Rock Shrines 41 - 46

Rock Shrine No. 41 – The Astoria [Nirvana, etc]

Welcome to one of London’s best rock venues: sweaty, dark, a bit seedy. Converted from a warehouse into a theatre and cinema in 1926, it became a live venue in 1986. Everyone has played here, from hardcore classic rock bands (The Rolling Stones, Deep Purple) to the kind of artists (Kylie, Madonna) who appeal to the clientele attending G.A.Y. on a Saturday night. Amy Winehouse showed she can be amazing shortly before she lost control. One of So Solid Crew shot himself in the leg trying to pull a gun out of his waistband in the middle of their set. But for Important Gigs, that honour must go to the debut show by The Raconteurs in 2007 and the UK debut of Nirvana in 1989. The doors closed for the last time last week to make way for a ventilation shaft and expanded Underground station being built as part of a new subway line.



Astoria Theatre, 157 Charing Cross Road, London WC2H 0EL


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Rock Shrine No. 42 – IBC Studios [The Who]


In the 1950s International Broadcasting Company Recording Studios (IBC) was the leading independent studio in London. In the 60s it became home to a roll-call of amazing artists, including The Beatles (who pre-recorded a live TV show), The Bee Gees, The Small Faces, Status Quo, Elton John, Rod Stewart, Jimmy Page (as a session guitarist), Golden Earring, Adam Faith, and Duane Eddy. Like Abbey Road Studio 2 and Trident it was noted for a room with a very high ceiling, creating great acoustics for rock bands. None tested this more than The Who, who recorded ‘My Generation’, ‘A Quick One’, ‘The Who Sell Out’, and ‘Tommy’.


Other era-defining music created here:
1. The Kinks – You Really Got Me
2. The Yardbirds – For Your Love, Happenings Ten Years Time Ago
3. The Easybeats – Friday on My Mind
4. Cream recorded their last studio album ‘Goodbye’ and parts of ‘Wheels Of Fire’.
5. Engineer/producer Glyn Johns recorded the Rolling Stones’ first demos in 1963.


In 1965 they were back in IBC to record “As Tears Go By”, either their own Italian version or the Marianne Faithfull version. Chas Chandler mastered several Jimi Hendrix records here and in the early 70s used it to record Slade. In the 80s, he bought IBC and renamed it Barn Studios. Situated in one of the most valuable real estate areas of central London, today it houses offices.

For more information, one of the studio’s engineers has created an extensive history web site: http://www.ibcstudio.co.uk/

IBC Studios, 35 Portland Place, London W1B 1QF


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Rock Shrine No. 43 – Central St. Martins School Of Art and Design [Joe Strummer]

Joe Strummer – or John Mellor as he was then known – began studying at Central in Sept 1970, one of over 400 applicants for the 60 available places. He wanted to be a cartoonist, though he told people he wanted to be in advertising. Joe later described the school as the “last resort of malingerers and bluffers and people who don’t want to work,” but it has long been one of the most prestigious art schools in Britain.

Graduates include a very long list of famous artists, actors, film makers and designers; musicians who went there include PJ Harvey, Jarvis Cocker, M.I.A., Vivian Stanshall and Neil Innes from The Bonzo Dog Band, Sex Pistol Glen Matlock and fellow Clash member Paul Simenon. It was where Malcolm McLaren and Bernard Rhodes went when they needed talented people to help when dreaming up The Sex Pistols.

One of these was Alex McDowell, who did all the silk screening of McLaren’s t-shirts and posters. He later designed album covers then co-founded The Oil Factory to make music videos. Moving to Los Angeles, he is now a production designer whose credits include Fight Club, Minority Report, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, The Terminal, and Watchmen.

Central Saint Martins College of Art and Design Southampton Row, London WC1B 4AP

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Rock Shrine No. 44 – Rehearsals Rehearsals [The Clash]


On the evening of August 13, 1976, The Clash invited some music journalists and friends to Rehearsals Rehearsals to see them play. Even in the hyper-small Punk world of the time they had gone unnoticed, quietly scheming, writing and rehearsing an arsenal of songs. The lucky few walked out of the balmy evening into a brick walled room with a rock and roll backline at the rear. Behind it was a painted mural of a cityscape, all tower blocks and car dumps. The 4 x 12 speaker cabinets in front of them were painted dayglo pink.

After a suitable wait the group entered, walking purposefully in single file, Joe Strummer at the head. The bassist wore black, paint spattered Jackson Pollock style acros the fabric. One of the guitarists had wide stripes painted on his shirt. There were three guitarists. Without a word they broke into a racket best desrcibed by Sounds critic Giovanni Dadomo, who called them “a runaway train”. The music moved on rails, straight ahead and full of purpose, with short explosive solos that finished before you fully heard them. They moved to match the music; third guitarist Keith Levene was literally running up the back wall as he played. They played about 14 songs in 30 minutes, the essence of Punk: a short, sharp shock.

Just down the road from The Roundhouse, Rehearsals Rehearsals was an old Gin House at the end of of a row of Victorian stables. It sat in a near-derelict yard in a near-derelict part of town, the rail lines from Kings Cross and St. Pancras running behind it on their way to the North. Manager Bernard Rhodes had found it as a place for the band to work. The name came from someone complaining that all they did was “reharsals rehearsals”.

Upstairs were a couple of rooms covered in old film posters. The photo of them standing in front of “Untamed Youth” was taken here. It’s in these rooms that the band plotted, schemed, and painted their clothes, in the days before they had their uniforms designed for them.

Paul Simenon outside Reharsals Rehearsals. The car belonged to manager Bernard Rhodes. (Image from Rock Archive)

The band’s first album cover photo was taken here. The notorious “pigeon-shooting” incident in 1978 happened on the roof, when Paul Simenon and Topper Headon shot at passing pigeons with an air rifle, not knowing they were valuable racing pigeons.

There was always something to do at Rehearsals Rehearsals

The Clash left in 1982. Since then it has served as a retail outlet for a number of boutiques. The interior is mostly gutted and modernised. A row of apartments is being built where the stables used to be.

By the railway tracks. The Roundhouse is in the background. Apartments are being built where they stand. (Image from Rock Archive)

Rehearsals Rehearsals - The Gin House, Stables Market London, NW1 8AH


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Rock Shrine No. 45 – The Apple Store [The Beatles]


The Beatles’ accountants had bought 94 Baker Street as a financial investment for the group and it became temporary headquarters for Apple whilst 3 Savile Row was being renovated. But what to do with it after that… Pattie Harrison was familiar with a Dutch group called The Fool, who had run a boutique in Amsterdam, so in September 1967, The Beatles gave them £100,000 to design and stock a new Apple Boutique. The concept was that absolutely everything was for sale. It was ‘a beautiful place where beautiful people can buy beautiful things’.

The Fool engaged several dozen art students to paint a huge psychedelic mural across the entire front and side of the store which garnered instant complaints from local merchants. The City of Westminster had refused planning permission and the mural was only present for three weeks before the council threatened to repaint it and charge Apple for the privilege.




Invitations to the grand opening on 5 December 1967 read 'Come at 7.46. Fashion Show at 8.16.' The only drink available was apple juice. John and George were the only Beatles that attended.

The Boutique was a financial disaster and closed just 8 months later. On Tuesday morning, 30 July 1968, the staff was told to give everything away. The ‘beautiful place’ was no more. Today, somewhat ironically, the building is home to an employment agency.

Opening Invitation

Clothing Label

Apple Boutique, 94 Baker Street, London W1U 6FZ

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Rock Shrine No. 46 – The Scene (The Who)

The Scene Club in Ham Yard, Soho was thought of by many as Mod Central. It wasn't a hugely popular place filled to bursting with people, but more of an underground club where only the top mods hung out, and the whole mod style was created. The club's decor didn't match the smart cut of their clothes, being a bizarre dingy basement catacomb where the walls were padded and the floor was littered with cushions, but it was ideal for the pilled lifestyle they led, where you were buzzing into the early hours of the morning and needed a club that stayed open as late as 5am on a Sunday. The Goldhawk may have been a club for drinkers, but the Scene was definitely designed for pills.

Pete Townshend - "The Scene was really where it was at, but there were only about fifteen people down there every night. It was a focal point for the mod movement. I don't think anyone who was a mod outside Soho realised the fashions and dances all began there."

Ham Yard, London W1D 7DT

Rock Shrine No. 47 – Kensington Hypermarket [Jimi Hendrix, Queen]

One of the best shopping experiences of the 60s and 70s, Kensington Hypermarket was a multi-floor building filled with tiny stalls owned by budding clothes designers and retail wannabes. It was popular because they moved quickly with the times, with groovy psychedelic gear in the 60s, Biba and velvet rockstar knockoffs in the early 70s and punk clobber in ‘76 and ‘77.

Freddy Mercury owned one such outlet and it is here that Roger Taylor first met him.

On September 17, 1970, the last afternoon of Jimi Hendrix’s life, he went shopping with girlfriend Monika Dannemann and spent a good part of the afternoon here.

Although closed for many years it was only recently torn down and replaced with this nondescript office block.

Kensington Hypermarket, 49 – 52 Kensington High Street, London W8 6NS

Freddie Mercury Remembered

I was asked to write about Freddie for a Queen anniversary edition of a popular UK magazine. It was fun to spend a few days again with Freddie and his larger than life personality. When it was published, any reference that might be interpreted negatively was cut. Even in death Queen are alive and the media don’t want to annoy the publicists.
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Think of Freddie: short hair, big ‘tache, tight clothes, probably striding a stadium stage in complete ownership – a charisma just small enough for the world to contain. What’s largely forgotten is Freddie before he learned how to own the world. The singer and band that barely filled the role of support to Mott The Hoople. The group that sweated for two years from Teeside to Tokyo, often dismissed as boring, until ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ broke all the rules.

‘B. Rhap’ sold 150,000 copies in 20 days and continued at 20,000 a day. It was so fresh and mad and fantastic that you had to like it. The now famous video was knocked out in an afternoon during tour rehearsals. Queen were already on tour when they first saw it, 20 minutes to agree it was quite good for four hours work. Everyone thought the opera sequence was hilarious. No one thought they had just seen a classic.

The sold-out audiences were a few hundred to a couple of thousand, but, in the nicest way, Queen acted very big. Everything they did and thought demanded that the world should and would bow in complete acquiescence. So they had a simple, classy stage where no roadie lurked, nine Vox amps stepping back in rows of three (though Brian only used one or two), and lots of smoke, lots of lights, and lots of noise. Even in 1975 it seemed probable Queen would always be remembered since they had the ability to actualise even the outer limits of their self-importance.

The fans (all guys) were vociferous, knowing all the words, cheering at every effect and solo, fists flying to the beat. Freddie received them beneficently, telling them they’re beautiful. Inevitably, someone evaded the bouncers and the audience seethed to the front, climbing on each other in pyramids, sudden openings appearing as splintering seats sent bodies to the floor.

Even with an earthquake like Fred, Queen presented a leaderless image straight from the Beatles school of interlocking chemistry. John was the nonchalant one, Roger the cheeky cheesecake, Brian a frail astronomer with diamond-hard solos. Freddie was…an original.

He wasn’t pretty in any conventional sense. Like the Mick Jagger of ’64, he was his own invention, an interesting mix of hard rock preening and louche campness. Although he borrowed – like most of Queen’s plagiarisms – from Zeppelin, Freddie’s supreme assurance and belief in himself exploded into something that was a constant delight to watch.

He reacted to his audience almost like an over-emotional actress. At the climax to one night he paused at the top of the drum stand, looked back over the crowd and with complete, heartfelt emotion placed delicate fingers to lips and blew a kiss. Anyone who could consume himself so completely in such a clichéd showbiz contrivance deserved to be called a star.

Freddie’s real talent, though, was with his mike stand, a short, handheld stick that served all manner of visual metaphors: cock, machine gun, and for fleeting moments an imaginary guitar. He had a neat trick of standing quite still in particularly frantic moments and, holding the stand vertically from his crotch up, draw a fragile finger along its length, ever closer to the taunting eyes that surveyed his audience.

Freddie was at home before 50,000 fans. But even when the audience numbered a few hundred, he always referred to himself as a star. I like that Freddie, who knew greatness was going to arrive.

© 2006 J. Ingham Photo © Mick Rock

Queen: A Riot At The Opera

First published in Sounds, November 29, 1975

Queen triumphant

Report by Jonh Ingham, pictures by Kate Simon

QUEEN ARE the type of group that make a man want to abandon rock writing. They pose questions and never provide answers. They exist in their own space-time continuum, visible and audible but keeping their secrets to themselves.

On the surface they couldn't be a nicer bunch of people, but they carry English reticence to an epitome. It isn't, as Geoff Barton said two weeks ago, that they're boring, it's just that they're reserved. Or in writer parlance, they don't automatically provide colourful copy. All my instincts as a writer tell me that there is a great story in that band, but after two nights with them I'm hardly any the wiser.

Skin tight

That their insularity has a lot to do with them being one of the most amazing heavy-metal and/or rock bands in Britain - with all the signs that they'll end up monsters on the order of Zep - is fairly obvious, but just how much bearing it has on the matter is hard to say. The enigmas they might pose mightn't even have answers.

Is there any logical reason why they present an image and persona straight out of the Beatles school of interlocking chemistry?

John is reserved, almost nonchalant on stage, as if it's all in a small, personal joke. When asked how he saw himself within the framework of the band he replied, with a small smile, "I'm the bassist".

Roger is his opposite, the cheeky sidekick in a Clint Eastwood movie, and attracting a lot of cheesecake attention in America and Japan.
Freddie is an original - one of the most dynamic singers to tread the boards in quite a few years. His attraction is obvious.

Brian is perhaps the biggest enigma of all. What is this seemingly frail, gaunt astronomer doing on that stage, striding purposefully and blasting diamond-hard rock? They're all equally strong personalities - like the Beatles there's no one major focal point. Ask four fans who their dream Queen is and you'll get four different answers.

Queen have been busy lads these past few months. Having disassociated themselves from their former management and joined with John Reid, the fourth album was seen to. Reid decided that a tight schedule wouldn't cause them undue harm, and figured on two months to record before embarking on this current tour.

Only Queen are driven to better each previous album - which at this stage of the game is obviously producing some excellent results - and 'A Night At The Opera' turned into a saga - culminating in 36-hour mixing sessions in an effort to allow at least a few days for rehearsal. In the end they managed three and a half days at Elstree with four hours off to videotape the promotional film for 'Bohemian Rhapsody'.

Their first few dates had not been without errors and the quartet were still not feeling totally comfortable their second night in Bristol, fourth night of the tour. You'd never know it, though.

Like all other aspects of the group, the stage is sophisticated. A black scrim provides a backdrop bounded by a proscenium of lights both front and rear. At each side the p.a. rises like a mutant marriage of Mammon and Robby the Robot. Amp power is readily evident but the most extraordinary is Brian May's subtle set up: nine Vox boxes stepping back in rows of three. The only packing crate visible is holding a tray of drinks, and you may rest assured that no roadie will rush, crawl or lurk across the stage while the show is in progress unless it's to rescue Freddie's mike from the clawing crowd.

As the auditorium darkens the sound of an orchestra tuning up is heard over the p.a. The conductor taps his baton on the music stand and a slightly effete voice welcomes the audience to A Night At The Opera. The Gilbert & Sullivan portion of 'Bohemian Rhapsody' follows, a brief glimpse of Freddie is allowed, and then in a blast of flares and white smoke the blitzkrieg begins.

Roger is barely visible behind his kit, just his eyes and tousled locks. John is wearing a white suit and playing the-man-who-must-stand-still-or-it-will-all-blow-away. Brian is slightly medieval in his green and white Zandra Rhodes top, while Freddie is...

Around his ankles his satin white pants flare like wings - fleet footed Hermes. Everything north of the knee is skin tight - tighter than skin tight - with a zip-up front open to AA rating. But further south, definitely in X territory, lurks a bulge not unlike the Sunday Telegraph.

There have been sex objects and sex bombs, superstar potency and the arrogant presentation of this all-important area, but never has a man's weaponry been so flagrantly showcased. Fred could jump up on the drum stand and shake his cute arse, leap about and perform all manner of amazing acrobatics, but there it was, this rope in repose, barely leashed tumescence, the Queen's sceptre. Oh to be that hot costume, writhing across the mighty Fred!

Phallic

Freddie is not pretty in the conventional sense of the word; like Mick Jagger of '64, he is his own convention. Also like the Jagger of the time, his stage persona and action is unlike anything else. Although it borrows - like most of the group's plagiarisms - slightly from Zeppelin, in tandem with Freddie's supreme assurance and belief in himself - he always refers to himself as a star - it explodes into something that is a constant delight to watch.

He reacts to his audience almost like an over-emotional actress - Gloria Swanson, say, or perhaps Holly Woodlawn playing Bette Davis. At the climax of the second night in Bristol he paused at the top of the drum stand, looked back over the crowd and with complete, heartfelt emotion placed his delicate fingers to lips and blew a kiss. Any person who can consume themselves so completely in such a clichéd showbiz contrivance deserves to be called a star.

Freddie's real talent, though, is with his mike stand. No Rod Stewart mike stand callisthenics here, just a shortee stick that doubles as a cock, machine gun, ambiguous phallic symbol, and for a fleeting moment an imaginary guitar. He has a neat trick of standing quite still in particularly frantic moments and holding the stand vertically from his crotch up, draw a fragile finger along its length, ever closer to the taunting eyes that survey his audience.

Their show contains lots of bombs and smoke, lots of lights, lots of noise. They fulfil the function of supremely good heavy metal - i.e. you don't get a second to think about what's going on. When they do let up for a few minutes, it's only so you can focus in on the bright blue electric charge crackling between your ears.

Bulldozer

Dominating the sound is Roger's drumming, a bulldozer echo that bounces like an elastic membrane, meshing with your solar plexus so that your body pulses in synch with the thunder. Tuned into that, everything else is just supremely nice icing.

For three days rehearsal, after eight months off the road Bristol was extremely impressive. In speculative mood I quizzed people on how long they thought it would take to headline Madison Square Garden. I was thought a radical at a year and a half. John Reid smilingly assured me it would take a year.

That Queen should end up with John Reid is an entirely logical proceeding. Everything about Queen demands that the world eventually kowtows at their feet in complete acquiescence - so big that bodyguards have to accompany them at every step. Well, no - they found that an annoyance in Japan, but, you know, huge.

Such status demands a Reid or a Peter Grant, and whatever the causes for their leaving Jack Nelson and Trident, an elegant group like Queen is going to look for a man with class. Reid found the idea of managing a group interesting, and having to deal with four strong personalities a challenge. He only concerns himself with their business and ensuring that the year ahead is mapped out. In January they begin a jaunt through the Orient, Australia and America, by which time it's March and they begin preparations for the next album.

Reid's prediction of a year was proven highly credible the next evening in Cardiff. The band had still not paused from the rush up to the tour and spent most of the day relaxing and sleeping - no doubt a factor in their near recumbent profile. Also, unlike most groups, they were keeping their dissatisfaction with the show to themselves.

They stopped off at Harlech TV on the way to see a cassette of the video for 'Bohemian Rhapsody'. The general consensus was quite good for four hours, with much laughter during the operetta. Brian finds film of the group educational - the first time he saw himself was a Mike Mansfield opus for 'Keep Yourself Alive' - "It was 'All right fellows, give it everything you've got but don't move off that spot.' It was terrible." You don't like Mansfield, eh? "Oh, I hate him - we all do... I was horrified when I saw it - I couldn't believe we looked that bad. I looked very static - seeing myself has taught me a lot about stage movement. Some of the things I do are planned for effect, but it's mostly just feeling the audience and communicating that back to them."

Arriving at the motel - several miles out of town - Freddie immediately fell asleep, John held court of a sort, joined later by Brian, while Roger went jogging, a daily event when touring. Tuning in to rock via Bill Haley and Tommy Steele, he became a drummer because he was better at it than guitar. All through school he was in bands; he only went to dental school out of "middle class conditioning, and it was a good way to stay in London without having to work". His mother thought it a bit strange when he opted for a career as a rock star, but she doesn't worry too much now.

The concert starts in much the same manner as the previous night, but there are signs that tonight is work, with posing an afterthought. The endings to most of their songs are magnificent and majestic, especially 'Flick Of The Wrist' and the rapid harmonies of 'Bad Boy Leroy Brown'.

Maniacal

The audience, seeing their faces in town for the first time, are vociferous in their appreciation. Guys know all the words to every song, yelling enthusiastically at every effect and solo. The band picks up, Freddie receiving the crowd beneficently, telling them they’re beautiful.

As the show builds it is obvious that things are gelling more. The previous night Brian had seemed totally out of place, not moving too much, taking solos with the weirdest half blank half possessed stare, talking to himself; cocking ear towards guitar. He was the proverbial stranger in a strange land, one step removed from the plane inhabited by you and me.

Tonight he moves fluidly, the gonzo lead guitarist of a gonzo band. His expressions are just as maniacal, but it only makes him look more demonic. His solo in 'Brighton Rock', an exposition in riffing and echo, is a treat because of his physical response to both music and audience, complete with ham acting. Freddie gets into the same game on 'The Prophet's Song', where he conducts an acapella madrigal with himself. It's a pretty commanding moment.

It’s soon after this that Madison Square seems reasonable. About a minute into 'Stone Cold Crazy' it becomes very obvious that Queen have suddenly Plugged In. Found the metal music machine and Connected. Freddie's movements explode in perfect unison with the music, the lights and surroundings go crazy, and the audience goes berserk.

Freddie asks for requests and receives a roar out of which one can vaguely make 'Liar'. Fred walks along the stage, nodding, agreeing he will do this one and that one while the kids roar on. "I'll tell you what - we'll do them all!"

'Doing Alright' opens slow and portentously. Queen's variation of light and shade is one of the major factors in their popularity, but even so the quiet sections frequently find the audience's mind wandering. One kid starts getting a joint together, totally forgetting it when everything blasts off again; guys talk among themselves, only to instantly leap to their feet, fists flying to the beat.

'Doing Alright' changes into a cha-cha beat, Freddie snapping his fingers, the coolest hipster in town, and then instantly drops into faster-than-light drive - the whole row next to me leaps to their feet as a man, rocking back and forth as Brian roars into a blinding solo.

Two songs later, in 'Seven Seas of Rye', the kids break - very fast - and in five seconds half the audience is a seething mass in front of the stage, climbing on each other in pyramids, sudden openings appearing as a splintering seat sends a few bodies to the floor.

The rest of the show is equally intense, especially for a couple of minutes during 'Liar; where Fred and Brian merge into a tight little triangle with Roger while John stands in front of the bass drum, staring out with his small smile.

Freddie has treated his encores - 'Big Spender' and 'Jailhouse Rock' - differently on successive nights, once appearing in a kimono and in Bristol with rather rude tight white shorts, giving the song title new emphasis. In Cardiff, though, he doesn't bother to change at all. Later it transpired that Brian had twisted his ankle during 'Liar'. While he’s attended to, kids out front pick up chair slivers to keep as mementos.

On the bus back to the hotel Brian sits quietly at the back, chatting with two girls. John sits at the front, as always. Freddie stares out of the window, lost in his own world. Roger bounces around, starts a pillow fight with Brian - which stops as soon as Brian scores a direct hit to the face - then discovers an eight track of 'Sheer Heart Attack', punching it through the channels as he conducts the group. The two hours towards which they have channelled the day's energies are spent.

Ambition

That Queen have become a top attraction through a fair degree of plagiarism is amusing. Stealing is nothing new in rock (or any art for that matter) and mostly Queen use the borrowed material better than the originals. That they would be big I don't think anybody really doubted. All four have immense desire to be successful, and that kind of ambition will keep them slogging until they achieve it.

But there are popular heavy metal bands and there are popular h-m bands. From watching Queen's audience it is apparent that Queen speak for them in a way that bands such as the Who and the Stones and the Beatles spoke (and continue to speak) to their audience. Uriah Heep may be great at what they do, but five years after their demise who'll remember them? Creedence Clearwater Revival demonstrate the same thing - who remembers them? And yet five years ago they were the largest band in the world.

Queen will probably always be remembered, because as their tour is beginning to demonstrate, they have the ability to actualise and encompass the outer limits of their sense of self-importance. Queen and their music, presentation, production - everything about them says that they are more important than any other band you've every heard, and who has there been, so far, who has objected? Certainly not the 150,000 people (plus 20,000 a day) who bought 'Bohemian Rhapsody' in the first 20 days of its release. Certainly not me.

See you at Madison Square Garden.

[text © J. Ingham 2007; photos © Kate Simon]