Me in Chelsea in the 60's pt1

My first studio was above a hardware shop on the Kings Road, it is now a Starbucks Coffee Shop, and is attached to the Chelsea Potter Pub. I shared this studio with a photographer called Johny Clamp. We both did freelance work for the Record Companies. Mainly Philips Records, which included Fontana. The entrance to our studio was round the corner in Shawfield Street. It is amazing how life turns full circle sometimes. In the late seventies my Design Group, Design Machine, was still involved in designing for the Music Business, but we had added the Rag trade to our portfolio. By now Design Machine had moved to Sedley Place an alleyway off Oxford Street, down the side of HMV. We got a call from a start up Jeans wear company called FUS Jeans. They needed a Jean labels posters etc. The address they gave had a familiar ring to it. Yes they were based in my old studio. Anyway I digress. The fact that we were based practically in the middle of the Kings Road, equi-distant from Sloan Square and The Worlds End, had us slap bang in the middle of the action. From our vantage point overlooking the road we missed nothing. How we ever turned around the work is a mystery. Yet we both made a good living. A sleeve design could be invoiced for £500 that is probably £1500 in todays money. The funny thing is with the advent of computers you would be lucky to get £500 for a CD insert today. So I only had to design one sleeve a month to be comfortably off. Of course it was all spent too quickly. Clothes, Booze, fancy restaurants all ate into it. I think the rental on the two rooms was £10 a month or something silly. The clients being clients wanted to be shown a good time in Chelsea once a week, and the bills could run into the £100's, therefore the price for a sleeve could only go up. Eventually for big rock bands the sky became the limit.

THE COCK INN

My mother keeps reminding me that she is 96 this year, only 3 years to go until she beats the age of her great aunt Kate, who kept The Cock Inn at Birdwell nr. Barnsley. ( Honestly). You can see the Inn from the M1 as you drive towards Sheffield from Barnsley.The Cock Inn is at the bottom of a deep slope that ended in a turkey farm, owned by her father a butcher and landowner. The first such farm in England. Unfortunate he was a gambler and it all went to the bookies.
At the age of 99 Kate Carr fell down the cellar steps and died of her injuries. She was a big woman and had her dresses made in Sheffield with a secret pocket in which she kept her brandy flask. On Sundays my mother and her siblings had to go to the Inn for Sunday Tea. My mother, Annie, a mere slip of a girl and not inclined to walk anywhere, refused to walk up the hill on the way back, reasoning that Aunt Kate had a big car that could drive them home.
A compromised was reached by little Annie being given brandy from this flask mixed with port. She was only four years old but it was not unusual in those days for children to be given spirits. It can't have done her any harm as she now takes sherry in the afternoon followed by gin and tonic. The time of this tipple slowly edging forward to mid day.
So sup up Annie, and good health, you'll get the telegram yet.

EVA BAIRD and JIMMY SAVILE

Last week I went to Eva Baird's funeral. She was for sometime Ken Mackintosh's other half. She lived with Ken at Edenvale Road until his death. As all readers of this blog know Ken was a strong personality with set ideas of how the world should be. The world according to Ken was black and white, no grey areas just his opinion. But he had met his match in Eva. She was just as strong willed as he was adamant. Their arguments were over trivia, including her chain smoking and her bingo habit.
Eva was very generous host. Nobody called without getting a cup of tea, maybe some toast or a bacon sandwich. On one occasion I had bought some kippers and instead of accepting the bacon I asked if I could grill a kipper. It was a very hot day in June and Ken was in the garden. I duly cooked the kipper, and took it outside. Eva went berserk, calling me all the sorts of names about the smell. Unreasonably I thought as I had asked if it was OK. But the worse thing was that I got a bone stuck in my throat. No amount of tea or coughing would dislodge it. Ken matter of factly suggested a trip to the hospital. Eva just shrugged lit up a cigarette and gave me a look that said ' Serve you right'. Her being an ex consultants PA, I thought would have more sympathy. Eventually after eating masses of dry bread. the bone dislodged and calm, for me at least, was restored.
Ken invested in a PC computer and ink jet printer. He never mastered it beyond the odd email. Eva though went to classes to learn to use it, but in the end most of her time was spent on it playing bingo or patience. She had luck though and won regularly on the bingo at Tooting. Incidentally the bingo hall at Tooting is well worth a visit, it is monument to the old age of Picture Palaces.
 After Ken's death she moved to Wimbledon in to a block of flats called Jimmy Savile House. Just before her death when the Jimmy Savile debacle was at it's height, the residents of the block asked Eva to sign a petition to have the name changed, she refused, because Jimmy Savile had been very good to her and Ken, lending them his caravan, for weekends away. Maybe she didn't believe all the accusations, however her pen remained in her pocket.

3 Day Week

Design Machine in the early Seventies had a studio in the basement of a house in Park Street W1. It was there because of Park Street's proximity to all the record companies. PYE in ATV house, Philips at Marble Arch, HMV Manchester Sq, CBS in Soho Sq. etc. The room was small approx. 12' x 12' into which we crammed 3 Designers and a finished artist. plus any student on work placement. The Grant Enlarger, an essential piece of equipment for any design group stood in the hall next to the toilets under the pavement.  Come the 3 day week we were knackered because, we were only allowed the lights on for 3 days, suggesting that we could only work 3 days in 7. Only the Conservatives could come up with such a stupid plan. It would have been cheeper to give the power workers the money. However the wartime spirit lived on through us. Deadlines were deadlines and we prided ourselves on delivering. It is a strange thing that when money is in short supply people spend more on records, so we were doubly busy. I took out my Jones hand cranked sewing machine and ran up some blackout curtains. Behind these we beavered away producing sleeve after sleeve and adverts for all the breaking records to go into the music press. Some weeks over 50 ads of different sizes were art worked ready for the Friday lunchtime deadline of the likes of NME, Music Week, Record Mirror, Sounds, Billboard etc.
At first we used candles and tilly lamps, but eventually we thought, sod it, and turned on the lights.
They couldn't shoot us.  Could they?

Philps records

My interview with Mike Stamford at Philips Records, lasted about 5 minutes. He gave me a proof of a sleeve that must have given him some grief in the production. He asked me how I would produce the art work. I gave him 3 ways one in the photograph stage, one in the art work stage and one that I wouldn'd have done it anyway as it was crap. In those days I had discarded socks as a waste of space. I had on my best Burtons suit,  a white T shirt a large floral tie Sandy had made for me' suede shoes and no socks. he couldn't take his eyes off my ankles. He said thank you he would be in touch. 'Blown it again', I thought, but much to my surprise and delight, a letter arrived the next day, saying that I had to report to the studio in 3 weeks.
3 WEEKS LATER.
I sat in reception waiting for a call from Mr. Stamford to ask me up to the studio. Eventually I got bored and found my own way. There were 3 large double elephant size desk with high stools. loud music was blaring out from a stereo in the corner. At one desk sat a long legged blond, and at the other a big muscley figure with thick black curly hair and a gap toothed smile.
'Who are you?' he asked. 'The new designer', I said. Mike Stamford had omitted to tell them that he had hired me, and he was on holiday.
'Do you drink?' he said
'I have been known to have one or two', I said.
He looked at his watch. 11.30 'They are open'. So we repaired to the King and Queen on Edgeware Road where we had one or two. I was too pissed to see by 3 pm so I went home to start work the next day.
His name was Robin 'Nick' Nicol, and the blond Linda Glover, eventually his wife. They formed a company named Nicol Glover Ltd. which became Design Machine, with me as it's Creative Director as, Linda, a brilliant designer in her own right retired to the country to do the books and have babies.
By the way Philips bean counters made me redundant after 3 weeks, so I went freelance and made ten times the money out of the company per month than my salary was.
What do they know?

Phil Everly

It was Easter, and I got a call from Pye Records that Phil Everly was in town for a few days and they needed a photo of him for a sleeve. Easter in the 70's was singularly Holy time. Nothing stirred but church services. The next day, being Good Friday was treated like a Sunday, and it made London like a ghost town. However being the true pro that I was, I used this to my advantage. I picked Phil up in my yellow mini traveller from his hotel. The car was as far from a Boss Mustang as it could be. It had a mini front end and a van like back end with wooden surrounds. (See picture), but it flew like shit of a shovel. I drove down to Shepherds Bush market, Marble Arch to the Bush in 5 mins flat. All the lights were green and not a soul about. I stopped in front of a shuttered shop front. It was painted red and hadn't seen a paint brush in years. Just the arty farty background I needed for the shot.

I wanted to use him as a small figure with this shutter behind him, but alas the marketing men got at it and and it ended up cropped to head and shoulders. It may as well have been a passport photo, it had as much charisma. Phil asked me what was there to do in this one horse town.
'Not much at Easter but pray. But he could come to my flat on Sunday for a traditional Sunday roast dinner.' And I could show him the delights of the Kings Road on Saturday, just a spit from my place on the Fulham Road.
All through this time he kept saying that we have met before in L.A. and that he knew my face. As at that time I had a bright red moustache that covered most of the bottom half of my face, and hair down to my shoulders, I probably resembled half the hippies in California. We finished the shoot in about an hour and I dropped him off at the hotel soon after as he had to be in the studio that afternoon. I gave him my contact details, and he promised to turn up at the flat when he was done.
Sandy, my wife, was quite a fan of the Everly Bothers and started planning the meal, who would come, who would sit where.
We always had quite a few to lunch on a Sunday. I told her not to go to much trouble as he would probably not turn up. Of course I was right, but he did call and ask me to visit him in L.A.
I never did make that trip.

Sharon Osborne

In the 1970's Sharon was running the fan club for  WIZARD the Roy Wood extravaganza. One of my drinking friends in the Fox and Pheasant in Billing Street. was Tommy the chip. His wife was a pretty girl with masses of black curls, and an almost completely round figure. Sharon looked exactly the same. Together they resembled two bookends fashioned as female Humpty Dumptys. She worked for Sharon's father,  Don Arden (another story). and it was through her that Sharon asked me to design stuff for Wizard.
All went well until it was time to pay for the work. Don Arden had a reputation for not paying his bills and my partner at Design Machine, Nick Nicol, warned me not to do the work as the cheque would not be forthcoming. He reckoned , with out Sharon in the mix. Although I had to wait until Arden was in the buiding, Sharon would bowl into his office and demand the money calling him a tight c***. Occasionally the cheque would not be honoured, so she would raid his safe for the cash, which was stuffed with notes. The lads from the Fox & Pheasant all tradesmen, did work for Don Arden on his house on Wimbledon Common. They had the same experience. His reputation of carrying a gun and being prepared to use it held no truck with them. Come Friday the cash was paid or else. Sharon the go between made sure no violence took place.
Rumour had it that when she finally fell out with her father, she flew to California and sold his house there and kept the money. He may have owed her the cash for all I know, and he may have asked her to sell it for him, but I never saw her again after that, except on the television, a shadow of her former self, but still showing that nothing fazed her.