The Cherry Boys - The band that made Spinal Tap look dull

One day I noticed an advertisement in the Liverpool Echo. It read

‘Liverpool rock band requires manager’. Immediately, I recognised

an opportunity to make further in-roads into the music industry. I

phoned the number in the ad and it was answered by the band’s

singer/guitarist John Byrne. He told me that the band were called The

Cherry Boys and invited me over to his house, in an area of Liverpool called

Old Swan, for an interview. Next day, I travelled into town and purchased

their one and only single, ‘Man To Man, from Probe Records. I played the

song until I knew every word and read the sleeve notes until I could recite

them from memory.

Luckily, I had also seen the band perform. Every summer in Liverpool

local bands would perform free concerts in Sefton Park and often six or

seven acts would play in one afternoon. I vividly recall The Cherry Boys

performance – the band had dressed in white clothes, and after they

finished their set they leapt from the stage straight into the lake, which was

in front of the stage, much to the amusement of the crowd. The boys were

covered in mud and I feared that even Persil would not be able to clean

those clothes. As I laughed at their antics little was I to know that in a few

weeks they would become a major part of my life.

On the night of The Cherry Boys interview I was very nervous. Maybe

this was how Brian Epstein felt when he was offering his services to The

Beatles, I thought. As well as John, Keith Gunson, the bass player,

conducted the interview whilst the band’s other two members, Howie

Minns, simply the best drummer I have ever seen (should Paul McCartney

or Brian Wilson be reading this, get in touch and I will give you his details),

and Jimmy Hughes, who was a bit of a one man band, normally playing

rhythm guitar and keyboards as well as singing a few songs, decided they

had better things to do. The boys seemed more nervous than me, but I was

confident that I had impressed them with my expert knowledge of their record.

I mentioned that I had my own business, Bargain Records, and I

discovered, during the course of the interview, that they were huge Beatles

fans. They were impressed when I told them that I was also involved in

selling limited edition Beatles products, though it was probably a wise

move not to expand on this subject in case they found out that it was

Beatles fruit bowls.

The interview went well and they informed me that they would get in

touch the following day, because they had a number of other people to see.

As I stepped out of the door I was more than hopeful of getting the job. The

following evening John rang and informed me that they would like to offer

me the position. I was overjoyed. He mentioned that my first gig as

manager would be on Friday, at a pub in Liverpool city centre called The

Dolphin. There we could discuss the terms of my contract and I could

explain my vision of how The Cherry Boys would conquer the globe. In the

meantime John asked if I would ring some guy in London who organised

gigs to see if he could offer us anything. His name was Harvey Goldsmith.

For the next couple of days I rang Harvey non-stop and must have

made over thirty phone calls. Each time his secretary answered I could

hear the lethargy in her voice, as she was no doubt thinking, “Oh no – not

you again”. It was interesting how many excuses she came up with for

Harvey not being able speak to me. He was either on another call; in a

meeting; out to lunch; out for dinner; out for tea; out for supper; out for

some fresh air; or just out. In hindsight, perhaps Harvey was busy with

Pink Floyd, Queen or The Who and just did not want to waste his time

speaking to a cheeky Scouser.

Upon arriving at The Dolphin I was accosted by John. He asked how I

had got on with talking to Harvey. “Very well”, I replied, “I have to put a

tape in the post to him”. I did send him a cassette of Cherry Boys songs, but

to this day he still has not got back to me.

The pub seemed quite crowded, but I couldn’t see the band’s equipment

and John informed me that they would be playing in a room at the back of

the pub. I was very nervous and told John I just needed a Jimmy Riddle and

would follow him through. Upon attempting to enter the room I was

stopped by a lad on the door who demanded 25p to get in. “I’m the band’s

manager,” I replied. It sounded really good – I had arrived in the music

industry. Sadly the 25p entrance fee had clearly put off the good people of

Liverpool from coming to our gig, as the audience consisted of just twelve

people. To be fair to the band they gave it 100 per cent and the twelve

people in attendance were obviously hardcore fans, as they cheered enthusiastically

and seemed to know the words to every song. Just before the

penultimate number Keith announced, “Ladies and gentlemen, I would like

to introduce you to our new manager, Graham.” He then introduced me to

every member of the audience and told me all their names and how they

were related to the band. It turned out I was the only member of the audience

who was not either related, or having a sexual relationship with one

of them.

After the gig was over we sat down and agreed terms. The band would

pay me 15 per cent of any money they received for anything that I arranged

– gigs, record deals and the like. We talked through my plans and, no doubt,

I would continue to try to develop a business relationship with Harvey

Goldsmith whilst attempting to attract interest from record companies and

TV. The band had given me a cassette of some of their songs and the more

I listened to them the more I appreciated that, with a bit of marketing, and

a little bit of luck, there was no reason why they could not go far.

One track on the cassette, entitled ‘Kardomah Café’, was truly

outstanding, yet I had not heard the boys play it live and I asked John why.

He replied that the song required him to sing, play guitar and mouth organ

simultaneously and he found doing all three near impossible. I immediately

booked them into a rehearsal studio for a day with the sole aim of mastering

the song so it could be sung live. By the end of the day, they had produced

a tremendous version of the track that became the highlight of the group’s

live performance.

Next I had to think of ways to attract the attention of the press. I had

noticed during their performances that Keith, the bass player, kept

shouting, “Give it rice!” This was his way of motivating the band to

really rock.

For the next gig I bought a bag of rice and gave it to Janet and Mo, who

were two band member’s girlfriends, and told them to throw the rice at

the band every time Keith shouted, “Give it rice!” The turnout for the next

gig at The Dolphin was vastly improved. I had phoned every single person

I could think of to come down to see my new band and my brother, Colin,

had also brought a large group of mates. The atmosphere was far better

than usual. ‘Kardomah Café’ went down fantastically and everybody

cheered each time Keith screamed, “Give it rice!” and was pelted with

hundreds of grains.

Word about the band that gave it rice quickly spread around Liverpool,

and by the following week The Dolphin was full of people waiting to see

the hot new group. Like the previous week, I had nipped down to the shops

and bought another bag of rice, but I need not have bothered – it seemed

like every person there had the same idea. Every time Keith shouted, “Give

it rice!” the band were hit with a hailstorm of the stuff. The gig was a huge

success and that night we left The Dolphin looking like a Christmas scene,

vast quantities of rice covering everything.

The next day I received a phone call from Mary, the manager of The

Dolphin. “Graham I am banning The Cherry Boys from The Dolphin.”

“Why’s that Mary? A few weeks ago the band were playing to nobody

and last night it was packed!”

“It may have been packed, but all that rice has knackered my Hoovers

and we are reduced to brushing the stuff up. I’m not prepared to risk my

Hoovers, so you’re banned.”

This was music to my ears. I promptly phoned up the Liverpool Echo and

spoke with their rock critic, Peter Trollope, who was intrigued by the band

who ‘gave it rice’ and destroyed vacuum cleaners in the process. I could

tell I had Peter’s attention and suggested we do a feature in the paper.

Peter agreed, and the next day we met him, and a photographer, outside

The Dolphin. The photographer took photos of the band looking glum

outside the venue that had helped us receive such great publicity.

Peter interviewed the band and first of all asked where the name came

from. Immediately John launched into this incredibly long and boring story on

how Japanese male virgins were called ‘cherry boys’, and as the band was so

young and innocent Noddy Nowler, a Liverpool record producer, had

suggested the name. I had a word with John and told him that in future he

should just tell everyone that his name was John Cherry, which would be a

much simpler explanation so, from that day, John Byrne became John Cherry.

The interview went well and two days later the band’s story was

featured in a half-page article, which included the epic quote from Mary,

“We all loved The Cherry Boys. They are great lads, but after their last gig

the rice has jammed two of my Hoovers.” The publicity fuelled the band’s

momentum and we were soon packing out venues all across the city, going

down a storm wherever we played.

The only downside was that the rice phenomenon was becoming bigger

than the band’s music, and we were getting more venues refusing bookings

because of the mess we generated. We reluctantly had to appeal to fans to

stop bringing rice to gigs.

At one gig at the Pyramid Club I turned up and heard the bouncer ask a

group of fans if they were they carrying rice. After they said no, the

bouncer fleeced them and, amazingly, as fans were entering the gig they

were being searched for rice. I’m sure that in Liverpool people were used

to being stopped and searched for knives and drugs, but rice?

Most Liverpool bands received their first national exposure via that

champion of new music, the late John Peel, and The Cherry Boys were no

different. In an attempt to attract his attention I forwarded him a copy of a

demo cassette the band had recorded, named ‘Give It Rice’. I packed this

inside a real bag of rice, enclosing the feature from the Liverpool Echo and a

letter to John which ended, “The next time you come up to Liverpool, give

me a ring and I will take you for a drink”.

A few days later the phone rang. “Hi Graham, this is John Peel. Do you

fancy that drink?”

At first I thought it was a joke, especially as Keith from the band did a

superb impression of Mr Peel. “Is that you Keith?” I asked.

“Graham, it’s John. Are you coming out or shall I call somebody else?” I

could not believe it – John Peel was asking me to meet him for a drink!

We arranged to meet up at a well-known Liverpool pub, The Grapes, in

Matthew Street. “I will be wearing a black coat, with a Cherry Boys badge

on my lapel so you can recognise me”. I added foolishly.

“How about you just introduce yourself to me?” John replied sardonically.

I arrived at The Grapes 45 minutes early. I definitely could not be

late for this. I ordered a beer and ten minutes later I was back at the bar

ordering a second. My nerves had made me gulp the first one down so

quickly that I decided that, rather than drink the next pint, I would just

stare at it. The next half-hour was spent nipping to the toilet and

coming back to resume the task of staring at my pint whilst waiting for

John to arrive.

Eventually he arrived, and no sooner had I introduced myself and bought

him a drink than he was telling me lots of remarkable stories of things that

had happened to him over the years. He was exactly as I had imagined him

from hearing him so many times on the radio. John was a fabulous raconteur

and I could have listened for hours but, as always, he was on his

endless search for new talent.

He asked me if I would like to come with him to check out a couple of

bands that he had heard good things about. The first group we went to see

were a then-unknown acapella band called The Christians, who were very

impressive and later went on to become extremely successful. The second

band was less remarkable and left so little impression on me that, to this

day, I cannot remember its name.

It amazed me just how many people approached John with cassettes of

their music and, by the end of the evening, he had filled his pockets with a

variety of recordings. I can only presume that there were lots of people

walking around the country carrying cassettes on the million-to-one chance

that they would bump into John Peel.

The evening was thoroughly enjoyable. At its end, John told me that

he was going to a village named Burton to meet his friend and producer,

John Walters the next day. He invited me along and, of course, I jumped

at the chance.

At lunchtime I travelled down to Burton, which turned out to be the

village where John grew up and was only a few miles from Bebington,

where I lived. John was in a nostalgic mood and reminisced about his childhood whilst John Walters also had a wealth of stories – after a few

hours in his company I could understand how he made the transition from

producer to broadcaster.

I felt very privileged to be in such amusing company and I did manage to

contribute to the laughter by bringing up tales of my disasters at the food

factory. As John left, he told me that the BBC would be in touch to give the

band a session and he also said to give him a ring whenever I was in London

and I could sit in on his show. Wow, who would believe it?! Six weeks after

I took over managing the band, when they were playing to a crowd of relatives

and sexual partners, they would be broadcast on Radio 1. I couldn’t

wait to phone them.

Sure enough a letter soon arrived from the BBC and two weeks later we

headed down the M1 to Maida Vale to record four songs for the John Peel

Show. The producer of our session was Dale Griffin, who had been the

drummer with a band called Mott the Hoople, which had been my

favourite band when I was a schoolboy. In fact, I had a picture of them on

my bedroom wall, which my Mum had bought for me as a Christmas

present, though, at the time she could not understand why the shop assistants

all burst out laughing when she asked for a Dr Hoople poster.

The session sounded great and, when we finished, Dale kindly stayed for

a drink and told us stories of his days with Mott. I cringed when John asked

what advice he would give a band starting off in the industry and Dale’s

reply was to watch your manager. It seemed that every manager Mott had

employed had ripped off the band and, after ten years of success, he was

left with very little money when the band split up. “No offence, Graham,”

he said.

When The Cherry Boys session was aired on Radio 1, John Peel told the

story of how he had received the band’s cassette in a bag of rice, which was

what had attracted his attention. Later John told me that doubtless it was

this story that had inspired another band to send him a cassette enclosed in

a plastic bag inside a prawn curry, which, almost inevitably, spilt all over

his trousers when he opened the package. Sadly for the band the curry had

also found its way into the cassette itself.

After the John Peel session was broadcast I was inundated with letters

and phone calls, most of them raving about ‘Kardomah Café’. One of the

calls was from a chap from Warner Chappell, a music publisher called Jeff

Chegwin, asking if we could do a deal. Jeff was the brother of Keith

Chegwin, the TV personality, and also of Janice Long, the stalwart of

Radio 2. Janice, who was working for Radio Merseyside at the time, had

tipped off Jeff about how good ‘Kardomah Café’ was. Over the next few

years Janice championed the band all the time and we will always be

grateful for the support she gave us. I recall that in an interview with She

magazine, after she had started work at Radio 1, Janice was asked what she

kept in her handbag, and she replied that she carried a tape of ‘Kardomah

Café’ by The Cherry Boys to remind her of Liverpool.

By now the band were receiving offers to play bigger venues.

Aberystwyth University phoned me and asked if we could perform there

the next day, as the band that they had booked had pulled out to appear on

a BBC programme called Pebble Mill at One. This was hardly rock ‘n’ roll,

since Pebble Mill was less exciting than the test card and aimed at

pensioners. Talk about selling your soul! As the money was good we were

happy to oblige, and the gig went well.

We left the University around 1am for the long journey back to

Liverpool. It was a cold, snowy January night and I was worried that our

hired van, which had been very temperamental on the way there, might not

make it back. My fears came true when, in the middle of absolutely

nowhere, the van shuddered to a halt.

Most members of the band were sleeping, so I said I would try to get

some help. Why couldn’t mobile phones have been invented a decade

earlier? I walked for half an hour without finding a phonebox and then

came across an isolated cottage. No lights were on, so I presumed everyone

was in bed, and who could blame them since, after all, it was 3am?

I knocked on the door for quite a while before I heard the sound of a

window being opened. “Hi”, I shouted, “we’ve broken down. Can I use

your phone please?” It was at this point that I noticed he was pointing a

shotgun at me. “Get off my land or I’ll shoot your balls off.” I started to

repeat myself when he interrupted me, by threatening me again, only this

time much louder. I felt that my manhood was important to me, so I

decided to flee the scene.

After departing the farm I re-joined the road to

try to find a phone, and reflected on whatever had happened to the Welsh

claim that there would be a welcome in the hillside.

Eventually I came across a phonebox, called the AA and headed back to

the van. When I got there, I found that John had started a fire to keep

everybody warm. John was unlike anybody I had ever met. Most lads have

hobbies like football or rugby, but his was pyromania! He would start a fire

anywhere. I asked what he had used to get the fire started. “Just all the

waste paper we had in the van”, he told me.

“Did you notice a white envelope that was on the dashboard?” I asked.

 “No”, John replied, “there was just a load of waste paper there.” John

had started a fire using a £400 cheque from Aberystwyth University that

was inside the white envelope. Needless to say, I did not need the heat

from the fire, because my blood was boiling! Luckily for me the University

were understanding and issued us with another cheque.

Our next gig also turned out to be an adventure. We were to support a

band called Black Slate, who were riding high in the chart with their one

and only hit ‘Amigo’. The problem for us was that they were a reggae

band, and a more unsuitable support act than us would be hard to find. The

other problem was that it was at the University of East Anglia, which

wasn’t exactly local to Liverpool and involved a long, cross-country

journey.

 Needless to say the band went down like a eunuch at an orgy.

Something I had not told the band was that I had a temporary cash flow

problem and had set off with less money than I usually carried. I did not see

this as a major problem, as by now I had produced a range of Cherry Boys

merchandise – badges, T-shirts, cassettes and the like, which normally

brought in about £50 worth of sales. What I hadn’t taken into account was

that we wouldn’t be able to sell our products that night, as most of the

crowd were Rastafarians with no interest in our music. Of course, just

when I needed our money in cash, the University paid us by cheque and,

after I had bought the band some food and drink, it became apparent that I

didn’t have enough money for the petrol to get us home. I asked the band

to lend me whatever they had, but none of them carried money, and my

appeal raised a measly £3. I set off for the long journey home and left the

band to sleep.

With still more than a hundred miles to go the dial on the petrol tank

had reached zero and, with no money left, it called for drastic action. I

stopped at the services and thought of two options. One was to wake the

band up and see if they would busk in the services. As it was 5am, and

not many people were around, I felt option two would be the best bet: I

would grab some merchandise and approach people eating their breakfasts

and flog them products they didn’t want. I planned to approach

them and say, “Excuse me sir, we are a poverty stricken band from

Liverpool. We have run out of petrol and need to get back, but we have

no money. Would you be prepared to purchase our merchandise at a

greatly reduced price? In years to come I can assure you these will

become collectors’ items.”

Well, the Great British public responded in style and in no time at all I

had enough not only for petrol, but money left over to buy the band

breakfast. One kindly gentleman bought four T-shirts for his grandchildren.

I failed to mention that all our T-shirts were one size (large) so

hopefully they may all have grown into them by now. Hardly anybody had

refused to purchase something upon hearing my sob story. Maybe this was

a new way to break the band – I could just tour the services of the UK and

sell merchandise.

These were busy days for the band with two or three gigs a week, but an

opportunity arose for me to publicise them further. Radio Merseyside

were having a poll for the best current Liverpool band. As it was in the 80s

the votes were to be cast on postcards, as opposed to the Internet. I bought

batches of them and, along with the band and every friend we knew, got

people to fill in a postcard with a vote for The Cherry Boys. So as not to

create suspicion it was important to try to make the postcards different in

some way, so we did things like adding comments or putting requests on

the cards.

We heard on the grapevine that another local band, The Icicle Works,

were also hyping the poll, which resulted in me purchasing a second batch

of cards.

On the night of the awards everyone who was anyone in the Liverpool

music scene was represented. We had some stiff competition from the likes

of Frankie Goes To Hollywood, Echo and the Bunnymen, Wah! and China

Crisis, who had all had recent chart success. Janice Long announced the

results in reverse order and it was like being at Miss World. Third was a

local band called Cook The Books who lived up to their name, as they too

had obviously hyped the result. We all glanced at the Icicle Works and they

stared back. Who had hyped the best? Soon Janice announced the Icicle

Works as runners up and they were gutted. I will never forget the look on

Bill Drummond’s face when The Cherry Boys were announced as the best

Liverpool band. Bill was manager of Echo and the Bunnymen, and later

became famous as a member of £1 million-burning band KLF. He could not

hide his disgust at his band not being in the top three. Janice invited The

Cherry Boys on stage to receive the award and asked Keith how he felt.

“With my hands,” was his quick reply. Winning the award made my job so

much easier, as I was able to obtain more money for gigs and it was easier

to get record companies to listen to us.

By now we had signed a publishing deal with Jeff Chegwin at Warner,

Janice Long confided in us that she had been offered a job at Radio 1 and we

had a record deal on the table from Satril Records. They were not the

biggest label in the world, but at the time of us signing they had the number

two single in the charts. Alarm bells should have rung in my head when I

realised the record in question was ‘The Birdie Song’ by The Tweets,

which nowadays is in everybody’s top 10 worst ever records.

. We recorded a magnificent version of ‘Kardomah Café’

and the label decided to release it on cherry red coloured vinyl later that

summer. The band embarked on more dates, and we were all buoyed by

the offer of another Radio 1 session, this time with Kid Jenson.

Just two weeks before our release date we received some mixed news

when Janice Long told us that she was taking maternity leave. We were, of

course, delighted for her, but the timing for us was unfortunate – the DJ

who championed us would not be working at the single’s release. The

record received fabulous reviews and was well supported by John Peel, Kid

Jenson and, of all people, Gary Davies. For six weeks it hovered just outside

the top 75, but in our hearts we knew the single would have charted

with Janice’s help. At that time she had a prime-time show on Radio 1, and

without her help, the band wouldn’t have got where they were.

.

To help finance the band John, Keith and Howie often did gigs under the

different name of Take 3. They were essentially a Beatles covers band and

they played the social clubs of the North West. This was a different world

exactly like you see on Peter Kay’s Phoenix Nights, which captures the

madness of those clubs so well.

 If I had no plans on a weekend I would often

go down and offer moral support. The band referred to these gigs as

‘Elsies’ due to the fact that most women there seemed to be called Elsie,

Doris, Mabel, etc. The average age of the audiences was over 50.

At one gig in Huddersfield I recall that the band were halfway through

the Beatles classic ‘Let It Be’ when the MC (master of ceremonies) stood

up and started ringing a large hand bell of the type that teachers used to tell

you that playtime was over. “Now then lads, just have a break for a minute,

as the pies and peas have arrived.” It was as if he had said they were giving

out free money at the back of the hall. Everybody left their chairs and a

mini stampede started as they rushed to get their pies and peas, leaving the

band flabbergasted on the stage, having sung only half the song.

At one Elsie gig I arrived and found the band in a tiny dressing room,

which was made smaller by the presence of two large bingo machines. At

these gigs the band would normally play a set and there would then be a

break whilst the audience played Bingo, after which the band would come

back and do a second set. The prizes they played for never ceased to amaze

me. The first time I attended an Elsie gig the MC announced: “Tonight the

prize will be a joint”. It took a while for me to realise that they were playing

for meat, not cannabis.

This night the band had been getting a hard time from the MC, who

insisted they do a shorter set. In revenge they came up with a cunning plan,

which was bound to entertain the four of us, but guaranteed to ruin the

MC’s night. We decided to take ten bingo balls out of the bingo machine in

the corner and put them in the machine near the door, which was the one

they would use in the interval. As soon as the band finished their first set,

the MC and a helper wheeled the bingo machine out and on to the stage.

He then started calling out the numbers: on its own number 4, two little

ducks 22, Maggie’s Den number 10, two fat ladies 88, on its own number

4. “Hang on,” came a shout, “we have already had that one.” The MC was

perplexed, but decided to carry on with the game, but when another

number was repeated, you could sense a minor riot was about to happen.

Soon a third number was repeated, and the MC announced he was abandoning

bingo for the evening. Well, there was a blue rinse riot as

pensioners stormed the stage, some complaining that they were only a few

numbers away from winning the joint, whilst others were asking what was

going to happen to the joint and the rest of them were demanding their

money back. Eventually calm was restored and the MC came into the

band’s dressing room snorting with rage. “It was you, weren’t it?” he

snarled. Of course we denied all knowledge.

It soon became apparent that the band could no longer continue doing

Elsie gigs, as more offers of supporting bigger bands and TV action came

our way. Although ‘Kardomah Café’ had not charted as we had hoped, it

had received rave reviews and even made number eight in the Spanish chart

(it looked strange when I was given a sheet showing the Spanish chart, with

Michael Jackson’s ‘Thriller’ at number nine). I argued with the record

company about doing a Spanish tour, but Satril were not known for

spending much on support. One bit of promotion they did do was to

produce thousands of cherry shaped jelly sweets that were to be given away

by the record company sales rep to shops, to encourage them to promote

the record.

A company called Spartan, whose name summed up their efforts,

distributed the ‘Kardomah Café’ record. The rep who called into HMV

was Sid and, at first, I didn’t let on that I was the manager of the band so I

could see how he was promoting the record. “Hey Sid, how is The Cherry

Boys’ single doing?” I asked.

“Fantastic” came the reply, “they have given me all these cherry sweets

to give away, would you like some?” I accepted his offer and then Sid went

on to tell me that his kids had never eaten so many sweets in their lives and

his son had developed a nice little earner to boost his pocket money by

selling the bags of sweets at school. At this point I felt it wise to inform Sid

that I was the manager of The Cherry Boys and the money used to purchase

all those sweets for his son would no doubt be deducted from our royalties.

Sid was mortified and asked me to not tell his bosses. I agreed, as long as he

phoned me up every couple of days to tell me how well the record was

selling – I felt this would put a bit of pressure on him.

To promote the record, the band were gigging most days, and on one

warm Saturday we were down to play at a festival at Norward Abbey in

Yorkshire, at which Tom Robinson was the headline act. When we arrived

the promoter showed us to a small caravan, which was to be the changing

room for us and about ten other bands. I felt this was a poor show and went

on the lookout for alternative facilities. I soon found a much larger caravan

and ushered the band in. This was more like it – there was a fridge full of

food, wine and beer, and the boys soon made themselves at home tucking

into it. Soon a tall well-spoken man arrived and politely said “Excuse me

gents, I think this is my caravan.”

“Who the f*** are you?” John enquired.

“Err, I’m Tom Robinson,” the man replied. Sadly for Tom this meant

nothing to John, who’s music knowledge ended with the Beatles splitting

up. “I don’t care if you’re Robinson Crusoe, we were here first so f***

off,” was John’s response. I stood in the corner cringing before security

came and escorted us back to the tiny caravan.

Over the next six months it was all action. The band supported A Flock

Of Seagulls or ‘A Flock of Haircuts’ as we called them on their UK tour.

Although they were also from Liverpool they never mixed with us, and at

every gig, like most support bands, we were given an abysmal light show

and dreadful sound. I learned an early lesson: if you wanted a sound where

you could understand what the band were singing, or a light show that used

more than one colour, you had to bribe the operatives. I realised I was

paying out more in bribes than we were earning for the gig.

After touring with the Haircuts we did some dates with Level 42. The

band’s main man was a genius called Mark King and we used to watch him

do the sound check on his own. He would play every instrument whilst the

rest of the band was probably down the pub.

The release of The Cherry Boys second single, ‘Shoot The Big Shot’,

came in 1984 and, to coincide with the release, I lined up a 25-date UK

tour. It was fair to say the band were big in the North West, but in the rest

of the country they could be best described as a cult band. Most of the

venues were universities or small clubs and the difference that we were

paid for gigs on this tour was amazing, from the lowest at £100 to the

highest at £600. It all depended on what I could negotiate. Ticket prices for

each show varied between 75p and £4 and, of course, gigs charging 75p

tended to be sold out whilst £4 gigs tended to be for die-hard fans only.

Often in these cases I had oversold the band and the venue would have to

take a loss.

At Warwick University the social secretary had organised the gig, and

just two days before he phoned me to ask that we cancel the gig, saying he

would still pay us the £400. Only 20 tickets had been sold, and if the gig

went ahead they would have to employ bar staff, security etc – it was

cheaper to call the gig off. My view was that the 20 people who had bought

the tickets were die-hard fans, and if we cancelled they would no longer be

fans. I could tell he wasn’t happy with my explanation, but I told him we

would be there. Next day the phone went again and this time he offered me

£500, but the answer was the same. I did not attend the gig, but the band

said it went well. They had a huge PA and lighting rig and the audience had

plenty of room to dance in the huge hall. In total around 40 people came,

and taking into account that they would have sold £160 worth of tickets,

and we were paid £400 before all the extras, it was no wonder he had tried

to cancel the gig.

Ten years later I started working with a likeable chap called Steve

Bunyan. We got talking and I asked him how he had started in the music

industry. He told me that his first job was booking the bands at Warwick

University, so I asked him how he had gotten involved. Steve explained

that the previous year the University had booked some really dodgy bands

and lost quite a lot of money and he felt he could do a better job.

 Hecampaigned for the role with the slogan ‘Better Bands With Bunyan’. With

his catchy phrase Steve won the vote and was duly elected as social secretary

at Warwick University. It came as no surprise that he would end up

working in the marketing side of the music industry years later. I asked him

what bands he booked and was impressed by his answer of REM,

Motorhead and Killing Joke. Steve then started telling me about the dodgy

bands Chris, his predecessor, had booked. I laughed along at this list of failures

and one hit wonders until he said the biggest disaster had been a band

from Liverpool called The Cherry Boys. I tried not to look too shocked

whilst choking on my beer. Steve started telling me about their manager,

who had convinced Chris that he was booking the new Beatles. Chris had

even offered him £500 for The Cherry Boys not to turn up, but the

manager had turned that down and insisted on playing to an empty hall.

 “He was mad.” At this point I felt it was only right that I should introduce

myself as that mad manager whom had cost Warwick University so much

money all those years ago.

During that tour I drove the band to as many gigs as possible and, if I

couldn’t attend, my brother would replace me. We would always meet at

the Mersey Tunnel where the band would park their cars and we would all

head off together in a hired transit van.

One day I had arranged a gig at Treforest Polytechnic, and when Keith

arrived he informed me that he didn’t have his amplifier. I asked why and

it turned out that Keith’s van was filled with rubbish, so he had tied his amp

on to the roof rack and disappeared for a drink down the pub with his mate.

Keith lived in Kirby, and anybody could have told you that the chances of

the amp still being there upon his return were about 50/50. Needless to

say, Keith was unlucky and there was no sign of the amp.

There was no way we could perform without his amp, so I suggested we

drive into town and purchase a new one, and then drive on to Burtonwood

Services on the M62. Keith could leave his van there and we could all head

off together. The first part went to plan as Keith bought a brand new amp

for £80, but little did we know that it had a lifespan of less than twenty minutes.

We set off to Burtonwood with Keith’s new amp tied on to the roof

rack. We were behind his van when suddenly, without stopping, a car came

out of a junction. I slammed on the brakes and, luckily, stopped.

Unfortunately Keith was not so lucky – when he slammed on his brakes the

amp did not stop. Instead, it flew off the roof rack and bounced on to the

other side of the road. It had been badly damaged by its fall, but a large lorry

soon put it out of its misery by smashing it into thousands of little pieces.

It was obvious that we were never going to get to our gig on time so I

phoned the venue, who where very good about it. When we eventually

arrived we were greeted by a big poster saying that The Cherry Boys’ gig

was delayed due to them breaking down on the motorway. I couldn’t tell

them that the real reason we were delayed was due to us losing two amps in a day.

By the beginning of ’85 the band were beginning to lose their enthusiasm.

Howie had a bad accident when he slipped in a phonebox and, as he

tried to save himself, he put his hand through the glass pane, severing

tendons in his arm. It meant that we were without a drummer for a long

time and although we tried a stand in, it just wasn’t the same. ‘Shoot The

Big Shot’ had not sold as well as ‘Kardomah Café’ and even though I had

obtained a couple of TV appearances and Radio 1 sessions, we had lost our

momentum. Frustration with the record labels lack of commitment didn’t

help, and the band decided to split.

John ended up in a Liverpool band called The La’s who had a big hit with

‘There She Goes’, an absolute classic. Howie and Jimmy formed Exhibit B,

who I managed. We released two singles, ‘Who Killed The Smile’ and ‘It’s

Hypothetical’ and an LP titled Playing Dead, which all received great

reviews. Amazingly, a CD version was released in Japan eighteen years

later after a top Japanese band, Flippers Guitar, sampled one of the band’s

tracks, ‘Excerpt From A Hippy Opera’. 

Taken from the book Last Shop Standing

The books of Graham Jones are available in record shops or online. The latest book The Vinyl Revival and the Shops That Made it Happen' has been turned in to a film. It is released on 13 April on DVD and is available in record shops. Distributed by Proper Music.

 www.thevinylrevivalfilm.com

@Revival_Vinyl

For film screenings and talks contact Graham at graham@lastshopstanding.co.uk