The second incident concerned the making of the video for ‘Always The Sun.’ I had storyboarded the video and everybody approved the idea. We shot the video then the director and I spent a good fifty hours in an editing suite finishing it off. Upon seeing the result, the others said they hated it but didn’t explain why they had approved the idea and the storyboard earlier and also participated in the shoot for it.
I mentioned earlier that John and I had fallen out in Italy. We were backstage after a gig and were swapping our impressions of the performance as we usually did. This particular set had begun with ‘Something Better Change’, an early number which John sang. After the guitar intro, John and I were jumping in the air and landing to coincide with the other instruments starting the song. It was a very dynamic beginning to the set, but we weren’t synchronizing the jump that night, and when I mentioned to John that he hadn’t been on time, he attacked me. He’s had many years of karate training and can quite easily incorporate this into a violent disagreement. He had to be restrained by several people to avoid injuring me. Later on that night, he apologized profusely but I made it clear to him that I was going to have to be very careful what I said to him in future, for fear of my own safety. It was at this point that I resolved to secure some sort of solo recording arrangement, as it was becoming clear that I couldn’t be sure how long our relationship within the band was going to last.
We wrote and recorded demos for the album 10 at John’s house in Cambridge using a small recording set-up in a barn. I would travel up there from the West Country to work for a few days. It made good sense to take a break and catch up with my own personal life and I was intending to leave when John accused me of not being totally committed to the sessions. ‘I’m going to stay here until we’ve finished everything we need to,’ he stated.
It occurred to me that it was very easy for him to continue his private life when he was working in his own backyard but, considering his outburst in Italy, I didn’t want to take any risks by discussing it with him. I did not want to provoke him and just made it clear that I had to take a break, so I left.
So where does that leave us? Rehearsing for a tour to promote 10, and looking forward to touring America, which was the market the record had been produced for. CBS had brought in Roy Thomas Baker, a larger-than-life individual, veteran of numerous Queen albums and teller of many stories about working with rock legends. CBS thought that he could groom our sound for the States, which was a market we had never exploited. Our status there was that of a cult band. We hadn’t been to the US very often, and ‘Golden Brown’ had never had a release there, the general consensus being that it fell between two stools. The Stranglers’ name meant one market, but the song itself meant another, and the marketing gurus over there couldn’t find a way to reconcile the two. The concise streaming of music on American radio left ‘Golden Brown’ out on a limb and unplayable.
Our managers and I had gone over to New York to do some advance promotion for the album. When my part in that was done, I left them there to wheel and deal whilst I returned to London to rehearse with the other three for the UK tour. Our managers then arrived back and immediately came to see us at the rehearsal studios. We were expecting news of US release dates and a touring schedule but instead they told us there were to be no American singles and, more surprisingly, no US tour. They had been unable to interest an American agent to book a tour over there. This was the point at which the thought of leaving the band became a possibility to me. I had been delaying the decision, hoping that touring America might give the group a new energy and maybe some success there. Suddenly there was a huge gap in our work diary.
So, as I have mentioned, we finished the tour with that gig at Alexandra Palace and I walked out. I didn’t even have any faith that the rest of the band would be disappointed. I didn’t want to discuss it amidst all the acrimony and recrimination. I had no idea if they were intending to carry on or not without me. David Buckley, who wrote The Stranglers’ aforementioned biography, No Mercy, told me he was very surprised that none of the band tried to persuade me to reconsider leaving and perhaps take a sabbatical instead. I guess he had a point.
As far as answering that second question – about rejoining the group – it’s as far from my mind as anything could be. Maybe if they had split up when I left, there could be some dynamic excitement about getting back together again after such a long time. But you can’t re-form a band that hasn’t split up. Good old Ian Grant, one-time manager of The Stranglers and my first manager as a solo artist, said he could get me a million quid if I got back together with them, but I don’t need a million quid. I’ve put a lot of work into where I am today, and I have no intention of nullifying all that effort by such a dumb move.
The day after the gig at Alexandra Palace, I telephoned the others to tell them what I had decided. I said I didn’t want to be a Strangler any more. Their reactions were:
JOHN: very sympathetic, said he felt I hadn’t been happy for a while. He was quite emotional.
JET: he said, ‘OK. Fine,’ was completely nonplussed and didn’t comment, which surprised me.
DAVE: he asked me, ‘Will we be having a meeting?’
We did all meet up together once more in our accountants’ offices about two months later to divide the spoils. I said that I’d like to get my amplifiers and guitars back. John said, ‘You’ve been collecting guitars for years. You shouldn’t get them all back.’
I thought of something.
‘If you hadn’t smashed so many basses on stage, you’d probably have had as many yourself.’
Jet tried to keep a straight face but collapsed into his chair with laughter.
I finally got my equipment back a year later.
CHAPTER TWO Rock ‘n’ Roll Part 1
One of the first things I can remember is my mum taking me in a pushchair on to Hampstead Heath to the Ladies’ Swimming Pond. She leaves me by the side of the pond to watch as she goes in for a dip. It’s the middle of winter and there is ice on the pond. The lifesavers have broken a hole in the ice so that the regular bathers can go for a dip. As I wait for my mum to change into her costume, I watch the hole in the ice and see a very large white fish come up close to the surface of the dark water. It’s only visible for a few seconds but that’s enough for me. My mum appears in her costume and gets ready to climb into the water. I tell her about the fish and say she shouldn’t go in, but she laughs and takes no notice. I’m horrified to see her get in the hole and swim around for a short while, oblivious to the danger. She gets out and scurries off to change, unharmed by the fish. I am very relieved that the fish hasn’t bitten my mum’s leg off.
We were lucky to be living near to the Heath, as it’s the closest thing to living in the country that you can find in London. My brothers (the eldest, Richard, and David, second eldest) and my sister (Vicky) and me were always roaming around there, and when the long summer break from school came you couldn’t keep us off it. We could play cricket all day long and even pick blackberries to take home for mum to make a pie with.
I would guess that my first gig took place when I was about 5 years old. We were living in what was known as a ‘prefab’ in Tufnell Park, north London, at the time. It was temporary housing erected after the Second World War on a bomb site, and it looked like a bungalow. I can remember being in my parents’ back garden singing to the plants when the woman next door came out and gave me some sweets over the fence in appreciation. I was a quick learner and set up a daily residency there after school. My mum was not too pleased when she found out I was milking the neighbour, so she cancelled my booking immediately.
Later on, I was able to learn from David about the power of the artist in ‘promoter relations’, when we were in the local church choir. We would sing at people’s weddings nearly every Saturday for half a crown each, and there were about ten of us in the choir. One