Georgie Fame’s journey has taken him
through rock n’roll, r&b, blue-beat
and jazz and, at one point, found
him wallowing in the grim world of
light entertainment. Since the mideighties,
when he reformed the Blue
Flames, Georgie’s been doing what
he does best – taking what’s good and mixing it up.
This summer, the singer is celebrating both his 66th
birthday and fifty years in the music business.
As we chat in the dressing room of a north
London theatre, Georgie looks sharp. He’s playing a
short tour with his trio featuring his two sons, Tristan
on guitar and James on drums. There’s a fine new
CD, Torn Wheels A-Turnin’, with a whole new set of
tunes about to be released and more dates with the
‘Last’ Blue Flames, with the addition of regular
sidemen, Alan Skidmore on tenor, trumpeter Guy
Barker and Anthony Kerr on vibes. Georgie hasn’t
had a drink or a cigarette for two weeks, though he’s
kind of keeping open the option of a couple of glasses
of wine for later. Not by reputation the easiest of cats,
Georgie is relaxed, talkative and hip. He doesn’t do
press – doesn’t see the point – so I feel honoured he’s
agreed to the interview.
He began his career, aged 16, in a North Wales
holiday camp with a drummer and singer called Rory
“Shakes” Blackwell.
“I said to my parents: give me a couple of months
and, if it doesn’t work, I’ll go back to my job in the
factory. I ended up playing piano in a pub in the East
End, the Essex Arms in Silvertown Way. The
landlord used to let me sleep there and I passed the
box around the dockers and I was playing boogiewoogie
and rock and roll on the piano. But Rory
bless him, who got me the gig in the pub, also got me
the audition with (impresario/manager) Larry
Parnes.”
It was Parnes who changed his name from Clive
Powell.
“Well, he christened me ‘Georgie Fame’, which
was very much against my will but he said, ‘If you
won’t use my name, I won’t use you in the show’ and
I needed the gig. That gig was a very prestigious gig
to have because you were working with all these guys
– Eddie Cochran, Gene Vincent. We used to back all
these early English rock n’rollers – Dickie Pride,
Johnny Gentle, Duffy Power, Tony Sheridan, all the Larry Parnes stable. It was a fantastic experience for
a couple of years. Then Billy Fury took four
musicians from the pool because he was big enough
to deserve his own personal backing band, and I was
one of them.”
The tour with Cochran and Vincent had just
finished a week at the Bristol Hippodrome when
Cochran was killed in a car accident. It was with
Gene Vincent just after that tour that Georgie had
his first experience in the studio.
“Gene took the four musicians that backed him,
which included me and which was the original
Blue Flames, into EMI, and we recorded a single
which was called Pistol-Packing Mama. I think it
was a minor hit but that was my first recording
session.”
It wasn’t that long after that Georgie was playing
the Paris Olympia with Billy Fury and his Blue
Flames and Chubby Checker.
“We were just doing a soundcheck. Thanks to
Eddie Cochran, we’d learned a bit of Ray Charles
and we were playing something on the stage that was
nothing to do with Billy’s gig but there was nobody
in the theatre except Hal Carter, the roadie, and
Larry Parnes. Hal came running down the aisle
saying (in Scouse accent) ‘It’s not rocking! It’s not
rocking!’ We probably said, ‘Bollocks’ or
something.”
The band did the gig and were fired immediately
afterwards. This was early ’62 and Georgie found
himself homeless.
“I slept in a friend’s apartment in Soho – Mike
O’Neill, a good friend of mine from my home town
and much hipper than me. He had a band called
Nero And The Gladiators. They had quite a lot of
work at that time and had a flat in Old Compton
Street. I stayed there for a couple of months,
listening to his jazz record collection. I had no
money, no gig and, if they were out, I was walking
the streets till they got back. It was Mike who took
me down the Flamingo and introduced me to Rick
Gunnell. We were in the right place at the right time
because the resident band was going off to do a TV
show on a Sunday afternoon. The Flamingo had a
Saturday afternoon show for the stragglers who
couldn’t get home, especially the US GIs. You’d do
the Friday All-Nighter, the Saturday All-Nighter and
the Sunday afternoon. So, we took the Sunday
afternoon session and I reformed the Blue Flames.”
The Blue Flames at that time were Colin Green
on guitar, Tex Makins on bass and the legendary
drummer Red Reece.
“Red Reece started to mess himself up after about
a year down the Flamingo, when Phil (Seaman)
became a feature. We all looked after Phil at one
time and another in our lives. Red unfortunately
went down the wrong path. If you look at the Blue
Flames for the three year period at the Flamingo,
there were more drummers in and out of that band
than any other band. I still bump into friends of
drummers, who say, ‘My mate was in the Blue
Flames’. I can remember most of the drummers
but….”.
Guitarist John McLaughlin played with the band
for about a year before they recorded their first
album.
“John was playing hard Bebop on the guitar but
he fitted in just fantastically. When John was in the
band, I didn’t even have a Hammond organ. I was
playing piano. Rick Gunnell had to rent an upright
piano for our sets at the Flamingo because the
Kruger brothers, who owned the club, wouldn’t let
me play the club piano because that was reserved for
jazz musicians. Brian Dee, Johnny Burch, Brian
Auger – they were all the frequent piano players at
the All-Nighters and Bill Le Sage when he wasn’t
playing vibes. I’ve got photographs of me sittin’ at
the old upright facing the wall with John
McLaughlin with a Gretsch guitar with my back to
the band and I’m singing and playing because they
wouldn’t let me play the baby grand.”
It was at the end of ’62 that Georgie heard three
records that proved a lasting influence: Midnight
Special by Jimmy Smith, Richard ‘Groove’ Holmes
and Gene Ammons on Groovin’ With Jugs and
Booker T And The MGs’ Green Onions.
“It was as if I heard them all the same day but it
was probably in the space of a week and I went out
and bought a Hammond.”
His first session on Hammond was actually with
Jamaican legend, Prince Buster. Called Soul Of
Africa, it was recorded at the old Advision Studios at the back of Baker Street and featured Rico
Rodriguez on trombone.
“I knew Rico because I was very involved with the
West Indian community at that time because half the
punters down the Flamingo were West Indian and
Count Suckle, the great disc jockey, had his own club
in Carnaby Street called the Roaring Twenties, which
was a real West Indian club. We were very much part
of that community. Prince Buster always swears he
taught me how to play Blue Beat but I’ll take that
with a pinch of salt because I was well into the scene
before I played with him.”
At that time, it was unbelievably hard to get
American jazz, blues and soul LPs in Britain. The few
imports that were around were exorbitantly priced
and only a few big-selling artists had their product
licensed to UK labels.
“Until the mods came in, The Flamingo was really
a black club. It was full of West Indians, pimps and
prostitutes – Christine Keeler and those – and black
American servicemen. It was their base in London for
the weekend. It wasn’t the Marquee or the jazz clubs.
It was the Flamingo All-Nighter. They could dance
all night to jazz and r&b and they used to give me
the latest records. In those days, you could park in
Wardour Street and a big American car would pull
up and the guy would open up the boot and there
would be cases of bourbon and loads and loads of
vinyl records. He’d go, ‘Hey, what you want? Mose
Allison, Eddie Jefferson?’ and you got it.”
At that time, Georgie Fame and the Blue Flames
were part of a self-contained scene. When they
wanted to make a record, none of the majors were
interested.
“We knew we had a scene and the band was
sounding okay, so let’s do it. So, we did our own
independent production and sold it to EMI. We
then got a deal for five years with EMI. But the
executives had no idea what was going on down on
the street.”
They had already recorded an EP. Then funded by
manager, Rick Gunnell, and using a two-track
mobile loaned by Chris Blackwell, they cut Rhythm
And Blues At The Flamingo. For Georgie, it was never
really representative of the band’s sound. For one
thing, they had no guitarist at the time but producer
Ian Samwell-Smith insisted they needed one.
“The band sounded fine. We had an organ, two
saxophones, bass and drums and on conga drums
Speedy Aquaye. The only guitarist I could think of
was Jim Sullivan, who I knew from the Larry Parnes
days. He was a great guitar player but not for that
band at that time. It was all-electrified and a bit heavy for us because we were getting like, ‘Hey, man, we’re
getting cool here!’ (laughing). Speedy, meanwhile, was
detained at Her Majesty’s Pleasure on a little trumped
up charge. So Timmy Thomas, who was a frequent
visitor down the Flamingo, came in and played
bongos!
“So, we played for about an hour doing our regular
set and went over to this little rat-infested cupboard
where Glyn Johns, the engineer, was with his
recording equipment. We said, ‘How is it? Is it okay?’
And he said, ‘I’m sorry, one of the tracks are down.
You’ll have to do it all again.’ So, we had to go back
on and the do the whole thing again! So, what’s on
the album is Take 2.”
The Blue Flames had their first hit with the Mongo
Santamaria – Jon Hendricks’ number Yeh, Yeh, which
made it to No.1. By then, they were beginning to
break through beyond their Flamingo residency. It
was in late ’64 that Zoot Money and the Big Roll
Band (with Andy Summers) took over at the club. By
that time, Ready, Steady, Go! had bowed to Musicians’
Union pressure to feature at least some bands playing
live instead of lip-syncing. With a crack live band, this
worked to Georgie’s advantage.
“That was why we were so often on Ready, Steady,
Go! We were on every other week. Van (Morrison)
reckons they played live when they were on but I’ve
seen a clip of the Stones playing on Ready, Steady, Go!
and there’s a roaring piano going on the track. It’s Ian
Stewart, of course, but on the film there’s Stew on his
knees by Charlie’s drum-kit trying to fix something.
And you can hear the piano.
So, maybe Mick’s singing
live but the band certainly
aren’t live! (laughing)”
Even before Yeh, Yeh hit
the charts, Georgie had
wanted to record with a big
band. According to Fame,
financing this himself, he had
begun work on it with band leader
and composer-arranger Harry
South as early as ’64. Recorded
over two sessions in ’65 and 66,
Sound Venture was completed with
the help of Georgie’s mentor, Jon
Hendricks, who had come over to
Britain on the back of the young
singer’s version of his Yeh, Yeh.
Not only did Hendricks donate a
number of songs to the project,
he also acted as an unofficial
adviser.
Of course, one or two older
critics and a few older jazz fans
questioned the 23-year-old’s
right to be on the same stand
as players of the calibre of Stan
Tracey, Ronnie Scott and
Tubby Hayes.
“But there was a certain
element, particularly amongst
the younger journalists on
the Melody Maker, that saw
the future and said, ‘This
guy’s one of us. Give him all
the encouragement you can’.
Then, you had the traditional Mod
or R&B fans that saw me moving
into this jazz thing that was beyond
them and I was a bit of a traitor. I was deserting them. So, I was in the middle of this. I just
followed my instincts. I didn’t get any of that from
the musicians. That only came from the media
basically.”
It was a genuine labour of love and remains an
album truly ahead of its time. Perhaps, it did confuse
some of Georgie’s fans on its release in 1966, but
that didn’t stop it making the Top Ten album
charts. Like all of Fame’s Columbia sides, it
languishes now in a vault somewhere, along with
Rhythm & Blues At The Flamingo, Sweet Things and
Fame At Last. These are some of the best records of
the early sixties, beautifully played and sung and
with great tunes and distinctive arrangements. Fame
was, and remains, a class act. As to why those records
remain unavailable, well, that’s down to that oh, so
familiar sixties tale of a star and his manager.
“Look at the sleeve. It was a Rick Gunnell
production and Rick was smart and hung on to the
rights to all those recordings. I should own them – he
used my money. Rick was a funny guy. He bought
me a silver Jaguar for my birthday in 1965. I woke
up on the 26th June and outside the flat was this
brand new S Type Jaguar. ‘Happy birthday, son’. Of
course, it was my money he was using. It didn’t
come out of his pocket (laughing). But that’s part
and parcel of the thing.”
Still the hits kept coming and included Getaway,
another No. 1. Written originally as a jingle for
National Benzol petrol, producer Denny Cordell saw
its potential and it was released as a single. As to
Fame’s covers of Billy Stewart’s Sittin’ In The Park
and Bobby Hebb’s Sunny, they were actually
released by EMI after Fame had left the company for
CBS.
“And then show business came in when we got to
CBS because my manager wanted to get rid of the
band, which I thought had generated the whole
thing in the first place. The way the band played
was what created the whole thing. Rick got big ideas
as a manager and he negotiated a deal with CBS for
a very big advance, of which he pocketed quite a lot,
and wanted to turn me into a solo singer. From then
on, I had a very unhappy time.”
A naive 24 year old, Georgie was given the task of
breaking the news to the guys. He’d told them all
and he and drummer Mitch Mitchell were sitting in
the office, both thoroughly demoralised, when the
phone rang. It was Chas Chandler of The Animals,
who’d just branched into management.
“He said, ‘I’m in the pub. Come down for a
drink.’ So, we thought, ‘Why not?’ We got there and
Chas started telling us about this black American
guitarist he was bringing over. The rest, as they say,
is history.”
It’s not the rip-offs that get to Georgie even now.
He’s happy doing what he’s doing and nothing can
change all that. Rik Gunnell died recently and the
pair had already patched things up. It was the loss of
any real say in his own career. For the next six years,
it was to prove a constant battle to even pick any of
the tunes he was covering.
“They can’t resist meddling – the non-players, the
advisers, the so-called managers that don’t actually
play and don’t sweat and their adrenaline doesn’t
flow when you’re actually creating this stuff. They
can’t resist meddling to justify their existence and
their percentage. The way the band played was what
created the whole thing. I was very unhappy about it
but I had to call the musicians in and give them the
bad news.”
Of those solo records, the best is surely Seventh
Son. It was certainly the most adventurous, though
they all have their moments and Georgie has a
lingering fondness for Georgie Does His Thing With
Strings. But it was hard for this hip young rock
n’roller cum jazzer being told to cover songs like A
House Is Not A Home.
“Mike Smith was a very good in-house producer
at CBS but it wasn’t where I was coming from. I was
thrown into an alien regime. I did a strings album
that wasn’t bad. At least it gave me the chance to
sing some ballads but then again Mike Smith chose
70% of the repertoire and a lot of those tunes were
tunes I would never consider singing. I managed to
get in Everything Happens To Me and a couple of
other nice tunes but most of it was selected for me.
We used to have these discussions that verged on
arguments – ‘What do you want me to sing that for?’
‘Well, this is what the company wants you to do
blah, blah.’”
His partnership with Alan Price should have got
him into more suitable territory but that too ended
up “being hijacked by light entertainment”. As
Georgie points out, they both loved the same kinds
of music and came from similar working class
backgrounds. While they both enjoyed being in the
company of comedians like Morecambe and Wise,
The Two Ronnies and Tommy Cooper on TV,
doing frothy little two minute spots to please the
nation’s housewives saw them struggling to make
sense of it all. What’s more their hard-won musical
credibility was dying out there.
“We put ourselves together because we were good
solid friends and still are. We loved the blues, rock &
roll. He was doing in Newcastle what I was doing in
Lancashire. So, the partnership never realised the
artistic potential that was there because of that light
entertainment element that dominated for two or
three years and that’s why we split in the end. We
just said, ‘This isn’t going anywhere’.”
A marriage that should have been made in heaven,
had in fact been forged in MOR hell. After the split,
Georgie cut an album for Reprise, All Me Own
Work, in 1972 and then Chris Blackwell asked him
to make a record for Island. Georgie Fame (1974)
was a good record with a nice, laid-back J.J. Cale
kind of vibe. At Blackwell’s suggestion, Georgie
reformed the Blue Fames and the foundations
seemed laid for a real comeback.
But two things conspired against what might’ve
been. Firstly, the music press weren’t really that
interested. The last sentence in Georgie’s entry in the
NME Definitive Book of Rock (1977) reads, “Sadly,
Blue Flames Mk II made minimal impact, and Fame
is probably better known today for his appearances
in TV coffee commercials.” Ouch! The other thing
that went wrong was the sheer size, and composition,
of the new band.
“The Blue Flames was really just 5 or 6 pieces but
when a lot of musicians started hearing that this
band was being formed, they all wanted to be in it
and I foolishly allowed them in – people like Elton
Dean and Marc Charig and Stan Sulzmann. So, we
ended up with far too many – a band of lunatics it
was and far too many of them (laughing). After that I
thought, ‘No, I just want a little unit that I can
control and play the music I want to play.’”
From the mid-eighties on, barely a year has gone
by without a Blue Flames’ tour. In fact, Georgie had
his own Australian Blue Flames as well, that he used
for 17 years for dates down under and with whom
he recorded No Worries in 1988. But since the early
eighties, Fame’s career has spanned a huge range of
projects. There was a magnificent tribute to
songwriter Hoagy Carmichael, In Hoagland,
featuring Georgie with singer Annie Ross. He even found time to co-write a musical – Singer – with
composer Steve Gray based on the life of friend,
singer Madeleine Bell, that was performed and
broadcast on Dutch radio in 1983 with the
Metropole Orchestra. And from the early eighties
on he has sung with all the major European Jazz
orchestras, drawing on a book of arrangements of
some 110 songs.
“Jazz is much more recognised and appreciated
in places like Holland and Scandinavia. All the
great American artists, when they first went to
Sweden in the late fifties, they couldn’t believe the
respect with which they were being treated. ”
If that and working with the Blue Flames and in
a trio with sons, James and Tristan were not
enough, from 1989 to 1997 Georgie worked and
toured extensively with Van Morrison. Despite
their shared origins in 1960s pop, r&b and jazz,
the two musicians were only passing acquaintances.
“I got this message from Tristan, my son, who
was at that time an engineer at Abbey Road. He
said, ‘Can you ring this number?’ So, I did. At that
time, we lived in Somerset and Van had a studio
there. He said, he was doing this album and did I
fancy playing a bit of organ. I walked in – the
Hammond organ was down in the studio and he’s
up in the control room. I put the headphones on
and I said, ‘Okay, run it down and I’ll just check it
out.’ It was a fairly straightforward blues and I was
just feeling my way through this thing and it got to
the end and I said, ‘Right put it on and I’ll do it.’ He
said, ‘That’s it. We’ve done it.’ That’s the way he
works.”
It was Morrison’s suggestion that they put a band
together using some of Van’s musicians and some of
Georgie’s. Anyone who caught them live will tell
you what a fine band it was, with tenor players Steve
Gregory and Ricky Buckley, Brian Odgers on bass
and the excellent Bernie Holland on guitar.
“Those gigs were good for me because I started
my career as a sideman and I’ve always enjoyed that
aspect. As a sideman you don’t have the
responsibility of organising the whole thing. You
turn up as a member of the team and you don’t have
to get involved in the logistic sides of things. That’s
why the old adage about the band leader being the
worst musician in the band is probably true. Because
we don’t have time to practice. We’re too busy
organising. I’m the worst musician in my band!”
When Georgie finally quit, he almost
immediately got a call from Bill Wyman and ended
up joining the Rhythm Kings.
“So, I went right from one horse to another.
We’re all friends from way, way back. Like Albert
Lee was playing with Chris Farlowe down the
Flamingo at the same time as the Blue Flames.
We’re all part of the same mould. There’s no egos
and we have fun together. We play a lot of tunes
from our school days. Bill loves Mose Allison, so I
get a chance to sing a couple of Mose Allison tunes
and Ray Charles things. Gary Brooker and me were
both founder members on keyboards. You know it’s
Gary as soon as you hear him. I never realised
because I always used to associate him with Procol
Harum and this kind of slightly highbrow rock
n’roll but he’s like one of the great traditional rock
n’rollers of all time. When he kicks of a Little
Richard tune it sounds better than Little Richard.
He’s a real authentic dyed-in-wool rock n’roller.”
He’s sixty-six and going strong. Whether it’s jazz
with a big band or blues and r&b with the ‘Last’
Blue Flames or the Rhythm Kings, Georgie Fame
has survived light entertainment purgatory and
emerged with his credibility intact. Just how many
young pretenders will say that in forty or fifty years
from now? .
