MIKE BERRY - my friend

 

 

In 1961 I turned 16, and as with many of my friends I was an addict for Radio Luxembourg at 208 MW, which was the sole on-air place for the music I craved in those far off pre-Beatles times. I was well aware of the phenomenon of Joe Meek’s signature sound, and John Leyton’s baritone was great, but strumming acoustic guitar and warbly soprano wasn’t my thing – I wanted melodic guitar lines in that era of Hank Marvin worship, and Mike Berry’s record that Joe prduced, A Tribute To Buddy Holly, gave me all that. It became a running joke between Mike and I that I wasn’t interested in his vocal, only Billy Kuy’s guitar lines! In truth, Mike’s vocal was a brilliant evocation of the subject of the song – I had been a Crickets fan since the Chirping album – another record filled with inspired guitar lines!

I was less taken with Mike’s follow-up singles, though they did much better than Tribute, chart-wise, because there were no more guitar solos of note, but the Outlaws album, Dream Of The West, filled that hole admirably, and gave me more Bill Kuy to savour.

Soon after that I found a different world - Jimmy Reed, Chuck Berry, Bo Diddley, Muddy Waters and all those Chicago players, along with the delta blues of Sleepy John Estes, Mississippi John Hurt, Fred McDowell, and that lost generation of players re-released on those stiff cardboard Folkways records, the acoustic stylings of Big Bill Broonzy, Sonny Terry & Brownie McGee, and Lightning Hopkins all took me rapidly away from the world of chart music, and delivered me into the arms of the Yardbirds, John Mayall, Graham Bond, and my 2 massive favourites, The Tridents, and Spider John Koerner. Pretty soon I was galloping on towards finding my own style and voice, and then, unbelievably to me, establishing a full time career in music from 1968 onwards.

15 years down the line, so many twists and turns had occurred. I emerged from the underground, psychedelic era with a session career that deposited me into the world of electric folk music. Comedy had always been one arm of what I did, and I had written my first stage musical which in turn led me to the world of TV, and later, film. I continued to play in bands as well, most notably with Roy Harper and Black Sheep, and by the early 80s I had dipped a toe into country with Hank Wangford, briefly become a rock dinosaur with Pink Floyd, worked on big time stand up with Billy Connolly, and served 4 years as a music director at the Royal Court Theatre.

By 1983, probably inevitably, things weren’t so rosy! I was doing sessions for TV, but not so much, although a season with Spitting Image helped the bank balance. In the meantime I had formed a band called the Tex Maniax for the London pub circuit, and it was here that I first encountered Mike for real. By this time he was a true old stager, having had a second era hit with Sunshine Of Your Smile, as well as a solid popular TV career in Wurzel Gummidge, and Are You Being Served?

I think it was Howard Tibble, our drummer, who introduced me to Mike, one night at the Sir George Robey pub. Mike got up with the band, sang a couple of songs, and kickstarted a 43 year friendship that lasted till last month.

MIke Berry: Tributes to the past

Firstly we secured his services as singer with the Maniax. We were a strong group of country style musicians, playing a form of western swing, with our own take on the genre. I played guitar, and we had BJ Cole on pedal steel, Al Stewart on alto sax, Bobby Loveday on electric fiddle, and Howard Tibble on drums. The bass chair was more fluid. We had started out with Tim Renwick on bass, but he left to join Eric Clapton, I think. Then we had Ian Campbell, followed by Paul Riley, with Gary Taylor an occasional participant, too. Throughout it all we honed a repertoire that suited Mike, and made for a distinctive band sound. We showcased songs by Rodney Crowell, Butch Hancock, Sonny Curtis, The Coasters, Don Everly, Bob Wills, Claude King, Townes Van Zandt, alongside self-penned numbers like my own 10 Feet Tall And Bulletproof.

The Tex Maniax ran its course eventually, and I settled into another career move, with a productive period at the BBC, firstly at Continuing Education and then Drama Series And Serials.

Mike and I stayed in close contact, and in 1986 he asked me to do the arrangement when he had a song shortlisted for the Cavan International Song Contest (a slightly bonkers Irish version of the Eurovision one)! The format was that the contest was spread over 2 nights, with the second one broadcast live on Telefis Eireann – the first was recorded for later transmission.

The first show was called “Your Act, As Known”, and for this I arranged a medley of songs that would show off Mike’s voice on material that suited him perfectly - Buddy Holly and the Everlys, etc. It went brilliantly on the night, and I thought we had it pretty much in the bag, so I was surprised that we only came second, out of the medals so to speak.

Still, the following night was the contest proper, and Mike sailed it with his own composition One Heart To Go. I can’t remember what the first prize was; it was in Punts which was the Irish currency back then, maybe 3,500 of them! Anyway, it was a tidy sum to carry back home, and his recording of the song hit the Irish charts, as well.

 

At this time Mike was writing on his own and with Mel Simpson, with his old friend, and former Outlaw, Chas Hodges always in the background as well. Mike had a very handy, and well specced studio of his own in the garden at Seymour Road, and I often went over from Kingston, where I was then living, to write and add tracks to his projects.

In 1988, Mike called with a heads up. He told me that he was booked as support for Gerry Hogan’s band, Hogan’s Heroes, at the Pegasus in Stoke Newington. He was going to open the show with the Heroes backing him. But, Mike told me, the band was also booked to back up Albert Lee at Mervyn Conn’s country festival at Wembley a couple of days later, and Albert would be trying out his full set, as an unannounced headline at the Pegasus. Well, that was too good an opportunity to miss: my mate opening, and then Albert giving his all, with me on the guest list in a modestly attended pub! And so it was – the music was sublime, to an audience of maybe 60 people; I distinctly remember being able to get to the bar and the Gents without any scramble through the crowd, and this was a pub that could handle over 300 punters when we had played there at the height of the Hank Wangford craze, 7 years before!

 

At the end of the night, Albert stepped up to the mic and said, “Ladies and Gentlemen, please welcome to the stage, with his band, Willie Nelson!” And there he was, with Paul English, Jody Payne, Mickey Raphael, and the others (I think the only absentee was sister Bobby). It was unreal. I stood and watched Willie do his stuff for 45 minutes, from about 3 feet away. I’m certain you couldn’t have got any closer anywhere in Austin!

By the mid-90s I had moved to Suffolk, and Mike would drop by if he was playing locally, with his revived Outlaws backing him. A couple of times he came up to help the local church, which I had some responsibility for, and we would put on a show for the residents of Little Glemham, as a duo, enjoying simple acoustic arrangements of the songs we had cut our teeth on in the 50s, Ricky Nelson, Eddy, Elvis, Buddy and the Crickets, and always with Sunshine in the set. A teenager called Marie Macleod lived over the road from us, and she was a cellist at the Yehudi Menuhin school, so she was a natural supporting artist for us at the time – unaccompanied Bach. The village had no idea what a special concert they were witnessing! That was Mike – always up for a blow, and unstintingly generous with his time. When I had moved from Kingston to Lavender Hill, under extremely difficult circumstances in 1991, he had tirelessly stepped up with the heavy lifting involved (the move included the contents of a studio and plenty of instruments). With a supreme gesture he arranged for me to borrow his brother Bette’s gown van for the move, which belonged to the gay theatre group, Bloolips. Bette (née Peter!) was a fantastic actor, and Mike would take me to see her at the Drill Hall giving us her rôles such as Blanche Dubois in Streetcar, and once as a sublime Jacques in As You Like It, at the open air theatre in Regent’s Park.

I bought a VHS tape of nursery rhymes for the kids, and was surprised and rather impressed that, amongst several other notables, Mike was there, singing songs like Diddle Diddle Dumpling, My Son John with the same skill he brought to everything he took on!

In 1998 I attended a BASCA lunch at which they awarded Gold Badges to Mike, Neil Innes (old friend and colleague) and Vic Flick, whom I had enjoyed hiring for my TV sessions. After all, why not use the guy who played the James Bond theme? It was a joy to see how our profession cherished Mike as much as I did, personally.

By the time I moved to Brighton in 2000, I was getting the occasional dep gig on guitar with the Outlaws, when Mike’s permanent guitarist Mark Lewis was unavailable for any reason. What a thrill to be in the band I had admired all those years ago, alongside a man who was by then an old friend. I just wanted to shout out to my schoolmates, though that wasn’t an option, sadly! But it was fantastic to play with Al Jackman on drums and Alan Jones, ex-Shadows, on bass, partnering Mike’s always special vocals, of course.

Years later, once Mark had moved to Scotland and effectively rung down the curtain on his time with the Outlaws, I fell into the position of Mike’s permanent lead guitar, which I hugely appreciated, given our long association, with Al Jackman and a moving feast of bass players, Roger Nicholas, Darren Juniper and John Gordon, or a very occasional outing for my Brighton friend Jerry Rulf.

It was with Jerry in the line-up that Mike, Al and I began a different venture called Roxabit, which was a chance to ease away for a time, from the requirement for the Outlaws to stick to the repertoire that the audience expected, rooted as it was in the 50s and 60s side of Mike’s career. Sadly, Covid put paid to that band, which is now only represented by a handful of live and rehearsal recordings.

Equally, Mike and I had long cherished the idea of recording a simple acoustic album, like those that Don Williams used to make in the late 70s. Again, apart from a few demos that idea remains unfulfilled for all time, now.

A few months ago, I was sitting in Mike’s kitchen, cup of tea and a sticky biscuit at hand, when Mike said “Have a word with this bloke on the phone, Andy!” I took it, and found that it was Billy Kuy on the line! Mike knew how much I had admired Billy’s work with the Outlaws back in 1961, and finally I got to talk with him in person. That was Mike, my friend, thoughtful & generous to the last. It breaks my heart to see him go, and that is a fact.

L to R: Mike Berry, Iain Matthews, Andy and BJ Cole in Brighton

 

 

ANDY ROBERTS