Читать книгу Behind the Rock and Beyond - Leon Isackson - Страница 6

JON: As I begin to write this story, I get flashes, little pictures, of incidents long past. Browsing through Leon’s personal diary, nicknamed the “Crazy Book”; I see towns, halls, pubs and clubs. I see cars, aircraft, apartments and yes, GIRLS! “And I can see you too! Ready Mister Music?” (for those of you who remember Romper Room and the Magic Mirror).

Names leap out at me from the pages of the diary: Bandstand, 6 O’Clock Rock, Festival Records, Sydney Stadium, Melbourne Town Hall and the memorable mouldy Marlene! Names and faces of many musicians, singers, promoters, screaming fans. All the fascinating people from the wonderful, fickle, rewarding, heartbreaking but always interesting Music Business. Never a dull moment. Being dragged out of a rock’n’roll dance by two burly coppers; now, that was a good one! Keith Walshe and the Teen Time clan. Many tours of sunny Queensland and friendly Western Australia. The antics of friends like Johnny O’Keefe and many others, clawing their way through a unique time in the birth of Australian rock ’n’roll.

I remember too the uneasy transition from one band to another, the music of a new era such as The Beatles, The Twist, Surf Music and the general sights and sounds of the early sixties. The name Vung Tau Airbase. Mortar fire. The battle of Dang Dung. Spending all night on the toilet in Saigon! These memories keep flooding back.

Later on in life, long after this story ends, I can recall walking down the darkened corridors of Royal North Shore Hospital on my way to visit my old friend Digby, knowing in my heart that I would never see his smiling face again. But I should start from the beginning.

The cool green waters of Sydney Harbour slid beneath the ferry as it nosed into Kurraba Point wharf. It was one of those great, sunny, winter days. Not too hot, not too cold but just right. Everything was right with the world. I was fifteen and it was 1957. Rock’n’roll came to Australia at the beginning of that year in the form of Bill Haley & the Comets at the Sydney Stadium. My mother and I were on our way to my godmother’s mansion at Kurraba Point.

Her name was Lorna Crowle and a more gracious lady you could not wish to meet. Her home was an amazing place, a three storey oval-fronted house right at the wharf. Inside, there was the most elegant collection of objets d’art you could ever hope to see. One showcase had a bracelet rumoured to have once belonged to Queen Victoria. There were also some very interesting musical instruments: a full-sized Wurlitzer organ, a nine-foot Steinway grand piano and a very expensive Italian piano accordion. But the least expensive and most interesting item to me was an old beat-up acoustic Hawaiian steel guitar, which I used to “pose off” with, pretending to be Bill Haley or Elvis or Eddie Cochran. It was during one of these posing off sessions that my godmother said: “My God Gwen (my mother, Gwendoline Hayton, nee Woods), doesn’t he look a natural with that thing? I think I’ll buy him one. Would you like one, dear?” Is the Pope a duck and can a Catholic swim? So saying, my dear godmother, whom I remember very fondly, bought me my first guitar.

It was a Levin round-hole acoustic which cost £19, purchased from J. Stanley Johnston’s which was then the hang-out for all budding musos in their lunch-hours. Also, I signed up for a series of lessons from Fred Butler (the guy who sold me the axe, man!). He lived and gave lessons at Taylor Square, right above Kinselas. Fred taught me the basics of the guitar — how to read chords and dots. I was never really good at dots but who really needed it for rock’n’roll? I am very thankful though for some of the things that Fred taught me and still use them today.

Fred wanted me to play classical guitar, which he played beautifully, but my first love was rock’n’roll and pop music in general. One night I came for my lesson with a Chuck Berry record (Schoolday) and asked Fred to teach it to me. He said: “You don’t want to play that rock’n’roll shit, boy! Learn those classics, play those Combo Orchestra arrangements, learn to read, tote that barge, lift that bale, blah, blah, yacketty-yack!!!”

Well that was when Fred and I parted company and I began to learn my beloved rock’n’roll songs by ear from records.

I was nearly discouraged from playing the guitar altogether by looking at all those silly little dots. Tom and Ted Le Garde once asked the great country and western guitarist Grady Martin if he could read music and his reply was: “Yair ... but it don’t help my playing none.” Fortunately, music teachers now take a more tolerant attitude towards different kinds of music and many a budding muso won’t be discouraged to learn just because they can’t tell you the name of Beethoven’s aunt!

I also had a rather unpleasant piano teacher when I was about seven, who had a habit of hitting me on the knuckles when I played a wrong note. His name eludes me now and it’s just as well forgotten. My mother provided the best encouragement by teaching me some tunes on the piano from about age four. Our favourite key was Eb, which is not the easiest key to play in by any means.

After my split with Fred and his “Combo Orchs.” which were full arrangements of big band swing era tunes and some acceptable but usually very schmaltzy pop songs, I started learning a lot of rock songs and guitar solos note for note. In those days you didn’t have to write all your own material. Very few did. There were songwriters and there were singers. And of course let’s not forget about a big hand for the band!

Consequently we used to learn all the American hits. It was taboo to play another Aussie band’s hit. I mean they wouldn’t play yours, would they? The rivalry was deadly, especially between our R&R leaders, Col Joye and Johnny O’Keefe.

While I was at school, my dearest friend was a guy named Grant Fleming. Grant and I knew every note, every bar and every beat of all our favourite songs, which were mainly Bill Haley, Elvis, Little Richard, Jerry Lee Lewis, Freddie Bell, Chuck Berry and some jazz artists such as Buddy Rich, Louis Bellson, Karl Kress, Tony Mottola, Gene Krupa and Harry Dart. I always thought that Grant should have been a drummer, the way he used to bang rhythms out on a table or whatever was handy. Still, I guess he’s happy being an engineer or whatever he is now.