Fallen Svengalis

I’ve been so immersed in the past this month, frantically writing away on a new book, that I completely failed to notice the death of Tam Paton, the former manager of the Bay City Rollers.

Now, I know few people had good words to say about Tam – particularly those musicians who he managed – but I always had a bit of a soft spot for him. He was a very visible media presence when I was young, and a couple of years back I spoke with him for the book Cult Rock Posters 1972-1982, that I did with Roger Crimlis.

What impressed me most was his commitment to keeping total control over the image of his charges: ‘I had to control it,’ he said, ‘because I was aware that all I had was an image.’ So he would destroy all the discarded negatives from a photo session to ensure that only approved shots could be published. And, he said, he monitored everything: ‘I used to keep in control of the fan club at the same time. We used to ask who their favourite Roller was, and when I found any member of the Rollers was falling behind big-style, I would then concentrate on them, getting them press, photographing them, trying to push them ahead.’

He was never given as much credit as he deserved for his ability to manipulate the media.

It all ended in scandal, of course. And in the courts.

Which reminds me that I met Jonathan King this week. Another fascinating man from the neglected side of rock and roll history – the missing link between Larry Parnes and Malcolm McLaren.

He’s written and filmed a rock opera about the trumped-up charges he faced and the outrageously long sentence he received, a copy of which he was kind enough to give me. Titled Vile Pervert, it’s available for viewing on his website and it has some good stuff in there, including the wonderful Johnny Reggae, as well as new songs – There’s Nothing Wrong with Buggering Boys is a particular gem.

Beyond a Joke

In case you’re sorting out your viewing for the bank holiday weekend, may I direct you to Beyond A Joke, on ITV3 at 9pm, Monday 4 May. It’s the first of a five-part series about sitcoms in the 1970s and 1980s and, amongst all the proper people who should be there talking about the subject, there’s also some contributions from me, making asinine comments.

Recession - The Queen Speaks

I’ve been immersing myself recently in the 1980s for a book I’m working on. Which means that, while I’m a little out of touch with the details of the current recession, I am at least up to speed on the two Thatcherite recessions.

And in Gyles Brandreth’s excellent volume of diaries, Breaking the Code, there’s a fine passage where he’s trying to make small talk with the Queen in 1990. He mentions the recession, and she replies:

‘We do seem to get them every few years – and none of my governments seems to know what to do about them.’

Plus ça change...

An Historical Dinner

I went last night to the Jolly St Ermine’s Hotel as the guest of the Historical Association Dining Group, who are a splendid and very welcoming collection of people. As the name of the group suggests, we had dinner, and then I gave a short talk on the 1970s, which I enjoyed greatly, regardless of anyone else. Not the kind of thing I’ve ever really done before, so I was grateful to have the opportunity.

My thanks to Edward Towne and Peter Titley in particular, who invited me and were so hospitable, and to those who bought a copy of Crisis? What Crisis? afterwards.

Paperback Crisis

The paperback edition of my book Crisis? What Crisis? has just arrived, and I think it looks splendid: a better cover than the hardback, and yours for only £8.99, published by Aurum Press.


I'm particularly grateful to Sam Harrison for putting this together and for his enthusiasm.

Also, while I’ve been away for a few days, The Guardian has published the Harry Hammond obituary I wrote. My thanks to Diana Gower.

Wendy Richard

Sad to note the passing of Wendy Richard, something of a British institution. Before Eastenders, before even Are You Being Served?, she first made her name in 1962 with the #1 hit Come Outside, recorded with Mike Sarne.

And here the two are, photographed by Harry Hammond (© V&A Images), as featured in my book Halfway to Paradise:

Robert Elms

Thanks to everyone who made complimentary comments about my appearance on Robert Elms’ programme on BBC London today. And, of course, to Mr Elms himself.

I’d been on his show before, with Roger Crimlis, to promote our book Cult Rock Posters 1972-1982, and there are few broadcasters who are more fun to chat about the 1970s with. Which is what we were doing today, with me promoting the paperback edition of Crisis? What Crisis? Due out next month, it is.

More Harry Hammond

To complete my register of Harry Hammond tributes, there’s an obituary in The Times that’s worth your attention. My thanks to James Owen for his careful work. And thanks too to Mojo who noted his passing.

The Last Word

Just for the record, the Radio 4 programme The Last Word, including a short tribute to Harry Hammond, is due to be repeated on Sunday evening and is available online.

Farewell to Harry Hammond

It’s been a week dominated by the late Harry Hammond. On Tuesday I went to Leamington Spa with Mark Eastment and Andrea Stern from the V&A for Harry’s funeral, which was deeply moving. My thanks to the family for their kind hospitality.

And today I’ve been at Broadcasting House, talking about Harry with Matthew Bannister for his Radio 4 obituaries show, The Last Word.

And, while on the subject of obituaries, it’s nice to see that Harry’s passing is noted by the American magazine Cashbox.

Here, just to add to the record, is one of my favourite Harry Hammond photos (©V&A Images), showing the great Jerry Lee Lewis in all his glory:

Harry Hammond obituary

There is a very fine obituary to Harry Hammond in today’s Daily Telegraph. It’s really good to see the massive contribution he made to the development of rock photography being accorded the respect it deserves.

My thanks to Harry de Quetteville and Roger Wilkes for their help and courtesy.

In tribute to both Harry and Buddy Holly, here's a photo of the latter taken by the former (© V&A Images), which is on view in the Buddy Holly exhibition at the Proud Gallery:

Harry Hammond

I’m very saddened to hear that Harry Hammond died yesterday.

Harry was, of course, the first great rock photographer in Britain, responsible for so many of the iconic images of the late-1950s and early-1960s, from Bill Haley to the Beatles.

I had the privilege of working with Harry on a book of his rock and roll photos, published last year as Halfway to Paradise. It was an extraordinary experience, going through the vast archive of his work that is held at the Victoria & Albert Museum – we barely scraped the surface with the images we were able to include.

In the course of researching the book, I spoke to a number of people about Harry and no one had a bad word to say about him. His enthusiasm, the respect he showed his subjects, and his long years of experience (he had started his career back in the 1930s) won him many, many friends.

Andrew Loog Oldham: ‘Of course we remember Harry. He always stood out a way from the other snappers who loathed us, wished us no good and could not wait to get back to snapping Vera Lynn.’

Cliff Richard: ‘Today’s paparazzi seem intent to present their subjects in the worst possible light. In the days of Harry Hammond, photographers only wanted to show the best of you. I guess that’s why it was always such a pleasure to have Harry around.’

Despite the upsetting news, I’m pleased that the book came out while Harry was alive – he was very happy with the wonderful reproduction and the high quality of the printing, and said that his work has never been better represented. Our thoughts now are with his widow, Peggy.

This is a shot of Harry reflected in a mirror, while taking a picture of Alma Cogan (© V&A Images):