A look back at Tomorrow, reimagined by guitarist Steve Howe
Reissue from 1960s British psychedelic band features Yes guitarist Steve Howe.
Howard Whitman Dec 21, 2023
When the press materials arrived for Permanent Dream, the 2023 release from the band Tomorrow, I had a momentary blip; was this from a new band or one from years past? It turned out that I was familiar with Tomorrow—mainly because it was a 1960s band that featured guitarist Steve Howe in the years prior to his joining Yes.
But based on the press release that accompanied the music, this wasn’t just a reissue of old recordings. Rather it was “a fresh, new version of Tomorrow’s legendary debut album re-imagined by Steve Howe.”
That statement is mostly true. It does share some tracks with the band’s self-titled debut album, which came out on the Parlophone label in 1968. But Permanent Dream expands upon that album’s template, adding rare tracks and live recordings, all spiffed up with 2023 remixing technology, in hopes of providing the definitive Tomorrow album.
Howe, fresh from his experiences producing the two latest studio albums from Yes, The Quest (2021) and Mirror to the Sky (2023), produced the new album compilation working with Curtis Schwartz, the engineer who mixed the two Yes releases.
The result lives up to Howe’s ambition to reimagine the original Tomorrow recordings and bring them up to 2023 audio standards. Available on CD and 140-gram vinyl from Spirit of Unicorn Music/Parlophone, the new release is a revelation in terms of sonic clarity and punch in comparison to the original tracks.
A closer examination of the individual songs reveals their importance and impact on the future of prog-rock, both due to their early glimpses of Howe’s greatness and the innovation that the band—which also featured vocalist Keith West, bassist John “Junior” Wood, and drummer John “Twink” Adler—brought to its music 55 years ago.
“Real Life Permanent Dream – Version One” kicks off the album. A Beatley stomper of a song, its title indicates the track’s psychedelic theme, and it at times (especially in the chorus) evokes the feel of early, Syd Barrett-era Pink Floyd. Howe’s choppy guitar parts drive the piece.
“Hallucinations” features Howe’s acoustic guitar playing, along with some guitar leads in which he “responds” to the lead vocal, a style he’d return to on Yes tracks such as “South Side of the Sky.” Otherwise, the song is rather simple, and its minor chords recall the era’s hits written by 10cc’s Graham Gouldman for bands like The Yardbirds and The Hollies such as “Bus Stop” and “Heart Full of Soul.”
“My White Bicycle” is probably the best-known Tomorrow song, as it’s been featured in many compilations of psychedelic 1960s hits. The recording’s backwards guitar, phasing effects, and whispered refrain of the title in the chorus make this a classic piece of 1960s sonic whimsy. Its almost-punky stomping beat gives the track a garage band feel. Interestingly, the song was inspired by the Dutch Provos, an anarchist group that instituted a community bicycle program in the 1960s.
Kicking off with a chord progression that recalls Martha and the Vandellas’ “Heat Wave,” “Why” veers in a different direction and has a killer harmony vocal-driven hook for a chorus. And at about a minute in, Howe kicks into a solo that brings to mind the Indian sitar sounds that were popular in the day on records from The Beatles and their contemporaries.
“Revolution” is not a Beatles cover, but it does feature Howe on wah-wah guitar and features touches of acoustic guitar, strings, and horns to vary things up. The shouted refrain of “Revolution … NOW!” is an enjoyable bit of social consciousness. This track was not included on the original release of Tomorrow, but did appear on the 1998 compilation 50-Minute Technicolor Dream.
The next track actually is a Beatles cover. The band’s take on “Strawberry Fields Forever” brings to mind the unadorned version included on the recent Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band expanded release, as it strips away the cellos and horns to focus on the basic band components – guitar, bass, and drums. It’s cool to hear how Howe’s guitar parts evoke the arrangement we know so well from the Magic Mystery Tour version, and Twink’s drum performance has a nice swing to it.
“Three Jolly Little Dwarfs” is a fun bit of 1960s whimsy with fairy tale-like lyrics that were very commonly done by bands of this ilk at this time.
“Now Your Time Has Come” is noteworthy for Howe’s jazzy playing, again woven around the lead vocal in a way he’d revisit when playing off Jon Anderson’s vocals on the classic Yes recordings.
“Claramount Lake” lets Howe stretch out a bit at around the 1:30 mark, and his solo work here could almost be a precursor to his lead lines on “Roundabout.” This is another track that was not included on the original Tomorrow album.
Another piece released on 50-Minute Technicolor Dream, “Caught In A Web” runs long for this era, almost hitting the five-minute mark. It has interesting changes in tempo and some good harmony work from West and the band. It also features an extended guitar solo with lines that bring to mind Howe’s later work on Yes’ Tales from Topographic Oceans.
Version two of “Real Life Permanent Dream” features sitar (presumably played by Howe), a speedier tempo, and a more adventurous lead vocal by West. Those touches make for an interesting listen, but it doesn’t significantly vary from version one heard earlier on this release.
“The Incredible Journey of Timothy Chase” is another bit of 1960s whimsy, and another glimpse of Howe’s Topographic future can be heard in its opening minute. Again, Tomorrow mixed things up arrangement-wise, with shifts in tempo for the chorus, which brings to mind XTC’s psychedelic pastiche band, The Dukes of Stratosphear. The track also benefits from Twink’s Ringo-like drumming.
The album concludes with two live tracks, the first being a take on “Now Your Time Has Come.” The fidelity of the recording is somewhat lacking, as West’s vocal is a bit distorted, but it does show that Tomorrow was an effective, energetic live band.
The final track, “Shotgun and the Duck,” launches with a Chuck Berry groove but breaks down for a solo section that lets Howe take the spotlight. Clearly the band knew it had a guitar star in its midst.
Permanent Dream is a fascinating glimpse at the origins of one of the pivotal guitarists in the history of progressive rock. While some of the material (mostly written by West and songwriting partner Ken Burgess) may seem dated and very much of its time, the new aural sheen provided by the 2023 mix from Howe and Schwartz gives this material a huge boost in terms of audio fidelity. This presentation of the material is improved by the rethought album sequencing. As it was mixed with vinyl in mind, the LP version is an ideal way to enjoy the latest iteration of this trippy, compelling, and always fun release from an often overlooked but special band from prog’s past.
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When Howard Whitman’s not writing about music (specializing in his favorite genre, progressive rock), he’s playing it in three Philadelphia-area tribute bands and as a solo artist.
"A great insight into the back-story of Yes-man Howe. There is not much doubt that he would always have been a musician. If he hadn't succeeded with Yes, he would have played for whoever paid the bills as long as he could live and breathe music. A really talented man that luckily for us found his home in Yes."
"Yesman Steve Howe: A self-assessment"
By Pamela Holman New Musical Express February 5, 1972
Keith West | ‘Thinking About Tomorrow’ | Interview April 7, 2021
Having spent his entire career as a professional singer, songwriter, and musician, ‘Thinking About Tomorrow’ is the amazing tale of rock and roll survivor Keith West. From being inspired by Elvis in the 1950s to pop stardom and working alongside the greats of the music world in the 1960s, Keith was at the eye of the storm alongside peers including The Who, The Beatles, The Kinks, The Small Faces, Pink Floyd, Jimi Hendrix and many, many more.
‘Thinking About Tomorrow – Excerpts from the Life of Keith West’ is a brand new book published by Hawksmoor Publishing. How involved were you in the project?
Keith West: I was involved right from the start. Ian Clay and I agreed to set up interviews every month where he would record all my thoughts, memories et cetera of that amazing period of English music and fashion. Luckily, this was 99% finished before COVID hit our shores, which would have delayed the book substantially. One of my former bandmates, drummer Ken Lawrence, had kept a good supply of rare photos which helped me to recollect those heady days. Was it difficult to remember all the details? After all, your career has a few decades span.
It was difficult, but Ian kept me very focused and steered me along in a very methodical way, through a long career, which worked really well. It amazes me sometimes how any of us who are still alive can recall anything definite from that era, considering all the fun we were having and the influence of hashish and LSD on our culture at that time.
When did you first express an interest in music? Who were your major influences?
My first experience, pure joy, was listening to my Dad’s Les Paul and Mary Ford records; that beautiful electric guitar and Mary’s tight harmonies had an effect on me I can’t describe. To get me out of bed early on the weekend, my Dad would play ‘Bye Bye Blues’ on our record player and I would be straight up and down for breakfast!
Elvis also had a huge influence on me. ‘Heartbreak Hotel’ was the first record I owned and Ricky Nelson, Buddy Holly, Eddie Cochran (I could go on) were all great musicians and artists. Checking out Elvis’s covers of ‘Hound Dog’, ‘That’s All Right’, et cetera, I found the original Black artists’ recordings and that led to an interest in Blues and Soul music which led to me to my first band… 4+1.
The book covers London’s music scene from the R&B and mod-beat boom, up to the psychedelic explosion, and beyond. Would it be possible for you to choose a few moments that still warm your heart?
I remember very well auditioning for the Club Noreik in Tottenham, and the owner of the club was so impressed – he sacked the resident band and hired us with immediate effect. He also gave us a monthly retainer along with a road manager, and decent transport. We were so happy at that venue; we rammed it every time we played there.
Another high was that we supported some incredible Black artists – all heroes of ours. They flew in from the USA, including Chuck Berry, Little Walter, Howlin’ Wolf, plus Jerry Lee Lewis, and these guys were so polite and humble that they were happy to hang out with us and “shoot the breeze”.
Another pivotal moment was when we changed our name from The In Crowd (a name that was chosen for us, by the way) to Tomorrow. We were booked to play at the UFO Club which was known as a difficult venue for some bands (for example, amongst others, they didn’t take to The Move at all) but they loved us from the first song, and we always enjoyed playing for “Hoppy” Hopkins and Joe Boyd. Also, when I first saw the My White Bicycle poster that Hapshash had conjured up in the Kings Road, I was convinced we were on our way. I still love that artwork!
I guess it all started for you with the formation of 4+1 and The In Crowd?
It all started with those two bands (The In Crowd and 4+1). I had just started writing a few lyrics, but as I was a Bass Player in my former group, the Teenbeats, I had to learn how to play a six-string guitar to enable me to write a melody also. When it came to recording, I would slip in one of my songs on the B-Side, which wasn’t always credited! Both those bands worked incredibly hard as far as gigs went, and there were hundreds of venues to play. Literally.
Tomorrow’s self-titled album that was released in 1968 on Parlophone is now considered as a true classic of British psychedelia. Please share your recollections of the sessions. What were the influences and inspirations for the songs recorded?
All the sessions went very well at Abbey Road. The band were very tight, musically, and Steve [Howe] was on top form with all his guitar parts weaving in and out around my vocals. You never needed to worry what Steve was playing, it was always just right, perfect for that particular song. John [Junior] also was adding some joyous bass lines, and Twink was filling out the overall sound with intricate fills and cymbal work. ‘My White Bicycle’ and ‘Claramount Lake’ were my two favourites, but it would have been preferable for us to have spent more time, and care, on some of the other included songs. We always seemed to be in a rush to overdub parts or track any harmonies needed. We were also not consulted over the album sleeve, which we all – to a man – hated at the time.
One of the most exciting parts of the book is your involvement with the legendary UFO club. Was there a particular band that you enjoyed back then but they never managed to release an album?
I don’t recall a band we listened to that never realised a record deal!
‘My White Bicycle’ is such a classic! Were you inspired by psychoactive substances like LSD at the time of writing the album?
All the band were experimenting with drugs, although I was never sure about John [Junior]. Mostly, Steve and I would be using hashish and, earlier, speed to keep us focused and awake for our all-nighters and many dates all over the UK. All my songs were personal experiences, and I would have been writing them under the influence of hashish or LSD, although Ken Burgess – my sometime co-writer – never used drugs.
You were the first band ever to record a John Peel Radio 1 session.
John Peel was a very important player in our career, and he was one of the first DJs to promote and play ‘Teenage Opera’ on pirate radio. The Perfumed Garden show was one of the coolest shows to be featured on at the time.
How did your collaboration with Mark Wirtz come about?
Mark Wirtz came to hear Tomorrow play at our resident club – Blaises – and loved the band and the songs. He recommended us to E.M.I. and we were signed up to record ‘My White Bicycle’ as a first single, followed by an album on the Parlophone label. He liked my lyrics and approached me to write something for a backing track he had started with Geoff Emerick, the Beatles engineer (among many other famous names). I liked Geoff a lot. He was a magnificent engineer, full of ideas, and he could solve any problem you threw at him; that convinced me that this project would sound epic! Steve Howe had played the lead guitar on an instrumental which ended up on the B-side of ‘A Teenage Opera’ already, before I became involved, and he may have recommended me for the task.
What’s the story behind ‘Excerpt from A Teenage Opera’?
It’s a classic “you don’t know what you’ve got until you lose it” and I tried to inject a lot of drama into the lyrics; the mix I was writing the words to sounded a little old fashioned for the 60s. After visiting my publisher a few weeks earlier, I heard a children’s choir singing in his office – it was a tape he was considering for a musical. It suddenly hit me… why not add this to the end chorus? I certainly couldn’t have sung it, obviously, so it solved a big problem for me in a flash and, in my opinion, ended up being one of the elements that made it such a big hit.
In 1974 you recorded your solo album, ‘Wherever My Love Goes’.
Wherever my Love Goes was an experimental album which Ken Burgess and I had recorded for general release as a duo. Sadly, that didn’t happen, so it was decided to put it out under my name to perhaps secure more sales. Andrew Oldham had been involved in the making of this record and produced a couple of tracks. It never really took off and has become a bit of a cult item over the years. The standout tracks for me are The West Country, Sad Song, and the Andrew Oldham production of the Power and the Glory which I had written for Elvis, at the behest of Freddy Bienstock who owned Carlin Music.
It would be great to hear a few words about Moonrider. A band that recorded an album in 1975 for Anchor.
Moonrider was put together by myself and John Weider from Eric Burdon and the Animals. He was a session musician that featured on the ‘Wherever My Love Goes’ album and various singles I put out through Decca. We were on the same wavelength, musically, at that time and John could play anything with strings on, including the violin. He convinced me that our songs were perfect for the American market, where he was based, so he moved back to England and we formed a band.
We hired Bruce Thomas on Bass, and Chico Greenwood on drums, and made one album on Anchor records. The album was receiving good press and radio play, and also we appeared live on The Old Grey Whistle Test and toured with John Mayall ending up at the Albert Hall. It was amazing. Sadly, the label went bankrupt shortly after the release, and we were left high and dry with all the other acts that were signed, including Ace who had had Anchor’s only hit single, ‘How Long’.
The book also covers your life after the 70s. What currently occupies your life?
My wife and I have been together for over 50 years, and we have three lovely, talented daughters, plus three grandchildren now. My life has been enriched by strokes of unbelievable luck and good fortune, so although I still love to write songs in my little home studio, and play live gigs with my band of mates, my family and close friends remain the one meaningful force in my life. Keith West
One upon a time, in January of 1967, I had a dream. Not a daydream, or a fantasy, but a real dream in my sleep. Actually, it was more like a dreamlette- about an aging door-to-door grocer named Jack in a small, turn of the century village, who was as mocked by the children as he was taken for granted by the town folk. When Jack unexpectedly died, the town folk reacted with anger about the inconvenience of now having to be self reliant about their staple provision, while the children were heartbroken, in truth having loved and appreciated Jack all the while. That was it. Simple as that. Little did I know, that this innocent “dreamlike” would turn into “The Teenage Opera,” which soon twisted my fate into a real life opera far more dramatic and plot filled than the musical one could ever have been. Its life altering impact and consequences not only resonate and haunt me to this day, but the saga is a still ongoing one - 30 years later.
To trace the true moment of birth of the Teenage Opera, not just the story of “Grocer Jack” (which has been, and will forever remain symbolically synonymous with T. O. ), we need to go back to January of 1966, when, in a small studio on London’s Bond Street, I experimented with a musical vision by independently producing my composition “A Touch Of velvet - A Sting Of Brass” under the moniker “Mood Mosaic.” My vision was as simple as it was ambitious, and evolved as a theme which formed the core of my music work throughout my career - to create movies on record. Sonic, sensually graphic “movies” which, projected on the “big screen” in the listener’s mind and heart, would touch the audience into an experience as seen through the eyes of their own imagination, viscerally interpreted by their own unique emotions. “A Touch Of Velvet...” (the musical portrayal of a love making event) was the original, primitive prototype of what I aspired to - a recording which, much like making a movie, made the musical experience the “Star,” rather than a featured artist whose image and typical style would limit the freedom and possibilities of instrumentation and sound concepts. My idea was to select all participants in my “movies on record” just like “casting” actors and technical crew in a film. My vision didn’t stop there. In order to have the same freedom of change of “ambiance,” “color,” and “scenery” which you have in movie making by “shooting” different segments in varying locations, with different “characters,” I implemented a method by which I recorded my “movies on record” in separately recorded “scenes” that I would later edit, cross-fade and ultimately “melt” together into a seamless whole. This method drove musicians and sound engineers crazy at first, until they heard the finished result by which they were so impressed that they changed from being indignant opponents to enthusiastic fans and “partners”.
Speaking of driving coworkers crazy, in this case sound engineers, there was one further practice of mine to which I stubbornly adhered, turning most mixing board jockeys with whom I worked into nervous wrecks - my insistence on recording tracks “live,” INCLUDING sound effects. Instead of leaving things like echoes, equalization, limiting/compression and other effects to the eventual “mix” (a method which was and still remains the norm in music recording to allow for the freedom of later experimentation), I recorded (and thereby indelibly “locked in”) the finished sounds at the time of the performance. My attitude was simply, “If I want a fat man on tape, I record a fat man, not a thin man and then force-feed him later”. Furthermore, I recorded all principal music tracks in true stereo, including rhythm sections, an utterly unprecedented procedure in Rock recording at the time, when the pop music market was based on the sale of singles that were released strictly in mono. Only in the event of LP releases, which, at the time were mere compilations of an artist’s or band’s previously released singles hits, were stereo mixes “contrived” as an afterthought to cater, as the mono version’s companion, to the only marginal market of stereo record buyers. These “fake” stereo mixes were usually far inferior to their mono counterparts. Done in a rush, they simply generated isolated, non-fused “left, middle and right” sound images, by randomly allocating however many mono-recorded tracks there were on the original multi-track master tape to techno-strategically rather than music-true designated positions. To wit, even the Beatles, who spent several weeks lovingly mixing the mono master of their fabled “Sgt. Pepper’s” LP, let George Martin mix the stereo version in a couple of days, without even bothering to make an appearance to monitor and protect the fidelity of their vision. Moreover, as it was not uncommon to add additional music parts during the original mono mix (due to saturation of available tracks on the multi track master tape), these “extras” were missing in the stereo mixes, as was the case in a number of Beatles stereo versions of their work.) What made it possible for me to record the original performances in true stereo, was the fact that, instead of typically “building” the music arrangement, of a tune in the studio by overdubbing impulsive improvisations on stacked, separate tracks, my music parts were meticulously prepared and orchestrated before I even walked into the studio, thus basically consuming only two tracks per performance (to perhaps later be joined by two further, corresponding tracks via overdubs - yet still in true stereo) instead of numerous ones in the random stacking method. With every note written that would be played, my main challenge was to write my orchestration charts in such a way that they still had a feel of spontaneity and improvisation to them without sounding written. Given the above, my ‘true stereo” recording method added yet even more challenges and frustrations to engineers who, I am sure, felt like strangling me at times.
I must at this point acknowledge and salute, in infinite admiration, gratitude and respect, maestro engineer Geoff Emerick (the TRUE genius creator of the legendary “Abbey Road Sound), my lifelong buddy and teammate in the most significant works of my career. Geoff was the one and only exception in my eternal (if friendly) battles with engineers. From the first day Geoff and I worked together, we formed an instant alliance and bond of mutual understanding, passion and creative courage. I cannot recall a single instant when I proposed a daring idea or quest which Geoff didn’t only support, but contributed to with unflappable faith and dedication - often making the impossible possible.
But, I am jumping ahead. At the time of completing “A Touch Of velvet,” meeting Geoff Emerick, as well as the opportunity to pursue any further efforts in the realization of my “movies on record” vision, was still a year away. In the meantime, EMI Records accepted and released my master of “TOV,” which became an instant “turn table hit” and popular theme on several international radio or TV shows. Encouraged by TOV’s success, I proceeded to independently produce a number of further recordings with various artists which I “discovered” while also hunting for outside production opportunities around town. Beyond lending my own, distinctive arranging style to them, the resulting recordings were for most part conventional in format, and none of them became hits (though eventually valued collectors items). Nevertheless, they not only gave me the opportunity to hone my craft and develop my studio and arranging skills, but stood out enough to prick the ears and attention of people in the industry. Two pairs of those ears would ultimately not only influence the fate of “Teenage Opera,” but in consequence my entire career.
The first pair of those ears belonged to noted impresario Robert Stigwood. Little did I suspect that my meeting with him would ultimately lead to the biggest mistake of my career. Robert was listening to the playback of one of my works when he quite suddenly and unexpectedly propositioned me. In fairness to, and respect for Mr. Stigwood, I must state in retrospect that, as “passes” go in the sexually freewheeling world of the music business and the entertainment world in general, Mr. Stigwood’s “foray” was the most dignified and benign I would ever experience again in the “biz”. In fact, Stigwood was a mere “Tinker bell’ compared to the gross advances which I would later experience routinely, especially in Hollywood. With gentleman demeanor, Robert not only yielded to my resistance and apologized, but gallantly summoned his chauffeur to drive me home. Nevertheless, still very young and innocently naive at the time - not to mention my morally conditioned Catholic background - I was traumatized by this first event of its kind, leaving me with an impression that haunted me for some time to come.
The second pair of ears were those of notoriously eccentric “bad boy” of Rock’n’Roll, US producer Kim Fowley, who was on an extended visit in London when we first met. Taken with my production and arrangement of the Beach Boy’s tune “I’m Waiting For The Day” with my female artist discovery “Peanut”, he not only hired me to produce and arrange several tracks for him (including his own “They’re coming To Take Me Away, Haha”), but quickly became my champion and tutor as much as my hero. I was mesmerized with Kim’s flamboyance, unique thinking, reckless courage and utter disregard for music business convention, or protocol. To me, Kim - the eternal, paradoxical commuter between the gutter and esoteric supremacy - a pig and a saint, a fool and a genius - truly personified the ultimate spirit of Rock’n’Roll. One of Kim’s many idiosyncrasies was his habit to preface virtually every noun with the adjective “teenage.” He would catch a “teenage” taxi to a “teenage” restaurant where he would order a “teenage steak,” before making his way to a “teenage” studio to cut a “teenage” record. No wonder, that to this day, Kim remains, in mind and spirit, the oldest teenager in the world. Our friendship and mutual admiration having united us into a virtual partnership, I was only too happy to accept Kim’s invitation to join him on his forthcoming return journey to Hollywood, where he intended to promote me as his new, imported “Teenage Genius” discovery.
My Pan Am airline ticket was in my pocket, my suitcases were packed and I was charged and ready for my transplantation to Hollywood, when three days before the departure date, EMI’s product manager Roy Featherstone, at the behest of EMI’s head of A&R, Norrie Paramour, requested a meeting with me during which he offered me a contract to join EMI as a producer with virtually unlimited creative freedom. Unable to resist, I accepted and canceled my plans with Kim Fowley, whom, subsequent to his return to the US, I would not meet or have any contact with again until 10 years later when, upon my relocation to Los Angeles, we reunited for a number of major projects (including hit albums with Helen Reddy and Leon Russell). Yet, his spirit remained with me as inspiration and motivation. Within only a day or so after my meeting with Roy Featherstone, my new contract with EMI was signed and filed. Remember, those were the days when there were no such things yet as “negotiations” or “advances” in the record business, and the protective involvement of a lawyer was unthinkable. There was simply an offer and a subsequent acceptance or rejection. EMI’s offer to me was understood to be specifically as a producer, and as such simple and clear, with a financial consideration of a £ 30.00 a week salary, a 1% royalty, plus basic arrangement and conducting fees in accordance with musicians union terms. After briefly reassuring myself that the financially related clauses were as verbally agreed, I signed the contract in good faith without even reading the rest of the legal lingo. Coincidentally. Only a week later, Tony Roberts and Ian Ralfini signed me to an exclusive publishing contract to Robins Music as a composer/writer.
My EMI contract officially began January 1st, 1967. By January 7th I was in Abbey Road’s studio 3, lifting my baton to count in the orchestra for my first production under the new deal (a rock version of “Only You” with Jackie Lynton). The engineer assigned to me for the project was Geoff Emerick, who had recently been promoted from tape operator to mixing engineer. Far from the exciting experience I had expected from my first recording at Abbey Road Studios, it was a chilling, sobering nightmare. Having been spoiled, and come to taking for granted, the up to date facilities and equipment of the various top London recording studios in which I had previously worked, while living up to its reputation as one of the world’s finest classical music recorders, EMI studios were at that time (in contradiction to myth and legend) an antiquated, ill equipped can of worms for Rock recording. (Only by the end of the decade had the studio developed and evolved as one of the most formidable high-tech rock recording facilities in the industry.)
To be fair, the room acoustics, vast archive of microphones, electronic wiring and technical maintenance of all three studios were superb. And yet, while towering as a Nirvana for classical music lovers and sound purists, it was hell for us Rockers, who liked our sound brash, processed and distorted. The mixing consoles offered only the most elementary equalization options, consisting of a master switch which let you chose between a “pop” or “classical” setting, two old time radio-like equalization knobs assigned to each fader (one for the frequency adjustment of “bass” the other for “treble”) and some meaningless sound filter switches. In terms of outboard equipment, a few Fairchild limiters/compressors serving all three rooms were available, so long as they were booked well in advance (sort of like several toilets sharing one flusher for which you had to make prior reservations). Oh, yes, there were also a couple of graphic equalizer that, upon request and after processing of a lot of red tape, would be delivered and installed by one of the white coated union technicians who had to be summoned from a mysterious and deistic “upstairs” (which none of us lower mortals were ever allowed to visit), and who, according to union rules, were the only ones allowed to touch or move or position any piece of equipment, cables, or microphones. If the lack of outboard sound processing gear made our life difficult, the sterile, glossy echo chambers made it downright miserable. As wonderful as these pure reverberators were for the classical boys, they were a curse to us Rockers, leaving us with a rather metallic sounding EMT plate as our only alternative, until we resorted to all kinds of tape delay experiments and the frequent use of Abbey Road’s ground floor toilet which had the most terrific vocal echo. It was this resourcefulness, forced by necessity, which became the breeding ground for all our evolving sound innovations, in which we were eventually supported and assisted by two Rock’n'Roll-friendly “white coats” - “Crazy Bernie” and Eddie Klein. Defying all rules, they became our silent audio partners and secretly invented and built all kinds of marvelous sound processing equipment for us (among them the famous “presence box”, an equalizer which sizzled with a zillion db’s of broad-banded 10 kc treble, making everything shine and sparkle). All in all, for better or worse, no matter how many grievances and frustrations I initially felt working at Abbey Road, there was no point in complaining, let alone attempting to seek refuge in another studio. Abbey Road was the only game in town for us - all EMI producers were contractually bound to work there exclusively. In terms of history, that curse turned out to be a blessing. Not in spite of, but because of all of the prevalent challenges and limitations, and our experimentation and inventiveness in overcoming them, did the resulting music works evolve as among the most creative and profound in pop music history.
By early February, 1967, Geoff Emerick and I had become an inseparable team, at the time working on the “Mood Mosaic” LP, when, shortly after arriving at the control room for an early morning session, I took Geoff aside and shared my “Grocer Jack” dream with him. Geoff looked at me, as intrigued as bewildered and simply said, “Sounds interesting. Would make a jolly good fairy tale. But - a Rock record??” I just nodded, smiling with mischievous confidence. “No, not just a Rock record - a Rock Opera. A movie on record. Wide screen, Technicolor. Special effects. With a cast of hundreds.” “Hmmm…,” responded Geoff, “with which artist?” “I don’t know. ‘Doesn’t matter,” I stated blithely, “we record all the music first, and then we decide whom to cast as a soloist.” “EMI will never approve a budget for a recording with no artist,” said Geoff, being quite realistic. “True,” I agreed. “So, let’s make it officially part of the “Mood Mosaic” project. “Mood Mosaic” is all orchestral and background singers and has no featured artist.” Then, I proceeded to explain to Geoff my plan of recording the work in separate “scenes” at the end of regular sessions, taking advantage of the varying orchestras and bands, as well as the boundless options of varying sound configurations. Geoff nodded enthusiastically. “Sounds exciting. What are you gonna call it? We need a title, for the paperwork.” ‘Teenage’ Kim Fowley flashed to mind. “Let’s call it ‘Excerpt from A Teenage Opera,’ “ I suggested impulsively. “That way, if the single is a hit, people will want an entire LP of the whole opera.” Geoff grinned. “Let’s do it. When do we start?” Less than a week later, The Teenage Opera had its first studio curtain rise as the opening bars of “Grocer Jack” sounded through the control room monitors. A dream was becoming a reality.
Over the following two months, bit by bit, section by section, ‘scene by scene,’ the music track segments for “Grocer Jack” grew, EMI having no idea what I was up to. The biggest strategic, political challenge was the recording of the famous children segments, which I “cast" with children from the London Corona school. There was no way I could “hide” the expense of the childen’s fees in regular, “official” session paper work. In order to prevent arousing suspicion, or stirring the political waters, I simply made a deal with Corona and paid for the kids’ performance out of my own pocket. Best money I ever spent. The staggered recording process was prolonged by the fact that I had to share Geoff Emerick with George Martin and the Beatles, who were also working on a project at the same time. Geoff had taken over as the Beatles engineer from veteran sound master Norman Smith, who had moved up to join EMI’s creative staff as the producer of “Pink Floyd.” Nevertheless, while using alternative engineers on my other productions when Geoff was not available, “Teenage Opera” was strictly Geoff’s and my baby. Only on the rarest occasions did I let any other engineer near it, and even then only for negligible overdub work.
While “moonlighting’ my work on T. O., one of the parallel “official” projects that I had been working on, was the single recording of “My White Bicycle” with the psychedelic Rock band “Tomorrow,” an underground cult favorite featuring singer/songwriter Keith West and guitarist Steve Howe. The band and I hit it off immediately. Quickly becoming buddies, It didn’t take long before I took Keith and Steve into my confidence regarding my “T. O.” project, giving them a “peak preview” of what Geoff and I had done so far. Steve’s response was so enthusiastic that he at once offered to contribute his brilliant playing to the project, while Keith was happy to accept my invitation to not only co-write the “Grocer Jack” lyrics with me, but to also perform the song as a featured guest vocalist. Thus, I had found my “artist” for the project, which resolved an increasingly critical issue.
Did I ever consider performing “Grocer Jack” myself? No way. I was shrewdly aware that due to the project’s heavily orchestrated concept, which, at the time, was regarded as very “uncool” and likely to be condescendingly dismissed as “old people’s” music, I needed a performer whose image was “hip” and seductive to rebellious and anti establishment Rock fans. Keith fitted the bill perfectly. Not only did he look and act like a hippie, without being so far out that he might have put off the more mature audience sector at which I was also aiming, but he had already established himself as a cult icon in the underground Rock community and, by association, would validate “Grocer Jack” as a bona fide Rock record. In contrast, I personally, though slightly eccentric, was anything but typical of a “Rocker”. I never followed or participated in trends, or assumed the fashions of the time in my appearance, manners, habits or speech. My Rock’n’Roll was an internal one, and my rebellion was reflected in my work, not in my personal image or demeanor, which were “off beat” and casual, but too “straight” to be “hip”. There was also a Freudian aspect to me which firmly suppressed my deep-down desire to be a performer, namely the burden of a deeply rooted complex about being a German immigrant. Ever since a college friend once snapped at me in anger, “The only good German is a dead one”, I carried that complex around with me in shame, making every effort to conceal my guilt poisoned heritage for fear of being hated. Consequently, I promoted my talents and name with the dedication of a stage parent driving an offspring toward stardom, while personally feeling compelled to avoid public exposure and hide the “ugly face” of my German guilt behind a veil of phantom-like anonymity. (My stage shyness was so severe, that when I won the coveted Ivor Novello award for “Grocer Jack,” I didn’t even show up at the presentation to personally accept it.) Quite a paradox, when you consider that my original, burning show business ambition was to become a comedian like Jerry Lewis. Jerry had been my original idol and inspiration when I was just a kid in Germany, which I had left for England’s more fertile and talent nurturing pastures soil in which to pursue my dream. Music and Rock’n’Roll had merely been an intended step and strategy on the way to ultimately arriving on the movie screen. (Talk about, “Wanna make God laugh, tell Him you plans”!) Oh yes, Freud would have had a ball with me, no doubt.
All in all, in 1967, for me to perform “Grocer Jack” was simply out of the question. Just as well. Looking back, of all the regrets that I have and mistakes that I made, and despite all the adversities that loomed up ahead at the time, my choice of Keith as collaborator and performer of “Grocer Jack” was the right one. And if I had to do it all over again, I would make the same decision. As it were, I didn’t even have to wait until “Excerpt” made Keith a Star to prove my instincts and faith in his and Tomorrow’s success as accurate. Upon release, their single “My White Bicycle” became an instant cult classic (a status which it has retained to this day), establishing Keith West and Tomorrow as the UK’s most popular psychedelic Rock band next to Pink Floyd. EMI were certainly impressed enough to quickly green-light the production of a follow up single (“Revolution”) and an LP (“Tomorrow”), which also lived on to become a timeless classic. By the end of April 1967, “Excerpt from A Teenage Opera” was finally completed and ready to bring to the ears of the EMI brass in order to get their approval for an imminent single release.
It was on a Tuesday morning, when a “delegation“ of EMI’s “Manchester Square” head office executives ceremoniously assembled at Abbey Road’s Studio 3 in curious anticipation of my “mystery” project’s unveiling. Headed by product manager Roy Featherstone, the crew consisted mainly of promo and marketing execs, all of them music “pimps”, not one of them true music lovers. Sadly missing from the gathering was A&R chief Norrie Paramour, not only my strongest “Manchester Square” supporter and ally, but himself a distinguished and highly creative music maker who would have been the only one capable of appreciating my vision and courage. Thus, I was facing a jury which was much like a group of vegetarians reviewing a steak house. Nevertheless, I felt such an inner confidence about my work, certain that its sheer power of originality and grandiosity would melt through any prejudice or reservations, that I fully expected fireworks of excitement and applause. On my cue, Geoff hit the tape “play” button and the studio monitors burst into the bombastic sounds and music for the studio premiere of “Excerpt from a Teenage Opera.” There was dead silence when the playback concluded, each member of the executive staff incredulously staring at the other for a reaction clue. None of them had ever heard anything like it, and none of them dared to speak up for what seemed like an eternity. “Children?” Roy Featherstone finally gasped. “Have you gone mad? You think ANYBODY out there is going to buy a Rock record with CHILDREN on it?” Roy’s appalled comment burst the damn of silence and released a watcher shed of condemnation from his colleges “Four minutes long?” - “Classical music merged with Rock?”... The ultimate consensus was not only that of rejection, but outright condemnation “Absurd record.” - “Would never sell a copy” -” Radio would NEVER play it,” etc.,etc.,etc. Bottom line - the audition of “Excerpt” was a dismal bust. Instead of rewarding me with applause and accolades, the ”committee’s” unanimous verdict was uncompromisingly final - to can the tape and kill the project. That would have been the end of it, had it not been for one man - “Radio Caroline” pirate radio station Disc Jockey John Peel. Introduced to John Peel by Tony Roberts, who loved “Grocer Jack” and was incensed by EMI’s rejection of it, I played him an acetate of “Excerpt.” Before the recording had even reached its bombastic ending, John, with a big grin on his face, opened up the microphone, promised the listeners a marvelous surprise, then put the needle back to the beginning of the groove and played the record over the air. Within moments of “Grocer Jack’s” final bars traveling through the ether, Radio Caroline’s phones lit up like a Christmas tree, from listeners calling in to request the record to be played again. And again. And again. EMI had no choice but to rush-release the single at once. By mid-May it reached the top of the British charts, and within only weeks later, “Excerpt” was released internationally and made #1 in 16 countries. It seemed like the whole world had caught “Teenage Opera” fever - except for one, critical territory - America. There, “Excerpt” suffered the same fate that had initially cursed the Beatles’ work in the US - EMI’s contractual affiliate Capitol Record’s refusal to even release it. Eventually, “Excerpt...” was released by Bob Crewe’s independent “DynaVoice” label, but the company lacked the muscle to promote and market the single effectively enough for it to equal its success in other countries. At its peak, it barely dented Billboard’s top 100. With the exception of the US, however, the global infatuation with T. O., triggered an international “Blitzkrieg” of frenzied publicity and hype, triggering speculations, rumors, expectations, fabricated reports and a Pandora’s box full of questions about Teenage Opera, in particular, “What is the story of Teenage Opera?” and, “When will it be completed and released in its entirety?” What had started as crackling sparks of curiosity soon ignited into a bonfire of mystery, intrigue and hoopla. The circus was in town, and Keith and I were the main attraction, me up on the high wire, only my profile showing, Keith in the center of the ring, all lights upon him, rockin’ and rollin.’ We were having a blast, bathing in the glory and excitement of “Excerpt’s” runaway success. Little did we suspect that the runaway success would soon hurl us upon a runaway train of confusion, conflicts and dilemmas, turning a dream into a nightmare.
To begin with, EMI shocked me with the unthinkable - despite all evidence to the contrary and ignoring the public’s keen appetite for the complete opera, company management was convinced that “Excerpt” had merely been a novelty hit, and stubbornly refused to green-light a go ahead on recording the entire work. Instead, EMI insisted on a further hit single “excerpt” from the opera before willing to give their bureaucratically blessings to the expense of an entire album production. With no choice but to swallow my disappointment and follow EMI’s mandate, I became determined to not only give my very best shot to another “Excerpt,” but to make it even bigger and better than “Grocer Jack.” With the Tomorrow album completed and released, and Keith and the band on the road, or on TV, enjoying his celebrity and sold out concerts, Geoff and I commenced work on “Sam,” my most ambitious and challenging work yet. The stakes were as high as the expectations were overwhelming. After all, “Sam’s” success would either vindicate T. O. as a viable, credible work of importance, or, in its failure, condemn it into oblivion. With everything riding on it, the pressure on me not only politically, but personally, were immense. With the eyes of the world upon me, expecting me to live up to all the high reaching promises and anticipation, I was in constant danger of loosing my creative objectivity. T. O. WAS, after all, a work in progress and therefore experimental, with occasional failures and setbacks inevitable and to be expected. Like a yo-yo, I spun up and down through a twilightzone between proud elation when things worked out well, and anxious panic when they didn’t. Believe me, there were many moments when I honestly didn’t know whether what I was doing was brilliant or shit. The above not withstanding, if making a “hit record” on command was an absurd proposition at the best of times, to pull another “Grocer Jack” success out of a hat, from a work as complex as “Teenage Opera,” was a mission as ludicrously unrealistic as winning a Russian Roulette game. Had Keith and I had a proper manager in control of the politics, he would never have allowed it. But - we didn’t have one. The closest thing to it was Keith and Tomorrow’s agent Brian Morrison, a small time London restaurateur who dabbled in the music business by booking local bands in small clubs and pubs with aspirations of becoming the next Brian Epstein. Morrison acted as a manager for Keith and Tomorrow and attempted to get involved in Keith’s T. O. related affairs, but, beyond being well intentioned and acting as a cheerleader, Brian was utterly in over his head when it came to the maze of complications and challenges surrounding a project of T. O. magnitude. As such, Brian was indeed a cliché example of a blind leading the blind. What we desperately needed was an experienced, shrewd leader and protector, who could serve as the political architect of T.O.’s ultimate completion and success.
As fate would have it, a golden opportunity to find exactly that person actually came up out of the blue, when Keith informed me that he had been called by Robert Stigwood, inviting him and me for a meeting discuss the possibility of representing us. I was both taken aback as well as chilled by the news, not to mention the prospect. With the memory of my personal, prior “meeting” with Stigwood still etched in my mind, my first reaction was to simply decline and let Keith go by himself, for himself and Tomorrow. On second thoughts, I decided that my rejection would not only have been unprofessional, but unfair to Keith, likely to prejudice his chances of at least finding first class management for himself and his band, even if I were to personally pass on an association with Robert. Thus, I reluctantly attended the meeting, unjustly and irrationally still viewing Robert as an “evil” man. While maintaining a professional yet withdrawn demeanor during the meeting, I remained silent and aloof, merely listening to Stigwood’s plans and offer. Since I was viewed as the principal subject of the meeting as the essential creator and custodian of T.O.’s was left up to me to make any final decisions. At the conclusion of the conference, I politely shook “Stiggy’s” hand and said goodbye with the promise to “think about it and call back.” Albeit, I never did call back, which was my silent expression of a “pass” (ironic pun) on Stigwood’s offer. That effectively killed the deal altogether. Understandably, Robert Stigwood wanted the whole Teenage Operas package, not just a piece of it by signing only Keith and Tomorrow. It is a matter of history that, eventually, Robert signed Tim Rice and Andrew Llyod Webber instead, to do for them and “Jesus Christ Superstar” what he had previously been willing to do for me and Keith and Teenage Opera. Thus, I learned a hard lesson, causing me to wake up to the real world, rather than the wonderful but prejudicial and hypocritical fairytale land in which I had grown up. But it was too late for the wake up lesson to benefit Teenage Opera. Stigwood was the proverbial one shot to crack an egg into a pan, and I had ignorantly blown that shot. So, without a master plan, a road map, or expert guidance, I proceed to just follow my heart and my instincts, which were creatively as correct as they were strategically atrocious.
While work on “Sam” progressed and the music tracks grew, so did the advance press and publicity hype about T.O.’s upcoming new installment, proliferating the market with not only speculative, but fictitious reports, predictions, rumors and misquoted information, consequentially spawning an abundance of misconceptions and false expectations in the public’s mind, which seriously threatened, even damaged T.O.’s true concept and credibility. In the process, Keith and I had become branded and taken for granted as a firmly bonded “couple” in an artistic marriage as T.O.’s “parents.” In actuality, nothing could have been further from the truth. At best, Keith and I had a musical “affair” as friends and mutual fans, but we were hardly ever a “couple”. Contrary to the public’s erroneous, press-fostered impression, which pictured Keith and I to be spending most of our time around a piano, or in the studio, brainstorming and working away at the entire Opera, of all the countless hours we did indeed spent together, either hanging out, or working in the studio on Tomorrow recordings, the mere handfull of hours we ever shared together working on T. O. consisted of the time it took to co-write the lyrics for the only two songs we ever collaborated on, “Grocer Jack” and “Sam,” and the studio time to record Keith’s vocal performance of them. Far from being partners In the creation of T. O., Keith had no more of a clue as to what I had in mind and was concocting regarding T. O., than I had about what he was up to, or going to write next for Tomorrow. Well intentioned, but in retrospect erroneously, Keith and I decided to keep our options open and feed rather than dispel T.O.’s mystery and the public’s misperception about us (or any other T. O. related specifics for that matter), by simply maintaining a posture of secrecy and ambiguity. A particularly critical issue, prompted by the press’ continuous references to “T. O. ” as a rock musical with a long form drama content, was the ever raised question, “What was the story of T. O. ?” Here I was dealing with a rather sticky and ever deepening dilemma: Even though T. O. was a work in progress, my vision, format and contents of the Opera had always been crystal clear. Just like movies had metamorphosed and transcended traditional theater and stage entertainment into a new VISUAL art form, “Teenage Opera” was the creation of a new AUDIO art form, embracing and utilizing unprecedented opportunities and freedom of sound and instrumentation which advanced technology was offering, If the film camera was an EYE that was liberated from statically observing a stage play from a set distance, free to see anything, anywhere, any time, from any angle or distance, a microphone was audio’s equivalent EAR that was equally mobile and capable of unlimited listening possibilities. And just like the advent of visual image manipulation facilities enhanced and further broadened film’s creative canvas with special effects, contemporary sound manipulation tools further opened the door to uncharted lands in audio recording. Those were the lands I wanted to explore with my “movies on record,” to arrive at discoveries which were only possible in a recording studio and could no more be presented or duplicated in a live auditorium, than a movie could be performed on a conventional stage. Thus, The Teenage Opera was NEVER intended to be performed on a stage, and a musical was exactly what T. O was NOT. Most significantly and quite contrary to the biggest misconception of all, T. O. did NOT have a traditional plot or story. A theme? Yes. A dramatic frame? Yes. But A story? No. T. O. was in fact a kaleidoscope of stories, a bouquet of allegorical, tragiccomic tales about a variety of characters and their fate, all related to each other by the common thread of living in the same imaginary turn-of the-century village. Each character distinguished him/herself by rebelliously pursuing a dream or lifestyle against all odds and in defiance of conformity, their ageless celebration of youth and individuality embodying the very spirit of Rock’n’Roll. As such, my model for Teenage Opera was Walt Disney’s animated film “Fantasia,” which consisted of a similar collection of individual “shorts,” yet which thematically all belonged together in synergy as parts of the entity they shared. All of the above not withstanding, I will concede that, while repelled by the idea of T.O. ever being considered, let alone presented as, a stage musical, I most certainly envisioned it to one day become an animated (not live action) film, thus keeping the fantasy intact, and securing the soundtrack’s fidelity in its originally recorded form. (The closest anybody ever came to what I had in mind was the Beatles’ “Yellow Submarine.”)
Of all the challenges posed by the public’s firmly cemented false beliefs, to fulfill their expectation for Keith and I to complete T. O. as a writing “couple” was the least of my problems. After all, Keith and I enjoyed working together, our ideas blended wonderfully, and there was an undeniable magic in our collaboration. It made sense to stick together and go the distance. However, for Keith to be the “Star” of the opera presented a bigger problem. It not only limited the choice of material, but completely contradicted my very principal of creating a work which did NOT revolve around a central “Star” performer. Moreover, a number of name artists (including Cliff Richard) had expressed enthusiastic interest to participate in the Opera as guest vocalists, and I intended to take full advantage of their offer. By far the most worrisome problem, however, which lead me further and further into a quagmire, was the public’s fixed expectation of a conventional story. For fear of disappointing the public by the absence of such a story, inviting their rejection of T. O. altogether, I felt increasingly torn between sticking to my original concept, or surrender to the pressure of obligation and give them one, thus completely bastardizing my original vision and intent.
Nevertheless, despite all the pressures and anxieties during the making of “Sam,” the work on the project progressed well and I felt more and more confident to be in the process of creating a little masterpiece that would pave the way for T. O. to ultimately reach its potential. Alas, even before “Sam” was completed, trouble and confusion began to brew. To begin with, EMI’s legal department suddenly “discovered” that my production contract with the company included a clause to which I had ignorantly agreed, automatically rendering the publishing rights for all of my compositions to EMI’s publishing company for the term of the agreement. Concurrently also signed to an exclusive song writing contract with Robins Music, I suddenly found myself in breach of both contracts. A serious publishing dispute erupted, which temporarily halted all my recordings and put “Sam” into suspension, pending a settlement. Fortunately, my agreement to give up 50% of all of my royalties to EMI, thereby making up for their lost revenue to Robins, settled the matter sooner than feared. Nevertheless, the dispute had caused a costly setback. (Ironically, EMI Music Publishing and Robins Music merged in later years, while my settlement loss remained in force permanently.) The second event was a potentially catastrophic one - my most crucial supporters, the airwaves ruling Pirate radio stations, facilitated on boats in the British channel outside the legal limits, were suddenly shut down by the government. Overnight, the BBC, with only few weekly hours of programming time dedicated to a limited play list of Rock and pop music, were once again in total control as Britain’s sole music output monopoly with the dictatorial power to make or break a record by either playing it, or not. The third “shock to the system” was a complete change of policies and upper management at EMI’s Manchester Square headquarters. A&R chief Norrie Paramour, not only my champion and most loyal ally, but also the only executive of note who understood music, was replaced by a new creative head, a Mr. Beecher-Stevens, whose resume of corporate management was impressive, yet lacked any previous association with, or even interest in music and records. Producers and other creative staff were stripped of their individual freedom of creative decision making, which was taken over by a committee that gathered in a weekly “A&R meeting” to deliberate and decide upon all project developments and new artist signings. Though feeling concerned and threatened by the events and changes, I felt secure enough about the importance of T. O. to believe its fate to be safe from any detrimental interference. Surely, the BBC would play “Sam,” and, assuming its success, surely EMI, out of sheer self-interest, would happily leave me a free hand in completing and releasing a T. O. LP as soon as possible.
Finally, the day arrived when, shortly before its public release date, the finished “Sam” recording was presented to the industry and press in a “studio premiere.” It was an awesome event. Abbey Road’s Studio 3 was packed wall-to-wall with people, and the air sizzled with electricity as everybody awaited the “big moment”. And when the “moment” arrived, it became the spectacular highlight of T.O.’s life. In contrast to “Grocer Jack’s” private little “premiere”, ”Sam” was greeted with breathless applause and accolades, hailed as brilliant and sensational. The sentiments expressed during this “premiere” were reflected in the press’ subsequent frenzy of reports and rave reviews, predicting T.O.’s ultimate triumph. Alas, as it turned out, this moment in time was not only T.O.’s pinnacle of eminence, but also its final hurrah. Upon release, despite the initial hype and promotion, the BBC played the record only rarely. Consequently, even though enough people heard and bought the single to make it a hit, the sales figures paled in comparison to “Grocer Jack’s”. Nevertheless, at least further enamored by “Sam”, the public’s hunger for the complete work remained as vital as ever, once again raising the question, “When will T. O. come out as an entity?” EMI, instead of getting the message and giving the go-ahead on T.O.’s completion, management insisted on yet another random “excerpt” single to make up for what “Sam” had failed in, thus validating the expense of a complete LP. That meant more delays, more pretensions, more excuses and more deceptions in the upkeep of T.O.’s promise.
From here on in, what had started and evolved as a wonderful dream, sank further and further into a steady decline. As a result, Keith and my enthusiasm and ambitious excitement about T. O. not only turned to deep frustration and despondence, but, worse, caused a fragmentation between us. With Keith’s chances of transcending his potential status as “one hit wonder” to solid Star now in jeopardy, he once again focused on Tomorrow as his success vehicle. Trouble was, Tomorrow’s significance as a band had been diminished to merely peripheral by all the attention given to Keith as the “guy from the Teenage Opera.” Even if his and Tomorrow’s concerts still drew huge crowds, people came to hear Keith sing “Grocer Jack” and “Sam,” not “My White Bicycle,” or “Revolution.” Disgusted by Keith’s mainstream success, and accusing him of having “sold out,” Tomorrow’s hard core fans had turned their back and deserted the band in droves. In an attempt to recapture his lost followers, Keith decided that, while remaining friends, it would be best for us to break our creative ties. After publicly denouncing any further association with Teenage Opera, he proceeded to go into the studio with the band and my sympathetic blessings to self-produce a new single. The press immediately ran with the news and stirred up the waters with the bold lettered announcement, “Teenage Opera Team Splits Up!” Public reaction to the report could not have been more incredulously disappointed if they had they been told that Disneyland burned down. Unaware of all the preceding behind-the-scenes idiocies and political crap, people’s illusion not only cracked, but split wide open when it became apparent that, contrary to popular belief, the writing of the entire opera was as far from completion as the recordings of it. Questions and doubts abounded, as general enthusiasm, support of and faith in T. O. turned to skepticism, suspicion, even indigence and a sense of betrayal. Had the whole Teenage Opera shabam just been a con? Would there ever actually be such a thing in reality? Or, as one newspaper sarcastically quipped, should T. O., by the time it was actually finished and released be more appropriately entitled “The Senior Citizens Opera?”
Even I honestly didn’t know the answers anymore. Lost in an abyss of confusion and deflation, all I knew was that, at least for the time being, T. O. was on hold. A Roman candle of excitement had fizzled into stagnation and inertia. To complicate matters, I had gone through a major personal change that consequentially impacted upon my life and my work. Tim Rice, once Norrie Paramour's assistant and apprentice, had been promoted to full fledged producer. His first artist signing was singer Roz Hanneman, the widely popular “Evening Standard Girl Of The Year” and celebrity panelist of a TV game show. When Roz and I met casually in Abbey Road’s cantina during a session break, we clicked at once. A whirlwind romance followed, and within only a couple of months, we were married. I was no longer a single artist, able to get by on little and risk everything for my dreams and goals, but a husband with spousal responsibilities as a provider, a role which was further intensified by Roz’ revelation to me that she was pregnant. Finances suddenly became a major consideration. Unable to survive on EMI’s measly salary and primarily dependent upon my arrangement and conducting fees as my main source of income, I was practically forced to produce as many records and write as many arrangements as possible in order to stay afloat. With Teenage Opera in suspension, and condemned by EMI to put any ambitious projects aside and focus on standard, formula singles, I soon became a veritable record factory, churning out single after single. To be sure, I gave every project my very best, and I believe I came out with some good stuff in the process, but my work was a far shot away from making “movies on record”.
Only twice, during the subsequent months, did I go out on a limb and produced anything even resembling my original dream and vision - “Imagination” with Kris Ife, and “Barefoot and Tiptoe” with “The Sweetshop”. Meanwhile, Teenage Opera just hung there in a coma. Inevitably, sooner or later, T. O.'s suspension had to be resolved, and the day came when I had to make a decision - to either scrap the project altogether, or give it one more shot in the form of a final “make-or-break” single excerpt. By nature not a quitter, I decided upon the latter, and with EMI’s blessings proceeded to commence work on my composition “Weatherman.” When the tracks were completed, the big question arose - which artist to feature? There was no point in even approaching Keith West since “Weatherman” simply clearly did not fit his vocal style. Besides, Keith was by now working on a selfcontained solo artist career as an intimate singer/songwriter (after Tomorrow had never officially broken up, but sort of evaporated. Steve Howe moved on to find his true recognition as lead guitarist member of “Yes”, ‘Twink” joined “The Pretty Things”, and “Junior” quietly quit the music business). For Keith to once again associate himself with a heavily orchestrated and produced piece would have been equal to shooting himself twice.
After fruitlessly auditioning a number of artist prospects, none of which could live up to the energy of my own demo of the song, I finally threw all my neurotic reluctance and inhibition to the wind and surrendered to performing the tune myself. Even though “Weatherman” was released with far less hoopla or hype than its predecessors (EMI had decided to prudently invest in only a marginal promotion effort with an attitude of throwing the record against the wall to see if it would stick before actually mountain a campaign), the record was received with great enthusiasm and cheer, many even rating it as the best of the three issued excerpts. Trouble was that, despite the loyal support of DJs Kenny Everett (who, more than calling it his favorite of the three excerpts, distinguished it as the best pop record ever made) and Tony Blackburn, the BBC gave it only minimal air play. The people who heard “Weatherman” loved it and bought it. Alas, there weren’t enough of them to make it a hit. More damagingly, with a “shit or get off the pot” attitude, there was a general market apathy to merely yet another “excerpt” from T. O. People had grown tired of being “teased” with just “bits” and “pieces” of the work - they wanted the whole opera. Regardless of the public’s continued interest in T. O., in the sales figures-fixated eyes of EMI, “Weatherman” had failed. Their resulting verdict was clear and final - “Teenage Opera” was dead.
Only a few months later, deflated, in a rut, and once again trapped in a vicious circle of formula productions, I asked EMI for a release from my contract. EMI agreed on the condition that I forfeited all royalties from any recordings that I had produced for the company during the term of my employment. Up against the wall and my career in limbo, freedom appeared worth the price. I agreed. (In consequence, I have, to this day, never received a single penny for any of the recordings I ever produced for EMI. In fairness to EMI’s pragmatic but honorable ethics, I must add that, by the same token, of all the dozens of publishing companies I have been affiliated with over the years, EMI Publishing has been one of only two firms who, for more than 30 years, have accounted to me honestly, regularly and efficiently.)
Keith West laments to this day that T. O. ruined his and Tomorrow’s career. As much as I understand and empathize with Keith’s reasoning, I don’t agree. No matter how popular and creative Tomorrow were in their heyday, the band was ultimately bound to disintegrate. Their scope as a band was simply too narrow and limited to ultimately hold on to the talent of Steve Howe, who sooner or later would have been compelled to break away in order to find alternative vehicles, which better suited his brilliance and offered him the freedom to express it. And, with all due respect to Keith and the other two band members “Twink” and “Junior,” without Steve, there simply was no “Tomorrow.” In truth, what killed Keith’s career, as well as mine in the UK, was EMI’s persistent refusal to give the timely go-ahead for the development and complete recording of T. O. Had EMI given the ‘green light” when “Grocer Jack” first became a hit, I would indeed have been able to put my full time and concerted effort into the creation of the entire work as originally intended (instead of wasting time and money on making all kinds of routine records which collectively cost a lot more and, though enjoyable, yielded very little). Teenage Opera in its entirety would have been ready for release by October of 1967, and instead of pushing for a crap-shoot chance of a followup hit with the randomly recorded “Sam” release, EMI could have chosen the most suitable follow-up single from an entire collection of tracks. Keith, in the meantime, could have freely continued his pursuits with Tomorrow, his presence for T. O. work only required for the relatively brief periods of time it would have taken to co-write lyrics with me, and to record his relevant vocal passages.
Quintessentially, what killed Teenage Opera was EMI’s blind and stubborn procrastination and political tomfoolery, which ultimately shot us all to shit. Nevertheless, even in its incomplete form and ultimate failure, Teenage Opera entered the history books as a bright torch and shining star, having set a precedence and broken down barriers to pave he way for others to succeed where I had failed. Like, the Who with “Tommy,” The Moody Blues with “Days Of Future Past,” and, above all, Lloyd and Webber with “Jesus Christ Superstar.” Though flattered, I learned the hard way that being a pioneer carries a costly price, a lesson which prompted me to coin the phrase, “Never be the first at anything - someone else is bound to take it through the finishing line”. In the event that my descriptions of EMI appear written with the ink of sour grapes, I wish to state that nothing could be further from the truth. Regardless of all past adversities, disappointments and quarrels, I think of EMI as home. A home in which I was misunderstood, but which l will always love. It was at EMI where I took my first steps into a recording studio to record my first ever record as Mark Rogers and the Marksmen. It was here where I was given my first opportunity to arrange for and conduct a studio orchestra. It was here, where I was first granted the freedom to realize my musical dreams and create my first “movie on record.” It was here where I enjoyed a schooling, which to this day remains unequaled as second to none in the world. Ultimately, it was EMI (including later EMI-owned Capitol Records) who invested in and released the most important works of my career. Indeed, true to the motto “Once EMI, always EMI”, if an opportunity were to arise tomorrow to be associated with EMI, I wouldn’t hesitate to accept it. An equally profound sentiment applies to good old England, in which I grew up, felt accepted and fitted in (even if the music industry ultimately forced me into exile to the US). After decades away from it, I always have, and always will, lovingly think of England as “back home.”
What about Teenage Opera? Was it really dead? Hardly. Thirty (!) years after its conception, it was in Santa Barbara, California, to which I had moved after living in Los Angeles for twenty years, where I finally exorcised the haunting which had cursed me for three decades - the loosest end of my life - the biggest blemish of my career - my biggest unkept promise: The complete Teenage Opera. Determined to finally vindicate myself, I came out of a fifteen year hiatus from the music business (during which, by the way, I DID become a comedian, performing at Hollywood’s world famous “Comedy Store”), and spent nine months of day and night work composing and recording the complete Teenage Opera, subtitled “TEMPO.” Modern technology had made it possible for me to do the work at home, using everything I had ever learned. This time, however, in collaboration with screenplay writer Susan Hart, I created a full dramatic story and script - a romantic fantasy revolving around young, aspiring writer H. G. Well’s abduction into the future by a villainous time master. The Opera opens with Keith West’s original Grocer Jack recording (H. G. Well’s father was indeed a door to door grocer!), then continues with “Jack” Wells Jr.’s depression about his father’s death and inherited responsibility of taking over the grocery business, when villainous time master Bahb Tibicen appears and seduces Jack into joining a group of other unwitting captives on a journey to a future “Shangri La” which turns out to be a world of hellish nightmares. Naturally, there is a love story in there, too.
I had barely and proudly finished the work, my best ever, when fate once again intervened to twist Teenage Opera’s life. RPM Records, a prominent UK classics label, who had previously re-released a number of my old recordings, called me to ask for my permission and support in releasing a CD entitled “A Teenage Opera.” Including the by now classic four “excerpts,” the CD was to contain a compilation of other generically fitting recordings composed and produced by me during the general T. O. era. I was promised that the CD would not pretend to be THE Teenage Opera, merely a symbolic representation of it. Hungry for the much needed exposure, I agreed. At the same time, I informed RPM of my recently completed REAL Teenage Opera. Concerned that a release of my newly recorded work would conflict with RPM’s hybrid version, I conceded to taking the “Teenage Opera” related elements out of my new work to let it stand on its own, simply retitled, “TEMPO - A Sci-Fi Poperetta,” upon RPM’s promise to eventually release it as such. Several months later, RPM’s “A Teenage Opera” was released at a special promotion party held at Abbey Road’s Studio 2 to which I was invited together with Keith West and Geoff Emerick as celebrity guests. The attendance at the party was astonishing. Several hundred members of the industry and the media gathered to listen to my opening speech, followed by the complete playback of the CD - poetically over the very same Abbey Road monitors which had witnessed the original recordings. The reaction was awesome, and for a couple of hours, it felt like the old days, as if I had been transported back in time. For a couple of hours, Keith and Geoff and I were once again united and celebrated as the team that made history out of a little dream about a grocer named Jack. The CD went on to become RPM’s best selling release of that year and has continued to sell steadily ever since.
More recently, a brand new, black rap recording of “Grocer Jack” was completed in Europe, for which I was engaged to record a group of four year old black kids right here in Savannah, Georgia, for the children passages, which nobody had managed to get right in Europe. Amazingly, what was surely one of the “whitest” records ever made, has in its new form metamorphosed into a record of profound social significance to the black community.
What happened to TEMPO - the finally completed REAL Teenage Opera? At the time of this writing, RPM included several “Excerpts” from it (would you believe!?) in my two volume “Mark Wirtz - The Hollywood Years” anthology CD set, but the entire work is still waiting for a release. Deja Vu? Whatever the future fate of The Teenage Opera may be, one thing is certain - its odyssey is far from over. The Fat Lady appears to have no intention of singing in it, and so the spirit of “Grocer Jack” continues to live on... At the time of this writing, RPM included several “Excerpts” from it (would you believe!?) in my two volume “Mark Wirtz - The Hollywood Years” anthology CD set, but the complete work has still not been made available to the public. Deja Vu? Whatever the future fate of The Teenage Opera may be, one thing is certain - its odyssey is far from over. The Fat Lady appears to have no intention of singing in it, and so the spirit of “Grocer Jack” and “The Teenage Opera” continues to live on...
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