Defining an adverb isn’t the easiest thing in the world, so today we’re taking things a little easier on ourselves.
We’re figuring out what the spirit of giving actually is. (Gulp!)
Everybody — we hope! — knows how great it is to receive things.
Hey – new stuff! Right?
Still, it goes a lot deeper than that. When you receive something, it means somebody cares about you.
Somebody is making a statement to say: I’m celebrating with you, I care about you, I’m thinking of you, I want to encourage you, I miss you, I’m happy when you’re happy, I’m glad you’re healing, I accept you, I love you.
This is well established among family and friends — but how far does it go?
If the spirit of giving works best among family and friends, do the words I accept you really mean:
I love you because you’re a reflection of me?
Or
I love you because you’re unique?
It’s a key question.
Why? Well, figuring out how this works within a close-knit group means we can expand it out across our whole society.
In the United Kingdom, there is often anxious talk among fathers about how they would feel should their children grow up and decide to follow a different soccer team!
Happily, even in a land where the love of soccer causes sometimes terrifying tribalism, the subject usually becomes the stuff of jokes pretty quickly. Or half jokes.
But not everything does.
Here is how it breaks down, in highly intellectual terms! (Sort of):
A group becomes an extended family, the extended family becomes the tribe, the tribe accepts its own and rejects outsiders
Increasing similarity within a tribe reinforces acceptance of existing members and mistrust of anybody different
Rejection of outsiders magnifies the acceptance of tribe members
In what way can the spirit of giving exist under those conditions?
Being rewarded for being the same, or rewarding others for being the same, has nothing to do with real giving.
Why?
Because the spirit of giving isn’t tribal — it’s human.
In a family, the rejection of a family member whose values don’t/can’t reflect the established values of the family means the spirit of giving isn’t really there.
In society, the rejection of a group who are not similar to that society’s group, in one or more ways, means the spirit of giving isn’t really there.
And this is where it gets interesting.
The person who rejects tribal thinking to embrace the humanity of an “outsider” becomes unique in that moment.
Rules created by primal fears have been broken and the result is a celebration. Yay!
The spirit of giving is alive.
Or to be pragmatic about it, let’s look at a company like — ehm — Lovingly!
The Lovingly team is made up of people from different races, different backgrounds, different sexual orientations, different beliefs, different views about turning up for meetings on time (Ok – that’s just me.)
If we put up with each other resentfully, for our salaries, we couldn’t function creatively.
The company would implode. And we’ve existed for more than a decade.
It’s said that travel broadens the mind. However, in a country like America — celebrated internationally as a cultural melting pot — it only takes pride in one’s country to accept other people at a human level, regardless of differences.
Some just call it Rock ‘n’ Roll.
Inclusivity becomes natural in that context. Accepting becomes a central part of the spirit of giving. And celebrating the differences that make us unique is simply part of life.
So love is a gift to be shared.
And shared unconditionally — because you can’t put conditions on a gift.
It’s a simple enough philosophy, but it works for us at Lovingly.
Just as Sinatra is perceived in many different ways by many different people, he has been known by many names.
Swoonatra, The Sultan of Swoon, The Chairman of the Board, The Voice, Ol’ Blue Eyes…
And Scarface.
So who was he really, in terms of how much we can know for sure?
Let’s take a look.
1. Sinatra – Mobster or Mob ‘groupie’?
Frank Sinatra – “Every woman wants to have him. Every man wants to be him.”
And the FBI apparently wanted to arrest him.
They kept tabs on Sinatra for over 40 years, with the 1,275 pages of files dating back to 1943 only being made public after the great man’s death in 1998.
One nasty rumor that dogged Sinatra throughout his life is that he paid a doctor $40,000 to declare him unfit for service in World War II.
The FBI’s investigation found that his punctured eardrum and “psychological issues” made the doctor’s assessment and conclusion medically legitimate.
Despite this, some readers may still hear the accusation being made against him today.
Presented as fact.
Along with many others.
So was he a mobster, or a mob-struck fantasist?
The files show a lot of unproved or dismissed rumors, with the possible highlight being Frank Sinatra smuggling $1 million to exiled, ultimate mob boss “Lucky” Luciano in Italy as a favor.
Risking his career, his future and his freedom in one fell swoop.
And the Mob wasn’t even on strike that week.
The files are filled with fluff and nonsense from people making senselessly subjective, blowhard statements, like the claim Sinatra had a “mob complex” – the groupie claim – or that he “would give up his show business prominence to be a hoodlum himself if he had the courage to do so.”
Sure he would. That makes sense. Why not?
The 1972 Joint Senate-House Select Committee on Crime found itself on Sinatra’s bad side for not immediately refuting allegations of mob involvement made against him by mobster Joseph “The Animal” Barboza – who had admitted to killing 27 people.
Barboza was an FBI informant who became notorious for providing false testimony.
More on-point is the collected information on Sinatra’s friendships with the Mob and the way he allegedly allowed himself to be used to make political connections.
But first, the bottom line.
Sinatra’s grandfather, Francesco Sinatra, was born in 1857, in a little hill town in Sicily, just 15 miles from the town of Corleone, and on the same street as the Luciano family, whose son Salvatore would become the godfather of godfathers in America.
Evidence suggests the families were personally acquainted, which is hardly surprising.
Sinatra’s father, Marty Sinatra, and mother, Dolly, were formidable figures in their Hoboken, New Jersey, neighborhood. His father was a firefighter, boxer, and bar owner during prohibition.
His mother became involved in left-leaning politics, serving as a midwife, and performing then illegal abortions. Nobody dared mess with Dolly.
Frank, their only child, was born on December 12, 1915.
Weighing in at a hefty 13.5 pounds, he had to be delivered with forceps, resulting in severe scarring to his left cheek, neck, and ear – along with a perforated eardrum.
Baby Frank wasn’t breathing and the doctor concentrated on Dolly, who was not in good condition, believing the baby wouldn’t make it.
“They weren’t thinking about me, they were thinking about my mother. They just kind of ripped me out and tossed me aside.” – Frank Sinatra.
Luckily, grandma Sinatra decided to make an effort and held the baby under cold water until the shock started those famous lungs working.
“That’s life.”
Sinatra grew up during prohibition – a time when the government took it upon itself to protect the people from themselves, regardless of how they felt about it.
However, the people who added the words “liberty” and “the pursuit of happiness” – rather than “fearfulness” and “obedience” – to the word “life” were more interested in having fun.
The result was disaster and the rise of the Mafia.
And most grew to see their enemies as those preaching and pushing them around.
Not those reminding them it was a free country and catering to them.
It was a question of control and it changed hands quickly.
For a wannabe star to work the bars and clubs back then, dealing with gangsters was par for the course; rejecting them was par for waking up in bed with part of a horse.
Or so they say.
And of course, Sinatra’s family would have been known to most of them for their roots – and almost certainly for being old neighbors of the Lucianos – rather than criminality.
Sinatra was bound to become wrapped up with them, one way or the other.
So he wasn’t a mob groupie, a “made man” (laughable), or a “connected guy” in any criminal sense.
But he didn’t view the Mob the way many other honest folk would.
Sinatra: born bruised, battered, and ready to bounce back.
2. Enter (and Exit) the Kennedys
How John F. Kennedy and Frank Sinatra met is a bit of a gray area, although few would bet against it having something to do with nightlife and the company of women.
If not, they certainly helped things keep swinging.
Still, it’s most likely the friendship came through Kennedy’s sister, Pat, who married Peter Lawford, a friend of Sinatra’s who became one of the legendary Las Vegas “Rat Pack”.
Either way, for somebody with Sinatra’s starpower to promote the then Massachusetts senator and presidential candidate could only be a good thing.
But many saw more beneath the surface.
Not only was Sinatra at the top of his game popularity-wise, he was known and liked by the Mob. These two top placings – both above and below the table – made him the perfect middle man to help sway the unions.
And get Kennedy elected.
Kennedy’s campaign came during the legendary “Second Act” of Sinatra’s career – now an Oscar-winning movie star as well as top-selling recording artist – his influence over millions was clear.
Sinatra added glamour and starpower to Kennedy’s youthful, energetic image; Kennedy added the kudos of legitimate power to someone who often took political risks for personal reasons.
They were a match made in… America.
In public, Sinatra promoted Kennedy’s campaign by lending his private jet to Kennedy’s key people, made radio ads, “arranged” dinners-for-donors, and reworked one of his hits.
In private, the muscle and malevolent influence of the Mob allegedly used its power on the unions and wherever else its reach extended.
It all supposedly resulted in FBI evidence of widespread voting fraud, which the freshly inaugurated Kennedy decided not to pursue. All such claims remain hotly debated.
How much of this is fact – and how much of a role Sinatra really could have played as “middle man” – seems to be up for grabs.
Mob boss, Sam Giancana, central to any scheme for the Mob to secure votes in key state Illinois, was already allegedly associated with Kennedy’s father, ex-bootlegger Joseph P. Kennedy, Sr.; and many writers report as fact that he personally asked for the mobster’s help.
Meanwhile, Sinatra helped Kennedy remain steadfastly unfaithful to his wife, Jackie.
Kennedy attended booze-fuelled, female fan-filled Las Vegas after-parties courtesy of Sinatra; and campaign trail downtime at Lawford’s Santa Monica fun-filled home.
At some point, Sinatra introduced him to Marilyn Monroe.
(Or was it Peter Lawford who did that? Accounts, not surprisingly, vary.)
And to Judith Exner, who claimed to have become Kennedy’s mistress – and to being the mistress of Mob boss Giancana (allegedly also introduced by Sinatra), and “friend” of Mob boss, John Roselli.
More champagne, anyone?
With John F. Kennedy safely elected to the presidency, Sinatra and all his dubious “friends” were dropped like a handful of hot potatoes.
Allegations that the Mob had been expecting big returns for their help and were furious abound.
So was Sinatra – who felt betrayed.
Expecting President Kennedy to stay at his home during a trip to California, Sinatra had a helicopter pad installed – as well as making who knows how many other arrangements – only to be left standing.
Sinatra also felt betrayed by Peter Lawford, who he shunned for the rest of his life.
It appears that Kennedy used Sinatra – and possibly the Mob – for his own ends, then promptly dumped him/them to protect his presidency.
Stories around this are rife.
One has J. Edgar Hoover playing tapes of Judith Exner’s calls to the White House to the administration, then following them with her calls to Sam Giancana.
What was allegedly said is unclear; the sleazy connection between Kennedy, this woman, and Giancana is crystal – with Sinatra at the helm.
Another alleges that wiretaps caught Sinatra talking to Giancana about an affair with Kennedy’s sister, Pat. In them he supposedly states that the affair was designed to influence the administration to ease off the Mob.
Was Sinatra caught talking drunken nonsense? Or is it yet another fake story?
How credible are the claims, given the mutual understandings that must have already been in place for the Mob to supposedly hand over an election to Kennedy?
Unless one is true and the other isn’t?
Or the idea that Pat could influence the administration after being crooned-and-swooned?
If any of it is true, it’s silly to think the Kennedys would have been shocked to learn the Mob expected favors for favors; but possible that they’d have been infuriated to discover Sinatra was having an affair with Pat.
Still, why did Sinatra’s feelings of betrayal by Peter Lawford rage so hard if this happened? Sign Up to Save 10%Ad By Sephora See More
To top it off, Robert F. Kennedy promptly kicked off a crusade against the Mob.
Putting a crimp in the evenings of many.
The awful deaths of Kennedy and Monroe fuelled endless conspiracy theories, of course.
One killed by assassination, the other by “suicide”; with Lawford embroiled in the latter.
The rest, as they say, is mystery.
There was only one kind of hit Sinatra cared about.
3. Sinatra – Nasty, violent, racist alcoholic? Or what?
In the modern era, the fact Sinatra made onstage cracks about Sammy Davis Jr. makes him “a racist.” Non-morons see this as part of Sinatra’s “complexity”, but there isn’t really much complexity to it.
The fact that many have conveniently forgotten the vile and often bloodthirsty attitudes toward Italian, Irish and other immigrants in the first half of the American century is unfortunate.
And it changes the way they perceive reality.
We could quote L.P. Hartley: “The past is a foreign country: they do things differently there,” and move on without judging distant lives by our own standards.
But where’s the fun in that?
The Rat Pack made cracks at each other all the time; and Sammy’s non-macho “all-round entertainer” upbeat persona made him the natural foil for the macho group.
Sinatra himself had to deal with on-stage cracks about the “Sons of Italy,” followed by: “How about the good the Mafia does?” and many other close-to-the-bone macho digs.
Macho male-bonding means taking shots at anything perceived as personal or different; once done, the group becomes potentially closer to each other than they are to any other group – limited by:
“Those Without a Sense of Humor Need Not Apply.”
If Sinatra hadn’t been defiantly anti-racist at a time when that was not only untrendy, but not welcome, Davis would never have been a member of the Rat Pack in the first place.
A white guy would have been found to balance out personas, the jokes would have been just as barbed, but different, and nobody would have cared about on-stage digs among friends.
If Sinatra had played the racist game of the day, the word “racist” wouldn’t touch him today.
“The past is another country.”
Instead he risked his early career by speaking and singing out against all bigotry.
According to one story, Sinatra, at the famously low-point in his career in the late ‘40s, clinging to his waning fanbase, watched Davis perform with The Will Mastin Trio. Backstage, he invited his friend to come see him at the theatre he was playing.
Davis agreed, happily.
Some time later, with Davis a no-show, Sinatra went back to see him and told him how offended he was to have been ignored.
Davis explained: “I did come; but they wouldn’t let me in!”
Sinatra’s reaction was to head back to the theatre, tear up his contract, and walk out on what was at the time a much needed gig.
As Sinatra’s power in the industry was reasserted, Davis’ career grew. Racial barriers were broken down for him, often by dint of Sinatra’s explosive temper, and a movie career was made possible.
When Davis lost his left eye in an automobile accident, Sinatra paid all his medical bills and had him stay at his “Rancho Mirage Compound” to recover.
Nancy Sinatra referred to him as “My Uncle Sam!”
Sinatra made sure Davis recovered fully; and that his astounding talent was turned into superstardom.
“Sinatra did not like segregation. He didn’t like how black people were treated as creatures of inferiority. He always rebelled against that.” – Harry Belafonte
It was also Sinatra who, during rehearsals for the classic “Mancurian Candidate” movie, insisted that actor Joe Adams would be the best person to portray the psychiatrist character.
Many thought he’d gone insane. Despite this, of course, he got his way.
This became, according to director John Frankenheimer: “One of the first instances where a black actor was cast in a part that didn’t specifically say the character was black.”
Oddly, Adams’ role ultimately went uncredited.
If Sinatra was racist, he sucked at it.
Still, his ferocious temper wasn’t always fueled by principles, or directed at racists and bigots who insulted his friends, or tried to limit the careers of people he believed in.
It was also fueled by Jack Daniels.
Sending Sinatra’s sense of right and wrong veering straight off a cliff.
And often causing chaos in its wake.
Combine Sinatra’s love of Jack, his unprecedented level of fame, his ego and his insecurities, his career’s near-death experience (cheered on by many in the industry), and his incredibly powerful sense of right and wrong, loyalty and betrayal… and you have a BIG problem.
He also had dangerous friends who liked to be seen with him. The kind of people who can’t be shrugged off, or used by a drunk guy as shoulders to cry on about conflicts and upsets.
Not without consequences.
As the late, great comic Jackie Mason discovered the hard way. After criticizing Sinatra on television, a shot was fired in his darkened apartment by somebody who’d broken in.
“I don’t know who it was, but when the door slammed shut, I distinctly heard somebody singing ‘Doobie, doobie, doo.’” – Jackie Mason
Sinatra was capable of flying off the handle and becoming violent for any perceived slight; of falling out with friends and refusing to speak to them again, forever or for years – on something he perceived as a point of principle.
“Yes, my son is like me. You cross him, he never forgets.” – Dolly Sinatra
Or of hearing that an actor he admired, but barely knew, was ill in hospital and broke, only to have him transferred to a top hospital, with a top specialist, and given an apartment to recuperate in, as he had with Davis.
Which he did for the great character actor Lee J. Cobb, who’d had a heart-attack after being hounded by the House Un-American Activities Committee.
Sinatra even got him in a movie when no-one else would touch him.
Cobb credited Sinatra with saving his life.
You can make sense of Sinatra’s feelings toward an actor he barely knew by watching Cobb up against Henry Fonda in “12 Angry Men.”
Stories of Sinatra’s volatile temper and his generosity are legendary.
But was he an alcoholic?
Yes – a functioning alcoholic, according to experts. Even though it’s known that, later in life, Sinatra would go through a bottle of Jack a day, when gigs and recordings were on the horizon, he would hold back on the booze.
And even cigarettes.
Although some say that booze ruled his life, it didn’t. If it had, the downward spiral of alcoholism would have been inevitable.
This could be Sinatra’s secret: he would have been aware that should the booze start affecting his performances, he would have to treat it like a friend who had betrayed him.
And that could mean only one thing: Adios, forever.
So he never let it happen.
In fact, the friendship between Frank Sinatra and Jack Daniels survived to the grave. When he was buried at Desert Memorial Park, in Cathedral City (“Cat City”), California, his casket contained:
1 pack of Camel cigarettes 1 Zippo lighter 1 bottle of Jack Daniels 1 dollar’s worth of dimes
If Sinatra had any trouble passing through the pearly gates, he was ready to make a few calls and straighten the whole thing out.
With jokes put aside, the only color that counted was the blues.
4. Sinatra – Swingin’ lover and artist
One of the greatest musical artists of all time and objectively one of the best selling, Sinatra’s singing career spanned 60 years and is impossible to cover with the respect it deserves in a short space.
So it’s not getting the respect it deserves. (Sorry, Frank.)
After time on the road with local group “The Hoboken Four”, Sinatra, in 1938, became a “Singing Waiter” at a New York roadhouse called “The Rustic Cabin”, connected to the WNEW radio station.
Low pay for a strategic career move.
It led to live performances on show “Dance Parade” and his first solo studio recording: “Our Love.” Soon after, Sinatra signed a $75 per week, two-year contract with bandleader Harry James and released his first commercial record (a flop) called “From the Bottom of my Heart.”
Commercial failure, ambition, and likely Sinatra’s February 1939 marriage to longtime sweetheart, Nancy Rose Barbato, saw Sinatra dump James in November of that year and sign up with Tommy Dorsey.
And what Sinatra learned from Dorsey formed his legend.
Dorsey became a father-figure to Sinatra and recognized his ability to sway an audience with his unique style of song interpretation.
“I used to stand there so amazed, I’d almost forget my own solos.” – Tommy Dorsey
Sinatra even asked Dorsey to be godfather to his daughter, Nancy, born in 1940. Bringing her daddy luck, Sinatra started scoring hits.
Including his first Top 10 smash: “Imagination”, which was followed by a million-selling, 12-week chart-topper: “I’ll Never Smile Again”.
An ironic title, given all the smiling he must have been doing during this period.
But it wasn’t all rosy.
After virtually begging permission from Dorsey to record a few tunes on his own, Sinatra realized just how good he could actually be.
His dream now was to become a star in his own right.
However, he began to understand what breaking his contract with Dorsey meant, once the stars had fallen from his young eyes and the smallprint came into focus.
“43 percent of Frank Sinatra’s lifetime earnings in the entertainment industry.”
Thanks a bunch, daddy!
Sinatra denied that the Mob had been involved in convincing Dorsey to drop the contract for $75,000 (or $1.00 if you buy that kind of thing), and it’s fair to say that Dorsey was bitter about his “43 percent forever” clause not scaring the young hothead into submission.
Still, Dorsey told the Mob version.
“I was visited by Willie Moretti and a couple of his boys. Willie fingered a gun and told me he was glad to hear that I was letting Frank out of my deal. I took the hint.” – Tommy Dorsey
Moretti is named in many places as Frank Sinatra’s godfather. Whether correct or not, they were close from the early days and Dorsey would have known that.
Either way, Sinatra was free.
So came the bobby-sox swooners, creating controversy by their screams for Sinatra, catapulting him to superstardom.
Even Crosby – with whom Sinatra enjoyed years of lighthearted barbs – admitted the way Sinatra interpreted a song – as if expressing deeply personal thoughts and feelings – was completely original.
“Frank is a singer who comes along once in a lifetime; but why did it have to be my lifetime?” – Bing Crosby.
So Sinatra was a star, capable of withstanding even the notorious musicians’ strike that ran from 1942-1944.
It even benefitted him in part, due to the re-release of “All Or Nothing At All”, which became a million-seller.
But without the structure and dominance of Dorsey and his organisation, his sudden and powerful rise put him in freefall as a person.
Insecurely attempting to copy Dorsey’s dominant personality in the studio, he came across as an arrogant bully and young blowhard.
In the tabloids, his associations with mobsters, fistfights, and womanizing didn’t help, but came in second to accusations that he was a communist.
Apart from in the eyes of his faithful bobby soxers: Womanizing?
“Oh well! Oh gosh! Oh my!” – Every American Bobby Soxer (in unison)
“Frank’s idea of paradise is a place where there are plenty of woman and no newspapermen. He doesn’t know it, but he’d be better off if it were the other way around.” – Humphrey Bogart
His star waned and his marriage crumbled even as his third child, Tina Sinatra was born.
On Valentine’s Day, 1950, Sinatra and his longsuffering wife, Nancy, announced their divorce. In 1951, his marriage to Ava Gardner began in a publicity-blaze of hard-drinking, hard-living passion.
Including public brawls.
In 1952, both Columbia and MCA dropped him; and Sinatra became a singer without a voice.
His many detractors (haters) rejoiced. He was ruined.
But he had a powerful ally in Ava.
When Eli Wallach had scheduling problems with his casting as Private Maggio in “From Here to Eternity”, Ava worked her charms on Joan Cohn, wife of Columbia Pictures’ head, Harry Cohn.
Sinatra blitzed Harry Cohn himself with telegrams, signed “Maggio” – in which he offered to work for a measly $8,000.
He had received $150,000 for “Anchors Aweigh” a few years earlier.
Rumors of mob involvement have been soundly trashed by many. The idea that a studio boss as powerful and well-connected as Harry Cohn would be approached like that don’t add up.
Wars start that way.
And putting a horse’s head in his bed? Neigh. (Sorry – Nay.)
Big stars, such as Bogart, had already been rejected in favor of ideal casting; and everybody knew that Frank Sinatra and “Angelo Maggio” were the same person.
Also, an $8,000 payout probably brought tears of sweet love to Harry Cohn’s eyes.
He got the part, won over millions, and was handed an Oscar.
Beginning the greatest comeback show business has ever seen.
Which Sinatra ensured by creating a golden era of artistic achievement.
From roughly 1953 to the mid-sixties, Sinatra innovated a string of “concept” albums that were all breakthrough classics.
Rather than catering to public tastes, he commanded public tastes, rising above Rock ‘n Roll, beatniks, British invasions, and anything else that came along.
He became a crowned cultural outlier, who always appeared to be above everything else.
His tortured relationship with Ava Gardner came across in his untouchable renditions of other people’s songs and wowed the world.
“[Sinatra] presented the song like a landscape he’d restored, painting himself into the picture so masterfully that it was impossible to imagine it without him.” – John Lahr
During and following that period, Sinatra’s legend grew and grew.
And he continued living up to it, despite marriage breakdowns, Mob hearings, FBI files, love affairs, “retirement”, lost friends, and even the kidnapping of his son.
From the moment Sinatra bounced back in ‘53, to his final concert appearance on February 25, 1995, he was flying high.
Sources: Sinatra: The Artist and the Man by John Lahr – published by Random House, New York, 1997; His Way: An Unauthorized Biography of Frank Sinatra by Kitty Kelly – published by Bantam, New York, 2010; Sinatra: Behind the Legend by Randy Taraborrelli – published by Grand Central Publishing, New York, 2015; The Dark Side of Camelot by Seymour M. Hersh – published by Little, Brown and Company, Boston, 1997.
So it’s not a leap to say that Bowie is bound by contradictions.
Or that the reasons will be dark, tragic, and unsettling.
For a body of work that stands today as breath-taking, legendary, inspiring.
Let’s look into those eyes.
1. Ziggy played guitar (David played ukulele)
Bowie was born two years after World War II finally quit demolishing London with bombing raids.
Home was a nice house on a nice street in Brixton, in the south of the city. The old world meeting the new, in every sense.
Although Bowie’s father had risen to the cushy level of promotion’s officer at children’s charity Barnardo’s, David Jones belonged to a family of missing and half-missing people.
Possibly from a different kind of war.
Three aunts on his mother’s side had suffered mental issues. One died in her thirties, after years spent in and out of psychiatric hospitals.
A second was a diagnosed schizophrenic. A third aunt was treated for ‘bad nerves’ by being given a lobotomy.
Another of the sisters was Peggy, David’s mother, who also, apparently, exhibited signs of ‘borderline schizophrenia’.
Still, labels of schizophrenia and lobotomies were handed out liberally then, projecting often unwarranted fear of hereditary illness into the future.
Which may or may not be the case here.
David’s mother had two children before marrying David’s father. One, a sister, long gone – given up for adoption – the other, Terry Burns, unwanted but always turning up.
And a hero.
At least to David.
At least for the duration of the one shake of the dice life gave him.
A decade older than David and discharged from the RAF, where he had been a keen boxer, Terry knew he wasn’t wanted. And he could easily have resented his ‘legitimate’ and molly-coddled brother.
Especially when David’s doting dad took him to meet and greet stars backstage at Barnardo’s benefit gigs.
Showbiz, self-promotion, glitter and glam, ambition over benevolence, seduction over sense.
Watching as he won praise at his all-boys’ tech school as a performer and dancer, with teachers gushing about his “vividly artistic interpretations” and “astonishing” poise.
Listening as David played tea-chest bass, saxophone, and ukulele to skiffle and, later, the rock ‘n roll that changed his world; and then to his group, the ‘Konrads’.
Instead, the older half-brother became a true brother by taking the sensitive boy under his wing, opening up an even stranger world of American culture, jazz music, and beat poetry.
Along with tales of adventures, fights, and exotic, magical experiences in distant, foreign lands.
Expanding Rock ‘n Roll into potent new areas of art, entertainment, and mystery. All a magical mashup in the mind of young David Jones.
Terry came from worlds others didn’t know. Terry was a hero.
Unless he didn’t show up for a while, replaced instead by whispers about “seizures” that saw him gone for short periods.
Missed only by David.
Before returning, every bit as hip as before, smiling and larger than life.
So together they let the good times…
Leaving a Cream concert after becoming dizzy, Terry changed.
Seeing the street splitting open and spewing fire, he dropped to his knees.
Screamed at David that he was about to be lifted up into the sky.
David watched as Terry grasped at fiery cracks that weren’t there.
Desperately trying to stay; to avoid falling away forever.
Schizophrenia claiming his brother.
With no way to force it back. Or to help.
To stop the sky stealing a hero and leaving a shell.
Bowie as a blank canvas projecting otherworldly images.
2. Snubbing the alien
In 1962, regular life had reared its head with a fight over a girl and a punch in the face.
The scrap resulted in four months of hospital treatment for David; and a permanently diluted pupil, giving a strong – and wrong – impression of differently colored eyes.
Either way, it added to that unearthly aura he later exuded.
Even more unearthly was the news David announced as he ended school, still friends with the person who’d punched him in the eye years before.
He planned to be a popstar.
After a stint in advertising, David landed a management contract leading to his first single: ‘Liza Jane’, credited to ‘Davie Jones with the King Bees’.
After it flopped, David moved quickly through several groups, more flops, and began making threats to throw it all away and become a mime artist.
That’ll learn ya!
But not only was the world snubbing the strange-looking and sensitive artist, it was increasingly confusing him with a Monkee – Davy Jones.
An insult too great for even a mime to take.
So he changed his name to David Bowie.
David Robert Jones wouldn’t have fit on that anyway.
3. Gnome alone – Bowie lost in gnome man’s land
By 1967, Bowie’s broad artistic influences, and possibly his need to stay hidden in an image, saw him training in mime under Marcel Marceau protege, Lindsay Kemp.
And releasing his little gnome, sorry, little known, single: ‘The Laughing Gnome’.
Considered a matter of ignomey, sorry ignominy, to some, other critics applauded the original way it combined a song for children with a long list of ‘gnome’ puns and upbeat fun.
Either way, it flopped – and most pop fans were gnome the wiser, sorry, none the wiser.
Bowie’s broad range came into play – no pun intended – with his debut album ‘David Bowie’. Its broad mix of folk, rock, and vaudeville – and many other elements – left most baffled.
“I didn’t know if I was Elvis Presley or Max Miller.” — David Bowie
Bowie knew where he wanted to get, he just didn’t know who he was; and it was causing problems. Some critics noted the problem; one biographer later calling the album:
“The vinyl equivalent of the madwoman in the attic.”
At this point, only Bowie himself knew enough to ask the question.
By 1969, he was supporting his already successful friend, Marc Bolan, by performing mime at Tyrannosaurus Rex concerts.
David… boo!
And wasn’t appreciated.
Then he found himself being lifted into the sky.
The movie ‘A Space Odyssey‘ inspired a character he could hide inside;and a song his new record company could release right on time for the moon landing.
‘A Space Oddity‘ saw David Bowie rise up the charts, staring at the stars, for the first time.
Then reenter the atmosphere – hard.
Although peaking at a lowly #124 in the US, it hit #5 in the UK – despite the BBC’s refusal to play it until after the Apollo crew had returned safely to earth.
It was a hit, a future hit, and a classic – actually inspired by his recently lost love, Hermione Farthingale, with whom he’d seen the movie – but dismissed by many as a moon landing novelty.
Nothing more than another ‘laughing gnome’ from a writer of novelties.
Bowie was chained to the earth again.
No gold record for Mr Gnome, no pot of gold for us. Oh, well.
4. Bowie in satin dress, Janine and John Wayne
Bowie’s first album was such a flop that his second was essentially a restart, eponymously titled, as the first had been (although released as ‘Space Oddity’ in the US).
But something was changing.
Musically, the album tipped its hat to the hip sounds of the day, with elements of folk-rock, progressive rock, psychedelic rock, and even country in places.
Box checking over inspiration in some cases.
Lyrically, Bowie was coming into his own.
With songs about the recent death of his father and a public ‘Letter to Hermione’, Bowie’s dark side was rising in a way that would soon be more glamorously disguised, then more powerfully expressed.
Here, the theme of fractured identity, or split personality, was stark.
“Janine, you’d like to know me well, But I’ve got things inside my head, That even I can’t face.
“Janine, you’d like to crash my walls, But if you take an axe to me, You’d kill another man, Not me at all.”
Although the album included ‘Space Oddity’, it was released to mixed reviews and didn’t sell.
His next album: ‘The Man Who Sold The World’ demonstrated its schizoid tendencies by having a US cover with a cartoon drawing of a John Wayne-based character, toting a gun, standing in front of a Victorian-era asylum.
Much like the place Terry now spent most of his time.
The UK version presented a photo of Bowie with shoulder-length bleached blonde hair, reclining on a chaise lounge, wearing a flowing satin dress and knee-high black boots.
He appears to be scratching his head. (As many did.)
Musically, Bowie headed straight into previously unchartered hard rock territory. According to music critic Marc Spitz, it was a heavy blues album “worthy of Cream”.
Perhaps a strange place for Bowie to revisit. Or perhaps not.
Journalist Peter Doggett highlighted themes of “madness, alienation, violence, confusion of identity, power, darkness and sexual possession.”
“Day after day, They send my friends away, To mansions cold and grey, To the far side of town.”
Despite wowing growing numbers of critics, it didn’t sell. Bowie was in a dark place; but he was coming from a dark place. And if anybody asked, everything was “hunky dory.”
Which was about to become the official story.
Suffering and not selling. But Bowie was going through changes.
5. Bowie finds himself, hides himself, and returns to the sky
Hunky Dory was a commercial flop, huge critical hit, and glorious pop masterpiece.
The mad mime had found his voice and was going through changes fast.
“He has the genius to be to the ‘70s what Lennon, McCartney, Jagger and Dylan were to the ‘60s.” – Rock magazine.
Bowie had become so confident and relaxed at this point that he even wrote the quirky and beautiful song ‘Kooks’ for his newborn son Duncan Zowie Haywood Jones, child of David and Angela Bowie.
However, some of the songs were barely disguised cries into the abyss:
“I look out my window, what do I see? A crack in the sky and a hand reaching down to me, All the nightmares came today […] All the strangers came today.”
At the time of recording the album’s final track, ‘The Bewlay Brothers’, Bowie asked producer Ken Scott not to listen to the words, because “they don’t mean anything.”
Author Nicholas Pegg describes the track as “probably the most cryptic, mysterious, unfathomable and downright frightening Bowie recording in existence.”
“Now my brother lays upon the rocks, He could be dead, He could be not, He could be you. He’s Chameleon, Comedian, Corinthian and Caricature, Shooting up Pie-in-the-Sky. […]
“Leave my shoes, And door unlocked, I might just slip away, Just for the day…”
The songs were about Terry. And with them, Bowie returned to the sky.
Bowie the deep-thinking genius prepares to rock the world.
6. Ziggy came from worlds others didn’t know…
Ziggy was a hero.
Ziggy Stardust came from the sky, a hero with a message of hope given to the kids through the TV and radio.
Themes of impending doom, of having only a short time before our lives as we know them are suddenly gone, are strong.
Bowie’s previously stark take on madness, fractured personality and fear of insanity, appears to be more or less hidden behind dramatic images, concepts, broader themes of destruction, and play-on-word obscurity.
And because of this, they couldn’t be clearer.
“I always got the sense that he couldn’t quite work out the Terry element of his life. I’ve often wondered if the whole alien thing didn’t come from that.” – Hanif Kureishi
Although inspired by a slew of people and influences, most notable is rocker Vince Taylor, who, at the time Bowie met him, was having a breakdown and saw himself as a god or an alien.
‘Circus’ magazine called it “a stunning work of genius” and others had similar feelings.
So did the public.
Conversion to Bowie, anything he did, and whatever planet he came from, happened for millions in the UK when he appeared on hit show Top of the Pops on July 5, 1972.
“The first time I saw him, he was singing ‘Starman’ on television. It was like a creature falling from the sky.” – Bono
Ziggy was a star.
Ziggy Stardust: there, not there, and everywhere.
7. A superstar shell in hell… and on drugs
Living in the pressure cooker of fame, where the world wants to know everything about you, isn’t good if you want to live in the sky.
Hiding from yourself and from reality.
And your dark-side-of-the-moon muse. Your brother.
So… drugs then, anyone?
Bowie’s fears for his sanity were almost certainly real; his need to create a hero from the sky, filled with wisdom and larger than life, came from deep in his conscious, or subconscious, mind.
Ironically, self-medicating his fears away meant drugs; the one evil capable of driving him spiraling into a psychotic abyss.
Except LSD – which horrified him for obvious reasons.
But he increasingly needed escape – or oblivion – when the masks came off.
When David was all that was left.
“One puts oneself through such psychological damage trying to avoid the threat of insanity, you start to approach the very thing that you’re scared of.” – David Bowie
Terry had married a fellow patient at Cane Hill psychiatric hospital. They moved in together, but it didn’t work out, causing Terry’s condition to deteriorate.
At one point, David and Angie brought Terry to live with them, but the obligations of stardom, combined with Terry’s reluctance to take his much-needed medication and resulting chaos, soon ended that.
Bowie’s followup to Ziggy, ‘Aladdin Sane’ was his most commercially successful album to date.
Inspiring Ron Ross of ‘Phonograph Record’ to call Bowie, “one of the most consistent and fast moving artists since the Beatles,” it helped match sales with critical acclaim.
Strongly – and openly – influenced by The Rolling Stones, the album was, on the surface, inspired by the ‘schizophrenic’ split between Bowie’s love of success and hatred of touring – to the point that each track was given the location of its composition or inspiration.
The cover features Bowie’s face, eyes closed, his face split down the middle by a bolt of lightning.
Beneath the surface, the title and image are easy to discern:
‘A-lad-insane’.
Bowie’s career now glittered just as he did; however, like Dylan or Lennon, he made no compromises, shedding the Ziggy character abruptly and moving in new directions.
His talent and risk-taking providing him with a legendary career.
When Terry later became a permanent resident at Cane Hill Psychiatric Hospital, Bowie became too upset, or just plain scared, to visit regularly, which he openly admitted more than once.
“Its the terror of knowing What the world is about, Watching some good friends scream ‘Let me out!’”
As David’s career sailed through the stratosphere, Terry’s life fell apart.
On January 16, 1985, Terry managed to slip out of the hospital unnoticed, wander through snow to a railway station, lay on the tracks in front of a London-bound train, and end his life.
“Leave my shoes, And door unlocked, I might just slip away, Just for the day […]
“Now my brother lays upon the rocks, He could be dead, He could be not – He could be You.”
Believing his presence would turn the family funeral into a media circus, Bowie didn’t attend; instead sending a wreath with words paraphrased from the movie ‘Blade Runner’:
“You’ve seen more things than we could imagine; but all these moments will be lost, like tears washed away by the rain. God bless you – David.”
Aladdin Sane – the split Bowie never got over.
8. Aliens, heroes and brothers
Bowie’s preoccupation with souls beyond the sky continued throughout his career, to the end of his life. His personas also came and went quickly (feel free to add any missed):
Ziggy Stardust Aladdin Sane Halloween Jack The Thin White Duke The Blind Prophet
Throwing superstardom aside at the peak of his huge commercial success in concerts and recordings during the 1980s, Bowie didn’t want commercial success that came with critical failure.
So he did whatever he wanted instead.
Hoping to find himself once more.
Which he did.
In 1993, he released the song ‘Jump They Say’, dealing openly with his brother’s suicide and the pressures leading to it. Surprisingly to some, it became a Top 10 hit in the UK.
“I say he should watch his ass… My friend, don’t listen to the crowd, They say ‘jump!’”
Hustler, Actor, Artist, Hero – David Bowie: January 8, 1947 – January 10, 2016.
Sources: The Complete David Bowie by Nicholas Pegg – published by Titan Books, 2016; The Man Who Sold the World: David Bowie and the 1970s by Peter Doggett – published by Harper Collins, 2012; David Bowie: A Life by Dylan Jones – published by Crown Archetype, 2017; Ground Control to Mental Health Justice by Dolores Sanchez – published by Mental Health Justice, 2016; Legends Series – Series 1, Episode 7 – produced by VH1, 1998; David Bowie’s early years revealed by Miranda Aldersley and Susie Coen – published by The Daily Mail, 2019.
Were they really just four lovable mop tops who loved shouting “Yeah, yeah, yeah!” to every “expert” who wanted to help them?
Until they got lucky?
Or merely uncompromising? No matter what the consequences might be?
The Beatles were perceived in various ways in the early days, both behind the scenes and in public: “charming”, “witty”, “ruthless”, “dangerous”.
But who were they really?
How ruthless did they have to be to carve out that world-shaking career?
And what were the repercussions for others?
Let’s take a look.
1. The love you make. The price you pay
Stars weren’t born back in the day, they were formed. And Larry Parnes was the UK’s top star-maker. No compromises, no questions.
He was the woodcarver. The popstar was Pinocchio.
Your name would be chosen. Your hairstyle. Your image. Your songs. Potential stars were preened, packaged, and sold.
But not pampered. They did what they were told – sometimes without royalties. How ruthless was he? Extremely.
His biggest star was Liverpool’s Billy Fury, whose album “The Sound of Fury” is today regarded as one of the most important Rock ‘n Roll records produced in the UK.
Fury wrote the songs. However, rather than encourage him, Parnes convinced him to record covers, to guarantee hits in the accepted tradition.
Fury felt he had no choice – and we all paid the price.
Then Parnes met The Beatles.
The charge to Stardom. Getting in the way of The Beatles was a mistake.
2. Nowhere men to star-maker – “Get stuffed!”
When Parnes announced that he was coming to Liverpool, to audition groups to play backup for Billy Fury in an upcoming tour, the reaction was huge.
Especially when he added that Billy Fury would be attending.
For working-class kids in the North of England, this was the chance of a lifetime.
Allan Williams, The Beatles’ first manager, told the boys about it – and they jumped.
Turning up scruffy and unprepared, with a temp drummer who was late, they still managed to pass muster – according to Williams.
He claimed that Parnes and Billy Fury liked “The Silver Beetles” and wanted to sign them.
On one condition.
John’s best friend, Stu Sutcliffe, was bassist in the group. He kept his back to the audience to hide the fact he couldn’t play. Not good in a superstar’s support act.
He had to go.
One act of ruthlessness, one ticket to the top.
John Lennon’s “curt response” – apparently backed up without a note of dissension from McCartney or Harrison – ended their big chance.
Stu stayed. No compromises, no questions.
The Beatles walked out on Larry Parnes and Billy Fury.
Parnes later denied Williams’ account, perhaps conveniently blaming the temp drummer.
Either way, Williams did later manage to get The Beatles onto one of Parnes’ low-level touring tickets: Johnny Gentle’s Tour of Scotland.
So did The Beatles really tell Britain’s biggest star-maker, in front of the great Billy Fury, where to get off?
We do know that Johnny Gentle later encouraged Parnes to sign The Beatles; and that Parnes refused. Possibly because he knew he wouldn’t be able to control them.
In early 1962, Parnes also apparently turned down a chance to co-promote The Beatles’ concerts.
A decision that, if true, cost him millions.
When on the verge of stardom, The Beatles had no qualms about firing their drummer, Pete Best, despite his huge following of female fans in Liverpool, and the upset it would cause.
But that was their idea.
Within a couple of years, Beatlemania had dropped like an atom bomb on Larry Parnes’ stable of stars, and assigned the star-maker and his way of doing business to history.
The King was down. The game was on.
All you need is tough love. On the make, but not fake.
3. Prodigies to producer – “That song is crap!”
Still, they did get the attention of a Liverpool record store manager named Brian Epstein.
He also wanted them to compromise, so they did.
By the time Epstein told The Beatles they should replace their leather outfits with tailored suits, they had allowed Stu Sutcliffe’s girlfriend, Astrid Kirchherr, to turn their greasy rocker quiffs into floppy fringes.
This was more about curiosity than compromise. And Paul McCartney soon realized how great the suits would look with the new hairstyles.
For Lennon, it came down to Beatle democracy; but he probably knew McCartney was right.
With that agreed, they were ready to be rejected again.
Dick Rowe of Decca Records was all about the data. After their audition, he uttered the now immortal words:
“Guitar groups are on the way out, Mr. Epstein.”
No compromises, no questions.
A ruthless business decision that went down in history as one of the worst days anyone ever had at the office.
Rowe, of course, later denied Epstein’s version.
Not that The Beatles minded. By this stage, they felt sorry for anybody silly enough to reject them.
So, with a later introduction and much encouragement from a now-famous George Harrison, Dick Rowe said “Yes!” to The Rolling Stones.
Phew!
Next in line was George Martin of Parlophone, EMI. Happily, Martin believed in following his instincts rather than just data and industry trends.
So he watched and listened. Then he signed them.
For their part, The Beatles were in awe. They didn’t know that EMI considered Parlophone a dumping ground for novelty trash.
To George Martin, The Beatles were popstars, and popstars needed professional songwriters.
He went looking for The Beatles’ first #1.
And he found it. Or thought he did: “How Do You Do It?” by Mitch Murray.
“This is it!” he told music publisher, Dick James. “This will make The Beatles a household name!”
The Beatles dutifully recorded it – and Martin was delighted.
Then they went quiet.
Lennon spoke up first. “I have to tell you, George,” he said. “We think this song is crap.”
Not only was Lennon’s statement outrageous, it was an assault on Martin’s ability and authority.
An act of ruthlessness? Or just another act of career suicide?
But The Beatles weren’t challenging Martin’s ability or authority. Lennon knew the song was good really.
They all knew it would be a hit.
Just not their hit.
They wrote those.
“Show me something as good as that and we’ll record it!” he boomed at Lennon.
Lennon and McCartney looked at each other and shrugged.
Fair enough.
Ultimately, Martin allowed The Beatles to release their own song “Love Me Do” – possibly because he knew Brian Epstein intended to purchase 10,000 copies himself, to ensure a chart placing and kickstart their careers.
Which he did, in politely ruthless fashion.
The follow-up “Please Please Me” was a John song, written in the style of Roy Orbison. They sang it Orbison style, but Martin heard it Beatles’ style.
By the time they were done recording, Martin made his now-famous announcement:
“Gentlemen, you have just made your first number one record.”
He was right. (Sort of.)
Once the hits got started, they didn’t stop. And they changed the world.
4. Ruthlessness and repercussions – British invasion
In the States, many American acts went the same way as Parnes and his stars.
After they rejected Martin’s choice of song, it was given to another Liverpool group, “Gerry and the Pacemakers”.
Produced by Martin, this version of “How Do You Do It?” shot to the #1 position in the UK, technically beating The Beatles to the #1 spot. (“Please Please Me” hit #2 on the Record Retailer chart and #1 on the New Musical Express and Melody Maker charts.)
Becoming part of “The British Invasion” the song broke the Top 10 in North America in the summer of 1964.
It was replaced at the top in the UK by The Beatles’ third single “From Me to You”, which hit the #1 position and stayed there for seven weeks. From here, The Beatles never looked back.
Arguably, the four mop tops kickstarted (at least) four industries:
The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, The Mersey Sound, The British Invasion.
The Beatles destroyed and started a lot of careers.
When they decided to stop touring, they were informed that they were destroying their own.
All the data spoke to it. Industry reality. No way round it.
But The Beatles had other ideas.
A lot of them.
The Beatles never stopped working, innovating, believing, or succeeding.
If you had a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, could you turn it down on principle?
If an authority figure/expert told you to do something “for your own good”, could you be ruthless enough to respond:
“No – that doesn’t work for me.”
The Beatles did this all the time, regardless of how unpopular or outrageous.
But only in specific circumstances. If a compromise suited them, they’d make it.
In fact, “uncompromising” may be the better word to use in many of these instances than the word “ruthless”.
Larry Parnes and Dick Rowe also had their “No compromises, no questions” attitudes.
In the former’s case, these were ego-based and ended his reign; in the latter’s, a crushing error led to professional redemption.
The Beatles had an amazing grasp of who they were and what they wanted.
If something felt wrong on principle, it couldn’t and wouldn’t happen.
So let’s end with The Beatles’ top five “no compromises, no questions” hits.
Top 5 things nobody could get The Beatles to do:
Dump their own people – unless it was their idea.
Release singles they hadn’t written – unless it was their idea.
Fill their albums with singles to milk cash from kids.
Go to the US until they had a hit single there.
Play to segregated audiences in the US.
Ruthless little mop tops.
Sources: The Love You Make: An Insider’s Story of the Beatles by Peter Brown and Steven Gaines – published by McCraw-Hill, 1983; Here, There and Everywhere by Geoff Emerick and Howard Massey – published by Gotham Books, 2006; Shout by Philip Norman – published by MJF books, 1981; John Lennon – The Life by Philip Norman – published by Ecco Press, 2008. Images: Shutterstock.
Great balls of fire and the big dreams of little kids.
2. Long John, Bluesology, and letting the heartaches end
Reginald Dwight, organ player with Bluesology, stood motionless on stage, wearing a caftan, some bells, and a chain around his neck, as eccentric blues legend, Long John Baldry, belted out his awful #1 hit song ‘Let the Heartaches Begin’.
Backed not by Bluesology, but by a massive tape machine.
What?
Baldry had a great talent for spotting talent and had become a friend and mentor to Reg.
Friends with Paul McCartney, Baldry had shared the stage with both The Beatles and The Rolling Stones; a living encyclopedia of the blues, he became a legend’s legend.
“He was the greatest 12-string guitarist the UK has ever produced.” — Elton
But his middle-of-the-road hit single had blown a hole through his backing group.
Their regular audience of blues-loving young mods had been replaced by the supper club set, chicken and fries falling from the mouths of well-to-do women as they screamed, making a beeline for the stage in a stiffly middle-aged, but unstoppable tinkle of passion.
Eww.
Nobody knows if Reg ever formed the words, “Somebody save my life tonight – please!” in his mind, but we do know that Elton’s acclaimed autobiography “Me”, tells the story of a gifted rhythm and blues band put in an extremely awkward position.
Besides, there was no way to reproduce the orchestrated sound. Or female chorus.
So they stood there instead, like lemmings before the leap.
With aching heart, Elton leapt.
Reg Dwight: The background musician who needed to be upfront.
3. Enter the brown dirt cowboy (wheelbarrow operator, UK)
By the age of 17, Bernie Taupin had developed an optimistically casual attitude to life.
Apart from carting dead chickens around his father’s farm in north-Lincolnshire, he had ended a planned career as a journalist in favor of roaming country roads, playing pool, meeting girls, and drinking heartily.
It was only a matter of time before he became friends with Rod Stewart.
In 1967, Reg Dwight and Bernie Taupin were two of many hopefuls who answered an advertisement placed in New Musical Express.
Liberty Records wanted new talent.
Unlikely rockstar Reginald showed up, played some favorites, and essentially flopped.
When he shyly said that he could write songs, A&R man Ray Williams’ ears pricked up.
“But not the words,” Reg added.
Williams sat back and sighed.
Lifting an envelope from his desk, he handed it to Reg, probably as a gesture.
Bye, Reg Dwight.
On the train home, Reg opened the envelope and read the beautiful mind of Bernie Taupin.
They clicked.
Whether fate decreed stardom or starvation – they were already in it together.
The Greatest Discovery: Songwriting partner and brother.
4. Elton John and Bernie Taupin – “We’re starving!”
Reg found that he could write melodies easily for the majority of Taupin’s lyrics; and he started doing so before they met.
When they did meet, they hit it off immediately.
Soon, Bernie was living with Reg and his mother and stepfather in a tiny apartment. They slept in bunkbeds and bonded over their love of Bob Dylan, Jimi Hendrix, and others.
Taupin was a fish out of water in London and a bit overwhelmed. Elton, sensing this, developed a big brother protectiveness for the teenager others saw as a “country bumpkin”.
Even though Elton was only 20 himself.
Although awed by Reg’s talent, and perhaps missing the security of a steady wheelbarrow, his new friend’s kindness boosted Bernie’s confidence and creativity.
“He became the brother I never had,” Elton later said.
Neither was making money, so they scraped by, scrounged up, and kept honing their talents.
In 1968, they managed to join DJM Records as staff songwriters, turning out occasional songs for stars such as Lulu, Roger Cook, and Edward Woodward.
Later, somebody suggested they should perform their own songs.
They agreed; but only as long as they could do everything the wrong way round.
Rockstar handsome Bernie and shy, cherubic Reg, chose Reg as the frontman.
Reg took the name ‘Elton’ from Bluesology bandmate Elton Dean; and the name ‘John’ from Long John Baldry – then fixed them together the wrong way round.
‘Elton John’ hoped to have hits in Britain, without a thought for the US.
What could go right?
Years later, Elton and Bernie would write a classic album about their early days.
5. Drifting slowly through an empty sky
Elton’s first single ‘I’ve Been Loving You’ resulted in nobody caring how he felt.
His second, the now classic ‘Lady Samantha’ didn’t fare much better, but did become a ‘turntable hit’, attracting the attention of industry people, such as producer Gus Dudgeon, and rock critics.
They decided not to release ‘Your Song’ as a single, so that Elton could “have a go” with it.
An American ray of sunlight in their empty sky.
Elton. Bernie and Gus Dudgeon: The trio that turned the world on its head.
6. John Elton – Sorry, Elton John – has arrived!
Bernie was excited about a gig at the tiny but trendy Troubadour Club in LA, USA.
Elton wasn’t as impressed.
It seemed a long trip just to (hopefully) get a nice write up, or impress some industry folk.
Concentrating on the UK seemed a lot more sensible. And he knew the shops.
Then Dick James said he’d negotiated Elton’s payment up from $150 to $275.
Meaning Elton could stop pressing his nose against shop windows and actually go inside.
SOLD!
Meanwhile, US record executive, Russ Regan, heard the ‘Elton John’ album.
“When I heard it for the first time, I absolutely flipped out. I looked up at the sky and said, ‘Thank you, God!’ I thought it was one of the best albums I’d ever heard.” — Russ Regan.
Phone calls were made.
Influential people needed to get their asses over to the Troubadour and see this John Elton guy.
Sorry – Elton John guy.
Elton was made the headliner, even though nobody knew who he was.
Music publisher, David Rosner, had 3000 UK copies of the ‘Elton John’ album shipped to the US for distribution to radio stations – months before a US release.
When Elton, Bernie, and their backing group finally climbed stiff-legged from the economy flight onto US soil, they were greeted by a bizarre sight.
A red London double-decker bus with a banner proclaiming: ‘Elton John has arrived!’
All beautiful, small-scale hype, based on upbeat energy and enthusiasm.
But it created an incredible vibe.
Then came the gig.
Welcoming a new era in rock ‘n roll: The Troubadour in L.A.
7. Don’t Go Back, Honky Cat! The Troubadour goes BOOM
With a capacity of around 300, curious audience members included Neil Diamond (who agreed to introduce Elton), highly influential Times critic Robert Hilburn, David Crosby, Stephen Stills and Graham Nash, Quincy Jones and Peggy Lipton, Linda Ronstadt, Brian Wilson and Mike Love, Van Dyke Parks, Don Henley and Randy Newman.
No pressure, then.
Probably expecting an earnest British singer-songwriter, the audience was staggered by an explosion of Rock ‘n Roll not seen since the days of Little Richard and Jerry Lee Lewis.
Elton was making sure little Reginald Dwight’s dreams came true.
Relentlessly pounding the piano, he threw himself into the air like an acrobat, kicked away his stool, and dropped to his knees.
Never missing a beat or a Bernie Taupin line of poetry.
When it was over, the audience were as physically and emotionally exhausted as the star.
Because that’s what he was now. All at once and unequivocally.
A STAR
Proclaiming that Elton John would soon become one of rock’s biggest and most important figures, the Times critic Hilburn began his review with one simple word:
“REJOICE”
Nobody would ever again think of the name ‘Elton John’ as being the wrong way round.
Hello Yellow Brick Road. Even this classic image is the wrong way round.
8. Hello Yellow Brick Road
Elton played eight shows in six nights at the Troubadour.
He became a sort of instant underground legend until the US release of ‘Elton John’ a few months later.
It reached the US Billboard Hot 100 #4 position.
‘Your Song’ reached #8 – a surprise hit, having been released as the B-side of ‘Take Me to the Pilot’, and played relentlessly by DJs who fell in love with it.
It also hit the #7 position on the UK chart.
Elton John never pressed his nose against a shop window again.
Apart from once in 1978, when Saks closed early.
Following up on further early achievements, Elton went on to muster up:
Sources: Me: Elton John Official Autobiography by Elton John – published by Henry Holt and Co., 2019; Captain Fantastic: The Definitive Biography of Elton John in the ‘70’s by David John DeCouto – published by Triple Wood Press, 2016; Elton: The Biography by David Buckley – published by Andre Deutsch, 2007.
Bob Dylan’s controversial career as a singer/songwriter made him the icon of a generation, a reluctant recipient of the Nobel Prize in Literature, and an almost mythical being.
Known to confuse facts and fantasy about himself as readily as anybody who ever spoke or wrote about him, he is an enigma, with many detractors and millions of admirers.
So what can we learn about – and from – Dylan’s career?
Let’s take a look.
1. Was Dylan’s early image a fraud?
Yes and no. Before his 20th birthday, Dylan was singing for free at Gerde’s Folk City “Hootenannies” in Manhattan.
Originally rejected for looking too young, he caused a stir from the outset.
A teenager with puppy fat singing folk and blues songs about hard-travelling, lost loves, and hoping only for a clean grave to sleep in, Dylan was working strictly against the odds from a career perspective.
So what happened?
It’s tough to choose between “self-belief” and “self-delusion”. When Dylan sang adult themes, usually in the style of Woody Guthrie, his pained vocalizing created an air of authenticity that wowed people. He appeared to be living the image.
Then came strategy.
Before people could absorb the contradiction between songs and singer, Dylan would break into a humorous number, becoming the star of the song — a Charlie Chaplin character — who everybody fell in love with.
Including folk critic for The New York Times, Robert Shelton.
Young Bob Dylan – A self-created image he believed until everybody else did.
2. Is Dylan a plagiarist?
No — Dylan came from a folk tradition in which a traveling “guitar picker” would hear a song, remember the tune, then add words.
When “Big John” Hammond signed Dylan to Columbia, Hammond was legendary as a jazz producer and the discoverer of Billie Holiday. He signed Dylan on instinct.
Their first album contained two original Dylan songs and didn’t sell.
This was a controversial career move for Hammond himself. Dylan quickly became known as “Hammond’s Folly”.
The album was crammed with Dylan classics like “Blowin’ in the Wind” “Girl From the North Country” “Don’t Think Twice, It’s Alright” and “Masters of War”.
And it sold.
Dylan’s new manager, Albert Grossman, gave “Blowin’ in the Wind” to one of his other groups, “Peter, Paul and Mary” who had a huge hit with it.
Dylan the songwriter had arrived.
With his album “The Times They Are a Changin’” came trouble. Dylan’s song “With God On Our Side” used the same melody as Dominic Behan’s Irish rebel song, “The Patriot Game”.
Behan was outraged, until a music expert pointed out that Behan himself had taken the melody from another song, in line with folk tradition.
It’s hard to know how seriously Dylan took this.
Even today, fans love picking out uncredited quotes on Dylan albums, from classic literature and poetry to Clint Eastwood movies.
Fans say Dylan loves to drop literary and cultural “clues”, while detractors call it plagiarism, plain and simple. But there’s nothing plain or simple about Dylan.
Including his huge career risks.
Bob loves singing up a storm. And he’s good at causing them, too.
3. Did Dylan “sell out” for money?
The accusation doesn’t add up. It’s well documented that Dylan’s first love was rock ‘n roll – it’s what he first played, before discovering Woody Guthrie and going a different route.
He also became disenchanted with the folk “protest” scene. Even his early albums brought criticism from folk contemporaries, claiming he kept moving into “personal” songs, rather than sticking to politics.
Dylan reacted with an album that cried out for electric music and moved closer to Rock ‘n Roll, with a record-company title he despised: “Another Side of Bob Dylan”.
One of the songs “My Back Pages” lamented his recent political past, declaring:
“Ah, but I was so much older then/I’m younger than that now.”
Dylan was fascinated by how The Beatles were changing Rock ‘n Roll; and angry that Americans weren’t doing more to compete with “The British Invasion”.
It’s no coincidence that Dylan’s next, half-electric album, was titled: “Bringing It All Back Home”.
Also, Dylan’s first electric single was hardly a surefire hit.
Mixing skip-rope and/or oldie scat song rhythms with lyrics about drugs and the emerging counterculture was a far cry from pop culture in early 1965. (And would stay that way until the emergence of rap.)
Influenced by Guthrie/Seeger’s ‘Taking It Easy’ and Chuck Berry’s superb use of this traditional style: ‘Too Much Monkey Business’, Dylan stripped down any commercial distractions or considerations, making only the relentlessly driving form and biting social commentary the stars.
Dylan was taking a huge risk with his reputation and career.
Which included isolating his audience. The folk purists went berserk when Dylan plugged in an electric guitar, and took to following him to concerts just to boo and create problems.
The planned move to full electric also threatened the many cover versions of his acoustic songs, from which he made big money as songwriter – on top of his own record sales.
However, despite or because of its originality, “Subterranean Homesick Blues” hit the Top 40 in the US and the Top 10 in the UK.
Dylan’s gamble had paid off. Or had it?
Dylan went from protesting on the street to being celebrated on it.
One of Dylan’s acoustic songs from Bringing It All Back Home, “Mr. Tambourine Man” was covered by The Byrds and hit #1 in the US and UK; other covers by the group cemented Dylan’s money-making success as a songwriter for others.
But his plan didn’t change.
A single from his fully electric followup album, “Highway 61 Revisited” was over six minutes long – unheard of at the time. The song, “Like a Rolling Stone” was also an explosion of searing anger and pain.
The song was so long and so angry that Dylan’s record company didn’t want it released.
Luckily, an acetate of the song fell into the hands of some influential DJs and rock journalists, who put pressure on the company until they relented.
“Like a Rolling Stone” hit the #2 spot on the US Billboard Hot 100 and was a top 10 hit in many countries, changing popular music.
It also inspired The Beatles to ramp up their songwriting and experimentation.
Stamp of approval? Dylan is today celebrated everywhere.
4. What career lessons can we learn from Dylan?
When Dylan believed in something, he lived it unabashedly. What the “rules” were and what others thought meant nothing.
Dylan never stuck to a “winning formula”; instead he followed his vision, experimented, and stayed true to himself.
Between 1961 and 1965, Dylan built and risked destroying his reputation and career. In the years that followed, he repeated that many times.
So how do we make sense of this?
Let’s allow the great man to define career success himself:
“When you get out of bed in the morning, go to bed at night, and – in between – do whatever it is you want to do, that’s success.” — Dylan.
Sources: No Direction Home: The Life and Music of Bob Dylan by Robert Shelton – published by William Morrow/Beach Tree Books, New York, 1986; Bob Dylan by Anthony Scaduto – published by Abacus, 1972; Chronicles Volume One by Bob Dylan – published by Simon & Schuster, New York, 2004.
"I apologize for writing such a long letter, but I did not have sufficient time to write a short one." Blaise Pascall.
