Roxy Music: Ultra Pulp Images On The Video-Cassette Of Your Mind

THE FIRST COSMIC rock law of the Seventies is this: "Everybody is a star". The response is: "So what?"

Roxy Music, undeniably, have formulated the best "so what?" around. I suspect that a lot of the criticism of the band is motivated by jealousy.

Their method of breaking into the music scene has been labelled the work of coldly calculating intellectuals – as if one has to bust his balls touring the M-ways of the hinterlands before one's art reaches suitably grandiose levels (as if the rock scene has no place for intellectuals). That Roxy hail from working class backgrounds (the only origins for a true rock star) makes their articulateness and intellectualism all the more frivolous and gay.

That people attack their and David Bowie's intellectual postures is cause for considerable concern, because there is an enormously large distrust among the young for intellectualism of any sort. This is not to say that you have to be capable of analysing Nietzche or the meaning of Andy Warhol's art, but, having a wider, more articulate viewpoint does give you greater understanding of and pleasure in the music.

There is also the confused idea that "intellectualism" means "dry and humourless" – like some dusty and archaic Oxford don – while the same critics insist these standards be the guidelines of rock. As if we need 4,000 more ELPs (who, if they had an sense of the absurd, would release a maxi single called ‘Extended Long Player’ or some other silliness). The recent David Bowie debacle in these pages shows just how violently people are prepared to hold on to their old patterns of interpretation. These attitudes extend to a lesser degree to Roxy Music, who are accused of being dilettantes, too computerised (Whispering Bob Harris' view), pretentious, and of all things, frivolous.

The fact is that regardless of whether you choose to elevate your consciousness or wallow in a mire of ignorance, David Bowie and Roxy Music are just the tip of an iceberg.

BRYAN FERRY studied under Richard Hamilton, the English equivalent of Warhol, gaining a good education in pop art. When he realised that even a famous artist could reach only a relatively small part of the mass audience, he turned his attention to music, bringing his art training with him and thus creating 'pop music'. Meaning: a music is full of references to other musical times and eras, as well as films and popular culture in general. This can range from the banal – the wave crashing on the shore in ‘Beauty Queen’ – to the sophisticated – the myriad of references to books, paintings, landmarks, and famous people in ‘Do The Strand’.

Ferry's music often functions on more than one level at once, as in the middle section of ‘Would You Believe’, which has about five ‘fifties trends filtered through The Move, while Andy blows pure Coasters era King Curtis. Or on ‘Editions of You’, with its "crazy music" organ solo straight out of ? and the Mysterions.

The dreaded intellectualism makes its presence known not only in the lyrics but in the manner of presentation. "Is there a heaven?" asks the jaded decadent of ‘In Every Dreamhome A Heartache’, pausing to ponder before concluding, none too conclusively. "I'd like to think so." Later, he finds the only thing to do at home is pray.

Ferry also stretches and batters words to fit the rhythm, a la Lou Reed: "Lolita and Guerneeka" did the Strand, while "Louis say he preefair laisez-faira Strund."

The lyrics of the first Roxy album tend to be too personal (the "CPF 593A" of ‘Remake/Remodel’ is a license number), but this has been pared away on the second album, leaving cutting wit and wry humour sparkling from lyrics diamond-hard and clear – with judicious use of cliches (a Bryan Ferry obsession) ranging from the obviously humorous (all of ‘Bitters End’; the title is a multilevel joke on Noel Coward) and ‘Pyjamarama’, to the startlingly brilliant: "The words we use tumble...All over your shoulder...gravel hard and loose," from ‘For Your Pleasure’.

Their supposed cynicism is as nihilistic as the early Stones; the unrequited teen of ‘Blue Turns To Grey’ is now the lovelorn lounge lizard of ‘Bitters End’, the confessor of ‘Strictly Confidential’ just a generation more desperate than ‘Satisfaction’.

The piece de resistance of cynicism and coldness, ‘In Every Dream Home ...’, is about as depressing as a Kurt Vonnegut story. Life is, after all, a joke, and I get the impression part of Bryan's reason in writing it is to remind himself of the entrapments that lurk in swish Chelsea palaces of penthouse perfection.

WHILE FERRY'S major forte and interest lies in writing and singing, the other two obvious auteurs' achievements lie in purely musical regions.

Andy McKay and Eno share largely similar musical tastes and philosophies, which is one reason the band isn't torn apart over musical ideology; and, although Eno is becoming the major visual phenomenon of '73, and Andy a "Mr. Music", they are still units within Bryan's vision. Just watch them live and notice where your attention wanders when Bryan is out of the spotlight. Their musical prowess enables them to conjure forth anything from the charging of conventional rock to Andy's hilarious pastiches of epic film themes (‘The Pride and the Pain’, which precedes their stage act) to that "avant-garde, intellectual" stuff, which they can make us love.

Is there any Stranding kid on your block who doesn't groove to ‘Bogus Man?’ Yet everyone is working entirely at odds to everyone else and, even more importantly, the music doesn't go anywhere. it belongs to the theory that "you can listen to music from point to point and let it come and go" (Andy) or "the fact of repeating something changes it" (Eno). That they can make all the discordant factors work as a song is a tremendous step – but that it also succeeds as Hammeresque creep and clunk, rather than a song trying to sound scary is a tribute to Roxy as a unified band.

The less verbal members of the entourage are what anchor Roxy into solid rock. Phil Manzanera's experience in acid and Soft Machine-rock make his screaming psychedelic solos any song's high-point, especially the cataclysmic live version of ‘Ladytron’, replete with Blue Cheer feedback.

Paul Thompson's powerhouse drumming is almost a cliche of the English style, and it's a joy to feel the thundering road he lays down– the influences, no doubt, of shipyards and construction sites.

Rather than mere songs, these elements combine to encompass entire moods – the tattered nightclub of ‘Beauty Queen’, papiermache palm trees drooping listlessly over the Engelbertish singer crooning about "swimming pool eyes" and "coconut tears", or the pulp-magazine feel of ‘Strictly Confidential’.

Far from being coldly planned, the touches that encapsulate a song are often a spur-of-the moment thought, as in the Fabianesque "mmmm" in the intro of ‘Editions of You’.

Which points up another thing about Roxy – they don't hesitate to go to the real trashpiles of rock for inspiration. I wouldn't be surprised if they cut an even more inept and quintessential version of ‘Surfing Bird’ than the original.

On the videocassette of your mind these moods conjure ultra pulp images of Humphrey "Marlowe" Bogart whisking Lauren Bacall up to his Laurel Canyon Xanadu, and of F. Scott Fitzgerald types throwing handfuls of silver dollars at the windows of the Ambassador Hotel – real Depression era visions of that "screen dream" life at the top.

This taste for trash even exhibits itself on stage, with Manzanera and Mackay leaning heavily towards 30s conceptions of space suits, and Ferry in such wonderfully bizarre contrivances as double zippered pants. Actual stage gymnastics are generally restricted to delightfully sincere imitations of moves from the bible of rockstarobatics, with kitsch elements like choreographed dance steps as icing. Periodically, Bryan will flesh out a songline with pantomimed movements, but it is interesting to note that he relates more this way to a TV camera than he does an audience.

In any case, the visuals are merely pleasant additions; those 15-year-olds didn't come to clutch at Bryan's legs because of optical elegance or because they know who Baby Jane Holzer is, or "because they call it 'Renaysance'." It's because Roxy know the secret of making a great single.

Which brings us back to that bugaboo: intellectualism and articulation. You don't have to understand Roxy's quirks and fetishes to love them, any more than you have to understand Dali's symbolism to be destroyed by his paintings. But you're missing out on half the fun. And, in these grey, supposedly serious days, anyone willing to frolic in frivolity is worth grabbing on to, especially when they can giggle simultaneously on several tracks. Who knows? You may even like the increased horizons.

NME, 28 April 1973
©John Ingham,

Roxy Music at the Rainbow Theatre, London

KONO IS a Japanese journalist, top of his class. One week he's flaming around New York, the next week in London, hip to all the latest sights and sounds. With him are Mr. and Mrs. Kato, former folk duo, now leaders of Japan's top hard rock group, Sadistic Mika Band (Mika being Mrs. K's name). Their official business in the Hub of the Empire is to buy a Rolls Royce, but they’re also ferreting out the latest in glitz and glam. Used to be that David Bowie was their main man, but when Kari-Ann whispered the delights of Roxy to them things took a slight change. Why, they even took a trip to Putney to buy a VCS 3 synthesizer, just because ELO has one. Now they stand in the lobby of the Rainbow, a true palace of Decadence, trendily but tastefully attired in the finest raiment Kings Road and City Lights can offer. Around them swirl we should be roués and tarts of sleepy London town: make up smeared on androgynous pusses, hennaed Bowie hair, costumes ranging from F. Scott fantasy to David Bowie wet dream. (Yep, he's actually affected fashion.) Prancing and posing under the night sky ceiling and papier maché palms, eyeing each other's creations, the sense of “Event” hangs heavy in the air, and we know we won't be disappointed.

The stars in the ceiling dim and over the PA thunders 'The Pride and the Pain', Andy Mackay's madly funny pastiche of ‘El Cid’ and ‘Exodus’ film themes. Out struts Amanda, the leggy dish of the second album cover, very arousing in her black fringe and g-string, and in a husky voice that could melt Phillip Marlowe's defences in a nova flash, introduces the first true band of the Seventies, Our Boys. They run on to the traditional thunderous applause and break into 'Do The Strand' as the backdrop lifts, revealing a stunning maze of drapes and lights amidst which five girls go-go the night away.

Front and centre is Bryan Ferry, James Dean in black, Roxy's attention/attraction. Spreading out on either side are saxman Andy Mackay and guitarist Phil Manzanera, stepping out in 30's conception of the well dressed space rake; electronics whiz Eno, dainty peacock feathers framing his subtly made up vogue-like features; and the thundering rhythms of drummer Paul Thompson, late of shipyards and construction sites, and bassist John Porter, late of Little Feat. They may appear effete and glossy, given to articulation and intellectualism, but they can still put the boot in and rock, and on this night did they ever!

Although the basic feel is 50's filtered through The Move, with references to all and sundry injected throughout, there is a distinct strain, believe it or not, of good old psychedelic music, and if we can proudly accept our surf and punk pop roots, then what's wrong with a little mind expansion on the side?

Eno's love is music that repeats itself, either in the Velvet Underground manner or the more "avant" John Cage/Terry Riley style, while Andy, a musician trained in all forms, can call up honking riffs from Coasters era King Curtis to the most boring modern jazz, working from a philosophy that sees it all as just plain music (and even if you do try to dismiss them, you gotta give credit for reviving that great so-so instrument, the saxophone). Flying behind Bryan's soulish Cole Porter stylings, it gives you enough aural pie, regardless of classifications, that there ain't no way you're gonna be hungry.

Roxy are still new enough at the game that the thrill of actually controlling blows their minds, and the enthusiasm of their live show can't be beat. (And it sure is nice to see an audience jumping around with true rock fervour – no mellow folks from Marin here!) So you best see them in the next couple of years before they get famous and ultra rich and become jaded old farts like the Rolling Stones. Who wants to see Bryan Ferry dance with Mr. D?

Phonograph Record, September 1973
©John Ingham

Nico – My Part In Her Fame

In 1974 I worked as a press officer at Island Records. It says something of the artistic license an A&R man could take in those times that he signed both John Cale and Nico almost purely on their reputation as Velvet Undergrounders. Cale was musically and philosophically close to another Island signing, Brian Eno, and it wasn’t long before they were partners in mischief. Completing the label’s artistic coven was Kevin Ayers, founding member of Soft Machine and enjoying a certain muso credibility for having discovered Mike Oldfield, then riding high with the all-conquering ‘Tubular Bells’.

But how to sell this arcane quartet to the huddled masses…. How about an old-fashioned revue, art-style?

So it came to pass on June 1, 1974 that the four played The Rainbow. With one exception it was a guitar jamboree: Kevin had Oldfield with him, the shyest guy in show business. Eno played the epic “Baby’s On Fire”. Cale seared the unsuspecting audience with his volcanic interpretation of “Heartbreak Hotel”. The exception was Nico. Alone at her harmonium she pumped out a trio of mournful odes, none more doleful than her bus drive through “The End”.

The event was recorded, packaged and released exactly three weeks later, a monumental effort in logistics. My role was to kindle and feed the excitement of the press.

Seven years on from The Velvet Underground, Nico still looked beautiful but her face had hardened. She wore gowns and a cloak, hiding who knew what state of body. Singing, conversations, publicity…each was approached the same way. Her interviews had journalists reaching for the thesaurus: funereal, sombre, gloomy, melancholy, monotone. Because she didn’t care about “career moves” and being your friend, she seemed arctic. I liked her.

I never had a natural conversation with her. I’m not sure anyone did. It was more like a series of pronouncements that you explored for hooks with which to construct replies. Even Cale, who was in the middle of making his third album with her, seemed to have the same conversational dynamic. Her voice was just like on record but maybe even slower. Every sentence sounded like a definitive statement, an effect that worked really well when we spent half a bus ride talking about how masks were used on the ancient Greek stage. (Yes, “I took a face from the ancient gallery” ran through my mind more than once.)

Underneath the surface lurked a considerable humour, expressed through sardonic jokes and an almost secret smile that would surface in the silences. Maybe she was just laughing at our attempts to reply.

She usually had a bottle of red wine in her hand, from which she regularly sipped. “It tastes much better from the bottle. In a glass it doesn’t taste as good. She confided with such certainty that I started thinking I should change the way I drank. Supplementing it was a small hash pipe. Often the two went in circular sequence.

Nico’s solo oeuvre was a very arcane taste. She was possibly alone in “rock music” to create the sounds she did – music was linear in those days. ACNE, as the quartet was called, did several gigs around the country and while her music was alien to almost everyone’s taste, her focus, concentration and otherworldliness always made me pay attention. My mind didn’t wander when she was on stage.

The last time I saw her was in the Island press office. She was sitting on a sofa by the door, half-empty wine bottle on the floor by her feet, hash pipe between her lips while we talked about upcoming interviews. The label president stepped through the door, not noticing her as he asked someone a question. Then he smelled the sweet fumes and looked down for a long ten seconds. When he looked back up you could see a shutter come down to his right and she ceased to exist in his presence.

Her album (‘The End’) came out soon after, but it was never going to sell to anyone who wasn’t already interested. The label didn’t renew her contract.

Rock Shrines 13 - 20

Rock Shrine No. 13 - Air Studios

When George Martin produced The Beatles he was on an EMI salary – no royalties for him. In 1969 he left the company and established Air Studios at Oxford Circus. See that row of windows above the ledge and below the roof? That was Air Studios. Probably the only recording studios on the fifth floor.

As you would expect, the best artists in the world passed through these rooms, including Kate Bush, Genesis, Procul Harum, The Pretenders, and Roxy Music, who recorded their second album ‘For Your Pleasure’ here. I was writing an article on them and abused my privilege to come back several times to watch them mix and finish the album. So I can tell you that “Bogus Man” was several minutes longer and had to be trimmed to fit on a vinyl record.

It was always very odd to look out the windows and realise you were five floors up.

In 1991 the lease ran out and Air moved to a church in Hampstead.

It’s at Oxford Circus, above Nike Town.

Rock Shrine No. 14 - The Rock Garden

The Rock Garden was the first British venue for Talking Heads. They played in a small basement room in early 1977 and Brian Eno was in the audience. It was a strange affair; the band were nervous and we were curious. But Brian saw something special, because this is where he introduced himself to the band. The start of a beautiful friendship.

It’s at 6-7 The Piazza at Covent Garden.

Map Location

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Rock Shrine No. 15 - Kings Cross Cinema

In June, 1972 The Stooges played their one UK concert at the Kings Cross Cinema. It was a midnight gig, which meant that first of all a lucky bunch of us drove up to Aylesbury (about 30 miles north of London) to see David Bowie being Ziggy Stardust.

It wasn’t the best show I’ve ever seen, but it was the most nervous. Iggy had a verrrrry long mic cord and wandered into the audience a lot. He sat on a girl’s lap and sang right into her eyes. He grabbed one guy by the side of his head and shook it really fast. You had no idea what he would do next and it made for a very tense atmosphere.

The band were…The Stooges! James Williamson stood in one spot in front of a double Marshall stack ripping off big riffs and noise. The Ashetons made rhythtm thunder. They played a lot of Raw Power, though we didn’t know that, mixed in with TV Eye, Dog, 1969 and others. At one point the sound screwed up and with a shout of rage Ig hurled the mic against the stage floor. It bounced about a foot into the air in three or four pieces, in a line like an illustration from a manual. While it was fixed he stood alone in the middle of the stage and started singing ‘The Shadow Of Your Smile’ in his best Frank Sinatra voice. He sang it really low so everyone shut up to hear it. It was beautiful. The back cover of Raw Power is from that show.

Today it’s a cinema and club called the Scala, at 275 Pentonville Rd., near Kings Cross station.

Map Location

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Rock Shrine No. 16 - Hammersmith Palais

“Midnight to six, man, For the first time from Jamaica
Dillinger and Leroy Smart, Delroy Wilson, your cool operator”

On June 5, 1977 Joe Strummer from The Clash went to a concert he expected to be a celebration of the roots reggae we were all listening to that year. Instead he got “Four Tops all night with encores from stage right” and poured his frustration into their best song.

The Palais opened in 1919 to host jazz bands and was a popular dance venue until the Fifties. On the back of the building a mural remains from – probably – its opening promoting the dances.

In the early to mid Seventies it was a popular venue for reggae concerts, then for bands such as PiL, The Cramps and Soft Cell, and finally for British Asian dance acts. Ten years ago Elton John held his 50th birthday here.

On 22nd January 2007, the Palais was condemned to be demolished. There will be a series of concerts over the next few days, climaxing on 31st March with former Clash-man Paul Simonon playing in his new band The Good, The Bad and The Queen.

It’s at 242 Hammersmith Road, just up the road from Hammersmith tube station.

Map location

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Rock Shrine No. 17 – Hammersmith Apollo

It’s now called the Hammersmith Apollo, but true music fans call it by its real name: The Hammersmith Odeon.

Originally a cinema, this imposing piece of post-Art Deco has been a consumate London venue for over 40 years. Almost everyone has played here, from Ray Charles and Chuck Berry through Bobby Womack to Pharell Williams. The list of legendary concerts include all The Beatles Christmas Shows, Emmylou Harris with James Burton, a week of Bob Marley and a week of Erasure. At different times both Blondie and Tom Petty made their acquaintance with the UK here. Kanye West is playing three nights next week – followed a week later by Toto. It’s an inclusive place.

Ziggy Stardust emotionally retired on this stage in 3 July, 1973. Two years later Bruce Springsteen made a disastrous UK debut, returning a few days later in triumph. Bowie came back in 2003, Bruce in 2005 and both of them made constant references to their previous visits. (A friend was singing in Bruce’s band and said he kept looking like he was seeing ghosts.)

Of the many times I’ve been in this place, the standout is Neil Young and Crazy Horse in March, 1976. We knew he was playing new songs [Hurricane] but no idea he was full of jumbo jet volume’d dissonance and feedback. This was the first time the mad Neil attack was unveiled and the place responded with a roar as loud as the ringing in our ears. After they stopped no-one left. For 45 minutes we riotously demanded an encore until the band came out. They didn’t know we were still there until they heard the noise as they came back to play for the fun of it.

The Odeon is at Queen Caroline Street Hammersmith London W6 9QH.

The Hammersmith Palais (Rock Shrine 16) is up the road a few hundred yards.

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Rock Shrine No. 18 – The Palladium

The Palladium is one of London’s venerable institutions and the cream of the world’s entertainers have played here. The building was originally a circus and then an ice rink before becoming a theatre in the ‘20s. Everyone’s been here – Ellington, Garland, Crosby, Fitzgerald, Sinatra, Sammy Davis, Jr., Danny Kaye, and Johnnie Ray (the Nabob of Sob) among them.

Its rock and roll fame is just as extensive. The TV show Sunday Night at the London Palladium introduced The Beatles to national TV, where Lennon famously told the rich people to “rattle your jewellry”. The Rolling Stones added to their delinquient image by refusing to ride the rotating stage that traditionally closed the show. (What innocent times!) Slade played a raucous week as part of the celebrations to mark Britain joining the EU and you could see the balcony moving from the stamping fans. Marvin Gaye recorded a live album in 1976. I saw John Denver here!

Brian Epstein’s offices were next door at 5-6 Argyle Street and is where Lennon gave the interview saying The Beatles were more famous than Jesus.

Argyle Street is just off Oxford Circus.

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Rock Shrine No. 19 – Ziggy Stardust

The location for a very famous album cover.

Although the brickwork has been painted and the evocative K. West sign has gone, the rest is remarkably untouched.

In 1977 Generation X knew how to make a cool reference to the past.

23 Heddon Street is off Regent Street a few hundred yards from Picadilly Circus.

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Rock Shrine No. 20 – Apple HQ

3 Saville Row must be one of the most famous addresses in Britain. This was Beatles HQ when they formed Apple Records, famous for the rooftop concert recorded for the film Let It Be.





When they weren’t on the roof they were in the basement studio. Here’s a photo of the mixing desk:

When George visited San Francisco and the Haight Ashbury in 1967 he somehow invited a couple of Hells Angels to visit him in London. Sure enough they showed up six months later with a retinue of friends, including the actor Peter Coyote (he was a radical hippie back then) and author Ken Kesey.

Saville Row is one part of London that’s resistent to change and therefore looks almost exactly as it did then. Next door is Gieves and Hawk, tailors to the royal household. Across the street is the back entrance of The Albany, the best address in London. Terence Stamp has lived here for more than 40 years.

Stamp shared a flat with Michael Caine before he got famous and moved here. If ‘60s Caine was movie cool then ‘60s Stamp was rock star cool. In Sean Levy’s highly readable history of Swinging London, Ready Steady Go he ends the book with an image of Stamp slipping quietly out this back door while The Beatles play on the roof.






Apple HQ, 3 Savile Row, London W1S 3PB

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