Читать книгу Behind the Rock and Beyond - Leon Isackson - Страница 19

WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 4, 1959: I walked into John Collins’ office at Teen Records, 81 York Street Sydney, and was greeted with “We want you to join the Devils!”

“Oh no!” I groaned, “What’s happening?” John Collins explained that he wasn’t going to use the Off Beats anymore. From now on Ray Hoff, as well as Johnny Devlin, would be singing with the new Devils, consisting of Jimmy Taylor on piano, Flooby Fred on bass, Neville Chamberlain on guitar, Warren T. Smith on sax and me on drums. “I’d like to introduce you to Warren Smith,” he went on. “He’s going to be playing sax and managing the band.” Warren launched into a rave about how great the band was going to be and why I should join.

I wasn’t convinced. I thought the old Devils were pretty hard to top. Ray Hoff hadn’t been told yet. He wasn’t allowed to hear all of this intrigue. Ray was out the back happily pinching records! It would seem that they didn’t want Ray to have a better band than their star attraction Johnny Devlin. “Not only that,” Warren continued enthusiastically, “we can guarantee you a minimum of twenty five pounds a week!”

“But Peter Baker just offered me a minimum of fifty pounds a week to join the R’Jays,” I said. My reply went down like a lead balloon. The enthusiasm drained out of Warren’s face. “Dig will never be as big as Devlin,” John Collins interrupted. George Hilder nodded soberly as he peered through his Coke bottle glasses. If I was having trouble making up my mind, I was certainly convinced now. If there weren’t going to be any more Off Beats, I was going to join the R’Jays.

As I was walking back to my day job at APRA (Australasian Performing Rights Association), I was wondering what they would say when I gave in my notice. I had been working at APRA for the last eighteen months and was now earning the grand sum of eight pounds, thirteen shillings and four pence per week. It would have been hard for me to imagine that a couple of weeks later I would earn one hundred and twenty seven pounds, ten shillings in one week!

“You’ve got a big future here, Leon,” Mr. Goodman said sternly, looking up from the top of his glasses. “Rock’n’roll will never last. It’s only a passing fad. Look at all those files. They contain the titles of all the wonderful music that has ever been written. There’s not much rock’n’roll in there.” Then came the famous punch line, “Whatever you do, Leon, don’t give up your day job!”

With those wondrous words of wisdom still ringing in my ears, that night at one of the many R’Jays’ dances at Cabramatta Civic Hall, I decided to cast my fate to the wind and officially join Dig Richards & the R’Jays. This meant that I was now a fully professional musician with no other means of support or credibility for a bank loan. Even worse, I was going to be a “Rock Star”!

Lonnie Lee was filling in with the band while Dig was still recovering in hospital. He was one of the few singers of the day who consistently sang in tune (offside free kick!). Lonnie gave me a reassuring nod that I had made the right decision. Surely rock’n’roll would last another three months at least!

I had first met Lonnie Lee or Laurie Rix as he was previously known, a few months earlier when he was singing at Col Joye’s big dance at Bankstown on July 11, 1959. I was playing that night in the support band, the Stoneagers, and wishing that I had a Canadian Jacket like Darby. Lonnie, bass player “Flooby” Fred and some girls drove me home after the dance. I often wondered what happened to those poor innocent girls after they dropped me off.

Digby still on crutches came out of hospital on Saturday, 14 November 1959, and flew straight down to Melbourne where we were booked to do a television show at GTV9. The rest of the band — Peter, Boogie, Jon and I, were to travel down by “pie and ear” bus and meet him and his father, Gordon Richards, at the London Hotel. This was very exciting for me as I had never been outside of NSW. It was great travelling down to Melbourne with guys that were just as enthusiastic as me about music. This was my first week as a “pro” but these guys had “done it all” already. They had a hit record and they had played at the Sydney Stadium with Conway Twitty. My biggest ambition since I was thirteen was to play at the Stadium. With Jimmy, Ray and Ryanny, all we were ever interested in were the three R’s — Records, Rock’n’roll and Rootin’. Being a professional touring band seemed to add another dimension to it all.

When we arrived in Melbourne, we were given the “Star” treatment and taken straight to the London Hotel for breakfast. In very plush surroundings, I met Dig’s father Gordon, affectionately known as “The Blunderer”, and some executives from GTV9. An hour or so later, we were donning our new bright blue suits with gold buttons while people were running around setting up our gear. Dig wore his brand-new bright maroon Lurex coat with white piping. What a sight! He was still on crutches and trying his best to leap around on one leg like a pirate.

This was the Bert Newton Show with Frankie Davidson filling in for Bert as compere. Everone was quite helpful and friendly except for the resident band who appeared to be scowling. I couldn’t understand this at the time but it was a promise of things to come. “Bloody rock’n’rollers,” one of them mumbled. We put it down to the fact that they were from Melbourne, although everybody else there seemed quite amiable. We recorded three shows, which fortunately (or unfortunately), Frankie Davidson still has a copy of on 16mm film. One of the shows featured a brand new duo from Perth — The DeKroo Brothers, Leo and Doug — who later came to Sydney with some success. The reception of the band from the Melbourne kids was something new and fantastic. We felt quite embarrassed to be treated like stars.

As Dig and I sat in the plane watching the lights of Melbourne disappear, we toasted each other with a beer. This was going to be the start of something really exciting. Nothing would ever be quite the same again.