
the 1972 Federal election the very next day and everyone seemed to be looking
forward to a new era. “It’s Time,” said the ad.
Earlier in the year at a Labor
function in Parramatta, Senator Jim McClellan shook my hand and said, “You
musicians have been second class citizens for too long,” I didn’t realise at
the time that this could also mean that we’d probably end up being third class citizens!
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