Gavin Sutherland

THE BLOG

News n' Views, Odds n' Sods . . .

"Ska'd for life . . . ."

I was wading through the crap in my junk room the other night when I stumbled across a box of old vynil. There were a few vintage gems in there, The Byrds "5D", Procal's "Salty Dog", The Band's "Cahoots," all great stuff, but the one that really caught my eye, and certainly fired up the memories, was a ska beat record on the Island / Trojan label that beamed me right back to the early 70s. The Sutherland Brothers Band were working in Studio One at Island's Basing Street HQ one night while downstairs, in Studio Two, Chris Blackwell was putting the finishing touches to the Toots and The Maytals classic, "Funky Kingston." Sue Glover and Sunny Leslie were on the case - the superb singing sisters who had asked Joe Cocker all those questions on "With A Little Help From My Friends" - so when their tape-op came in with a request from Chris for us go and sing some back-ups with them, we didn't need any persuation. Off we went downstairs to where Sue and Sunny ran through the lines with us, and one of them, I think it was Sue, explained how it was going to work. "When I put my hand up, we sing. When I put my hand down, we stop. OK?" "OK!" Hearing those two sing together at such close range really was quite stunning. Singing with then was just awesome. It was a one mike, one take job (no messing around in those days) and it sounded just great!
All together now, "Na, Na Naaaaaaa . . . Funky Kingston-a! Funky Kingston-a!"

"Blasts from the past . . ."
A couple of days ago, as I sat in the garden contemplating "The Strange Story of Joe Meek," my thoughts drifted back to 1967 and a little house in Newcastle-under-Lyme. A guy called Mick McDonald lived there, the proud owner of a "Reflectograph" tape recorder, just like the one in the picture. It was in that house with my brother, drummer John Wright and keyboard player Chris Kemp that I was introduced to the wonderful world of recording. I'd messed about with my dad's tape recorder, a little "Elizabethan Bandbox," but this was different, the mighty Reflectograph was at our disposal, a serious piece of kit! The band took over the whole house with cables running everywhere. John was in the little front room, Iain was in the hallway and Chris in the living room. My bass amp was in the kitchen and I sat halfway up the stairs with Mick on the landing above me with the machine on a table outside his bedroom door. The same thing was happening in little houses all over the country at that time. It was either Abbey Road, or your mate's house. There was nothing worth talking about ouside London. I've no idea what it must have sounded like but hey, who cares, we were recording our music and having a ball!
The little "Bandbox," by the way, accidently became my very first guitar amp when, at the age of ten or eleven, I discovered that if I put the machine into record with the pause button down and the volume right up I could use it to amplify my voice. Clearly, the next logical step was to sellotape the microphone on to my acoustic guitar. Hey presto, and there it was, the worst guitar sound you've ever heard!

"Tin Pan Alley . . ."
When I joined the band, The New Generation were scraping a living out of playing the ballrooms and clubs around the north west, courtesy of a certain William Leyland, a failed entrepreneur, small-time agent and bullshitter extraordinaire. He was insane. He ran his imaginary show-bizz empire from a smelly little dive in Aspull called the "The Pink Elephant," a place he always described to people who hadn't seen it, as one of the north's hottest night spots. We played there a few times, usually when we were doing a double at The Nevada Ballroom in Bolton or what was soon to become the Mecca of Northern Soul, the notorious Wigan Casino. Much as we liked soul music we certainly weren't a soul band and we didn't go down that well with the hardcore soul fans who travelled from all over the north of England, on their super pimped Vespas and Lambrettas, for the infamous weekend sessions. We'd do our set and then hand over to "DJ Dave The Rave" for his late night Tamla party. I can still see those "Mod birds" now, short hair and baggie trousers, dancing in little circles around their handbags as the mirror-ball high above them sent beams of light spinning round the room. I used to sit up in the balcony, totally fascinated by it all. I was sixteen years old and fresh out of school, and while all this was going on my pals would have been hard at it, trying to make sense of calculus and all that stuff. From the balcony in the Wigan Casino that all seemed so far away. My life had changed so drastically in such a short time, it was like I'd fallen asleep and woken up on a different planet. Not long after that, people started calling the weekend dances at Wigan Casino "Northern Soul Sessions." The rest is history.

Anyway, back to the plot. It was Leyland who got us our first record deal when we signed with Spark, a little record company owned by Southern Music Publishing in Denmark Street, London's one and only "Tin Pan Alley." Yes, things were starting to get serious.
It was a pretty formal set up with writers working more or less nine to five in little rooms around the building. John Carter and Ken Lewis were the main men at the time, the famous Carter-Lewis songwritng team responcible for a whole bunch of hits for pop groups like The Ivy League and The Flowerpot Men.
Being able to work in Southern's recording studio was a blast, even if it was a pokey little room in the basement of their London HQ. Getting Chris's Hammond up and down those stairs was a bloody nightmare! The control room was not much bigger than a cupboard and there was no window through to the main room but that didn't matter. It was all about the big, magic machine in the corner, the Ampex 440 four track recorder.

Awesome! The dream of multi-track recording was now a reality. Record the instruments and put the vocals on after? Wow, whatever next! Paul Holland was the engineer there and Barry Kingston was the in-house producer. It was during a basement session that we were introduced to Wayne Bardell, one of Southern's "pluggers." Their job was to take new releases to the BBC and try to schmooze up some interest, get some air play or maybe even a TV spot. A year or so later, Wayne left Southern to work for the Beatles at Apple. We didn't know it then, but he was eventually going to manage The Sutherland Brothers and help us get a deal with Island Records. I still keep in touch with Wayne. One of life's good guys.

"Do Ye Ken John Peel?"
During our time with Spark we recorded quite a few sessions for the BBC at their massive studio complex in Maida Vale. The Musicians' Union had laid down some pretty strict rules about how much time during a show could be allotted to playing records, what they called "needle time," and the gaps had to be filled with music especially recorded for the show. That worked out really well for new bands like us, all mad keen to "get on the wireless". The John Peel Show was a personal favourite. Peelie was the coolest guy on the radio, and he had us on his show quite a few times. Cool! We never met John at the time but a couple of years later, when Iain and I first moved down to London, we enjoyed the pleasure of his company when he, quite unexpectedly, gave us a lift up the M1. We went home to Stoke from time to time to see the folks and getting around by hitch-hiking was quite acceptable in those days, especially if you were a skint musician. We were at Hendon Junction, arms out and thumbs in the air, waiting hopefully for someone with a heart to help us on our way up the road, when a brand new Land Rover pulled over and we jumped in. Fuckinell! It was John Peel! Unbelievable! We spoke music and football for a couple of hours before we shook hands and parted company. Iain and I agreed, a strong contender for "Lift of the Month," maybe even "Lift of the Year." I never saw John again, but he did continue to play our music now and again. Great bloke.
The "Beeb", of course, paid a fee to musicians who played on their sessions, but we didn't know that. Our beloved management had told us that the prestige and promotion we got from being on the radio was more than enough reward. When we eventually found out that someone had opened a bank account in the band's name and was "saving the fees, on our behalf, for a rainy day" we realised that this particular little party was over. It was time to move on.

". . . erf, erf, no erf, erf."
Just before we parted company with Southern Music, they treated us (an advance on our royalties, of course) to a brand new Ford Transit van and a whole bunch of stuff from Charlie Watkins' latest range of WEM gear. I remember driving down from Stoke to his factory in Lambeth to pick out what we wanted. OK, it's a cliche, but yes, it did feel like all our Christmas's and birthdays had come at once! Couldn't believe it when we walked into the office and there sat the man himself! Charlie Watkins! The genius who had designed and built our first proper amp, a Watkins Dominator, and my first, decent guitar, a Watkins "Can't afford a Strat" Rapier 44. I was speechless.

Charlie took us down to the factory floor to show us his new baby, the massive reflex bass cabinet. Oh yes, we'll have one of them Charlie! I still couldn't really believe it, Charlie Watkins, the legend, was talking to me about something he'd just invented. Unreal. We went on to order a couple of guitar amps and, what was then, a seriously powerful P.A. system. We followed him back up to the office where he began to explain how we should hook up the 100 watt "Master" P.A. amp to the three 100 watt "Slave" amps. This was all very new to us, but the concept was amazing. If you wanted to upgrade you could just buy another slave amp and a couple more columns. Brilliant! "You'll 'ave to be careful," he said with a voice that could only have come from south London, "which amps you erf, and which amps you don't erf!" "Lets see now," he said as he turned to a roughly sketched plan on his desk, "You could 'ave erf, erf, no erf, erf. Or, erf, no erf, erf, erf. Or, if you like, you could 'ave, erf, no erf, no erf, erf. No, 'ang on . . . . . ." Thinking about Charlie's "erf, no erf" permutations still brings a smile to my face. Bless him! Where would we all have been without Charlie and his mates?

Nice interview with Charlie Watkins.

"Learning to drive . . . but I got no wheels"
I just got the excellent news that my daughter's bloke has passed his driving test. Couldn't believe it when she told me driving lessons were over twenty quid a shot these days. When I was learning to drive, back in 1968, my lessons with Graham Wright's "(W)right School of Motoring" in Cheadle, were about ten bob an hour. It was all very different then, much less traffic and a much more laid back approach, at least with Graham's "(W)right School of Motoring". We used to drive around all over the place, depending on what Graham needed to do. One day we were driving down a street a mile or so from the town centre when he decided it was time for me to try out the emergency stop. "OK Gavin," he said quite calmly, "When I hit the dashboard I want you to stop immediately, like someone's jumped in front of the car. OK?" "OK Graham. Ready when you are." A few seconds later, WHACK! he slammed his rolled up Evening Sentinel down onto the leatherette dashboard with a deafening crack. It was much, much louder than either of us expected and I think we both very nearly shit ourselves, but I did manage to slam the breaks on and come to a pretty abrupt halt. "Not bad," he said, trying to conceal the panic in his voice, "Now, neutral, hand-break, and switch off. Good. I'll be two minutes." With that he jumped out of the car. It turned out that we were right outside his mother's house. He disappeared inside and came back out a few minutes later. "OK Gavin, I'd like you to try a three point turn." That done we headed back to the High Street. "OK Gavin, pull over and stop behind that big white van." This time we were outside the butcher's. He jumped out of the car, went into the shop, bought a couple of lamb chops and a pound of mince and got back in the car, again without any word of explanation. I then followed his instructions all the way back to the street where his mother lived. Couldn't believe it when about halfway along the street he said he'd like me to try another emergency stop!
During another lesson I remember having to do an emergency stop outside a bookie's. Great days. Maybe today's instructors could learn something from Graham's unorthodox, yet altogether practical approach. By the end of the week I was ready to take my test and Mrs Wright had a pantry full of groceries. A win / win situation.
From those humble beginnings I went on to become one of rock'n'roll's top Transit pilots and at one time held the band's Truro to London, pre motorway record of just under seven hours.

"So we followed the Yellow Brick Road . . . . ."
Just finished off a top of the range Chinese take-away from the one in Turriff. A ten mile drive but it's worth it. They know what they're doing down there. Now let's see what's on the tele. Switched on at random and there was a show about classic rock albums. This week's feature was Elton's Yellow Brick Road. A few minutes in and there's some footage of the Hollywood Bowl and Elton in a white feather number making his way down a white staircase, a la Shirley Bassey. Wow, I thought, hang on, I was there that night. That was when all those pigeons got stuck in the cardboard pianos! Yeah, we opened the show that night, part of the "grand tour" of North America we did with Elton and the gang in 1973. As I often do, I was quietly strumming on my guitar as I watched the tv. Strange thing was I was playing my Telecaster, the guitar I bought for 150 bucks at a music store on Sunset Boulevard on September 7th, 1973, the very day of the show I was watching, the show where I played that guitar for the very first time. Amazing!

The only downer that day was I had to trade in my much loved Fender Jaguar as part of the deal. Having two guitars back in those days was a luxury I couldn't afford.
The story went a little like this. The SBQs were in the studio at Island's Basing Street HQ when the phone rang and somebody wanted a word with our manager, Wayne "The Brain" Bardell. It was John Reid, Elton John's business guru, wanting to know if we could open for Elton on his upcoming tour of the States. Ten weeks of serious coast to coast stadium action with the biggest band around at that time. Wow! It would mean canceling a gig at Cromer Town Hall, but, hey, you have to make sacrifices sometimes if you want to get on in life. None of us had been "over there" before and it was something all young rock n' rollers dreamed about. The American Tour, oh yes! We knew Elton was big in the States but didn't realise just how big. The venues were huge, 50,000 some nights, even more on others. The whole music bizz was just massive and we got a chance to cover the whole of the USA in our first trip out there. Pretty amazing really and something we had a lot to be grateful for. We went everywhere on that tour, from Madison Square to The Hollywood Bowl and all stops in between. We were having a ball. Miami, St Louis, New Orleans, Chicago, San Francisco, everywhere we went the tour was the talk of the town and our records were picking up air play on stations here, there and everywhere. It really was amazing. We were even treated to a week in Hawaii. We played a show at the University in Honolulu but our visit to the islands was more of a, much needed, mid tour break for everybody. By the time we got around to doing Seattle up in the north west corner, our single "You Got Me Anyway" was at number six in the local chart. Elton's was a couple of places below us, but we still had to go on first. That's showbizz!

"Notes on Ballroom Musicians . . ."
I found this in Thomas Wilson's "Companion to the Ball Room," a collection of Scottish fiddle tunes published in 1816. It brought a smile to my face so I thought I would share it with you.

"The Author has availed himself of this opportunity of saying something respecting Ball Room Musicians, on the opinion in which they are held, and their general treatment by the public. That they are a useful class of persons will not be doubted; for whatever opinion there has been, there is no dancing without them for the Music must always guide the dancer. From the number of Public Balls and Assemblies at which the author has been present he has good and frequent opportunities of observing the contemptuous manner in which Musicians are in general treated by their Employers and by the Company. They are frequently treated worse than servants and never, or seldom, spoken to, but in an imperious haughty manner, generally addressing them as fiddlers and plying them with liquor in order to make them drunk, being with those persons a common opinion that nothing is so amusing as a drunken fiddler.

That these persons should occasionally drink is no wonder, from the dust arising from the room and great exertions in playing long dances; but more should not be forced on them than is needful.

Another thing that requires remark is that musicians are seldom paid for their playing without their employers complaining of the high price of their labour; yet these employers never think that the musicians cannot find employment for more than five or six months of the year and that generally in the winter season, when the weather is bad, and their employment being principally at night, from leaving warm rooms and being exposed afterwards to the bad effects of night air, and consequently severe colds, together with want of rest, in a few years their constitutions are destroyed or ruined and they are rendered totally unfit for business."

"Summertime, and the living is . . ."
Summertime, and the living is not quite as difficult as it was in the winter. Just watched a public vote TV show for "Best Ever Rock Band." Horrified to see the Stones didn't make the top three! The Zep won it, fair enough, then came the mighty Beatles with Queen in third place. Hang on! Queen? OK, they were a good enough band, sold tons of records and all that, but when you think who they beat in the poll it's ridiculous! I guess us Stones and Who fans just don't get involved in this sort of crap.

We've got a pair of seagulls nesting in the back garden. They've been coming here for years but they usually nest on the roof. This is the first time they've built their nest on the ground. Either their faith in mankind is growing or, just like us, the older they get the more stupid they get. Three eggs and two successfully hatched so far.

"Spring is in the air . . ."
Spring is in the air at last as I stretch and yawn my way out of hibernation. The sun is shining, the birds are singing and I feel a song or two coming on. Time to dust down my old cassette recorder sketch book and see if I can make any sense of all the little bits and pieces of tunes and grooves that danced around my brain during those long, dark winter months. The mighty Aiwa CSP-500 has sprung back to life and, cassette door agape, eagerly awaits the insertion of a blank C60, impatiently paused and ready to capture every rusty grunt and groan from its master's voice. Right, let's see. I think I'll do this one in D. Or maybe G? Or, how about C? Hang on, I think I'd better put the kettle on and have a think about this.

"Tis the season to be jolly . . ."
Sleigh-bells are ringing and choirs are singing as we merrily deck our halls and don our gay apparel. Ho, ho, ho, Santa's on his way, and I hope he brings you something very special. I got well lucky this year, and my present came a wee bit early. My grandson Jake was born on Thursday morning. Could I have been given a greater gift? No, I really don't think so! Now, may I take this opportunity to wish you all a really happy holiday and, as my old Brinsley chums used to say, "what's so funny 'bout peace, love and understanding?" Let's all hope for loads and loads of it next year! Cheers!!

So there's a knock at the door . . .
The door swings open and in strolls my old friend Duncan "Have Fiddle, Will Travel" Wood with the aforementioned tucked under his arm. And who's this following at a lively pace? It's Cathal McConnell, "The Irish Rover", with a big smile and an even bigger bag of flutes and whistles. So, it's into the kitchen, kettle on, a quick catch-up and then through to the living room for an impromptu trad tune session with a couple of Cathal's originals thrown in for good measure. Great stuff. The boys are on fire! And what's this glass thing Cathal's brought along to show me? It's only the award he picked up a couple of weeks ago for being voted Irish Musician's Musician Of The Year! Nice one man. Brilliant!
He's planning an album with Duncan in the not too distant future and has asked me to produce it. Cool. I'm looking forward to that one.

Intelligence from Abroad.
Delighted to report that THE DEAL is going down rather well in all corners of the globe. BIG thanks to the kind people who have contacted me to let me know how much they are enjoying the music. May I congratulate you on your excellent taste! A chap in New Zealand told me he played it at his birthday bar-b-q a couple of days ago and it made the perfect compliment to an evening of good food and fine wine. So, if you are planning a bar-b-q or entertaining guests, or perhaps a fun night in on your own, might I suggest you arrange the procurement of a copy without delay! I hear it works equally well with curries, doner kebabs and beer.

So, where's the best place to listen to THE DEAL? Here are a few examples:
Charlie, in Auchterless, listened to it on his posh German headphones while he indulged in a little late-night facebookery.
Nancy listened to it in Seattle as the pine trees swayed and the sun fell into the sea.
Steve listened to it while he roller-skated along Blackpool Prom.
Béné plays it in her office in Paris.
Paul listens to it in his van as he drives home from work in North London.
The Spiv listened to it on an old ghetto-blaster as he set his stall up at Cleethorpes Market.
Mick listened to it down on the Banff shore while he scoffed a fish supper.
Andy played it to all his pals at a bonfire barbecue on Otaki Beach.
Sandra listened to it in the kitchen while she got Eric's tea ready.
Alastair listened to it on an oil rig in the middle of the North Sea.
Dave and Angie drank sangria as they listened to it on a patio somewhere in the south of Spain.
Helen listened to it as she flew over the Indian Ocean.
Jim listened to it as he ate a cheese and pickle sandwich in a pub car park near Ashby de la Zouch.
Clive listened to it as he took his evening constitutional by the Buffalo Bayou.
Frank listens to it on his Discman as he cycles around Amsterdam.
Sneddy listened to it three times, back to back, and back again, as he paced The Gadle Braes.
And Duncan got his kicks on the A96.

That'll do for now, but I'd love to know where YOU listened to it!

The Dark Arts Part III - Songwriting.
March Hare: "Why don't you start at the begining?"
Mad Hatter: "Yes and when you reach the end... Stop."

1. Maybe you have to be a bit selfish to be an "artist" of any worth at all? You certainly need some self belief, or at least an ability to keep the doubts under wraps, otherwise nothing gets done.
2. Creation? No, I don't think so. It's all there already. Observation is the key. I prefer "interpretation," yeah, that's a more accurate description of the writing process. We all see things differently. We live in tribes, groups and families but in lots of ways we are out on our own. That's what "My World" is about.
3. When you write a lyric don't get too concerned about detail. You don't have to explain everything. Better that it sounds right and scans well. Create an atmosphere, even if the atmosphere is a little uneasy.
4. The rhythm and feel of the song is all important. Imagine life without rhythm. No, that's not possible.
5. Writing a song requires full on thinking. Some of the spirit must roam free while some has to stay on track, you know, focussed, on the case. It's a knack that comes with time, experience, and a few beers.
6. Yes, and make sure that whatever you do is understandable. No point producing stuff people don't understand, no point at all, but don't get hung up about whether or not they "like" what you do. That's another thing. Another thing altogether! The main ingredient is sincerity, that's what really matters. That's what cuts the mustard!
7. Be honest with yourself. Write from your own experience. Trying to see something from someone else's point of view never works. That would be like trying to paint a picture of something you've never seen. Impossible. If you want to connect with others, share your personal thoughts and emotions with them. That's the best way to find some common ground.
8. Capture the moment, don't let your ideas slip away. Many a good tune has gone down the tubes because it wasn't written down or captured in some way or another.
9. It's a dream, let it roll and gather it's own pace. Treat it with respect, but don't get too precious about it.
10. Try not to get stuck in the same place for too long. Enjoy a moment, then move on to another, and then another. Before too long it will all start to take shape and you'll think "Oh, right. I know where I'm going now. That's what this one's about!"

The Dark Arts, Part II - Record Production.
Wish I had a quid for every time I've been stopped in the street and quizzed about microphone placement techniques. Why, only the other day, as I waited in Tesco's under ten items line (a little nervous perhaps, you see one of my items was a packet of Rich Tea biscuits, one of those extra long ones with 25% free. Could all those biscuits count as one item? Only time would tell) I was approached by a casually dressed, slightly irritating young man who wanted to hear my views on the acoustic guitar and its place in the stereo mix. He was clearly perplexed. What could I say that might ease his troubled mind? "OK" I said with a wry smile, "Listen, and listen carefully. This queue is getting shorter by the minute, we don't have much time." I decided to answer his question with a question of my own. A small-time, small-town court room tactic I'd picked up from late 50s B movies. It works every time. "Ever heard of anybody going into a record store and asking for a record with the acoustic guitar panned to the left? He looked puzzled. "No" he said quietly, "I don't think so." Nuff said. Could such a thing have any bearing on a chart position? No, I really don't think so. "Just remember this" I told him, "turn the good stuff up and the dodgy stuff down. If that doesn't work, try a little more reverb. Remember, if it's worth doing, it's worth over-doing. That's about it."

Exciting Times !
Sean Torch is busy pressing The Deal CDs as I write this note and I just got word from a guy in Boston who wants to play it on his radio show. Man U are in the final of the European Championships and, against all odds, The Potters have survived their first season in The Premiership. Life is good.

Curry and Chips . . .
So, it's Saturday night and I've spent way too much time messing around with this website. Time for a curry. The food from the Indian take away is, as always, delicious and the wine from the wee shop down the road is just the job. A good quality rioja at half price? Like Ronnie said, the more you drink the more you save. A small time fun-fair hit town today and set up on a bit of waste ground across the river. It's total crap and clearly dangerous but the kids love it. I remember those days. When the fairground lights came on all the street lights went out for an hour. Meantime on TV, a zillionaire business tycoon (looks a bit like Sid James) is telling the world that "those who soar like eagles attract hunters". Confucius say? No, I don't think so, there has to be more to it than that, this dude seems to think we all want to be like him. Like Jimmy The Framer said, "Presume nothing, lad. Nothing at all!"