“Couth, kempt and shevelled”. The description of John Dankworth in the first sentence of the souvenir brochure produced by Ken Pitt at the launch of the big band in October 1953. I cannot imagine a more apt description even though it might have been lost on many of the fans who purchased a copy on the countless one night stands in those halcyon days.
I first met John after the famous Benny Goodman Palladium concert in 1949. A mate and I had travelled to London from my home town, Bradford. John was on stage in the accompanying band. After the show we walked through Soho to Mac’s Rehearsal Rooms in Great Windmill Street and savoured the sounds of the Club 11, the two groups led by John and Ronnie Scott. We got to chat with JD.
In January 1950 the committee of the Sunday afternoon jazz sessions I helped to run at the Cameo dance academy in Bradford, suggested that I venture off to London and check out this new Johnny Dankworth Seven band since I corresponded with their manager, Mike Butcher. I caught up with them at the British Legion hall in Kingsbury, north London and was royally greeted and announced as a possible supplier of a gig. I was just 17 and felt rather proud of my first negotiations with this amazing band. Regrettably the gig happened two weeks after I agreed to support king and country by an involvement with two years national service in the Air Force.
In September 1952 I joined a fellow jazz maniac at his newly acquired flat in London and entered a different world. Jazz in abundance in some form or other. Tony Anton’s 20 piece Kenton style band on Sunday lunchtime session in Acton where we caught a very young Tubby Hayes blowing his sox off. Tony Hall’s weekend sessions at the Mapleton in Leicester Square, the 51 club and Rick Gunnell’s various attempts to open clubs which lasted about six weeks.
Throughout1952 I left my phone number with anyone I encountered who had anything remotely to do with the music business, agents, publishers, promoters etc. At 6-15pm on October 12th came the phone call that changed my life. Bill Lesage, pianist and manager of the Dankworth Seven invited me to meet John and himself at the 51 club “for a chat”. It was the most rewarding job interview imaginable. Three days later I was road manager of the brand new Johnny Dankworth Orchestra. The band was in a secret two week rehearsal period at the Royal Forest Hotel ballroom in Chingford.
The band made its debut at the Astoria Ballroom, Nottingham on Friday Oct 23 1953.. Sixteen hundred happy Nottinghamians bopped the night away whilst journalist from the Melody Maker, Musical Express and fleet St. made notes. By Monday the band was the talk of the jazz fraternity and I basked in the knowledge that all my aspiration had been achieved.
Six months on with a full diary of one nighters, Sunday shows, poll winners concerts at the Albert and Festival Halls, broadcasts and TV appearances life just got better and better. Cleo moved into the basement flat at 15 Abbey Gardens St John’s Wood and I moved into the second floor flat. We were five minutes away from the studios where we recorded for George Martin. Bill Lesage left the band to stay in town and I was asked to take on full management. At the tender age of 22 and with few business skills I was thrust into organising a twenty two people company-sixteen musicians, three singers, a secretary, the nation’s favourite bandleader and me. Thank goodness we had a wonderful agent in Harold Davison who provided the work. From our Denmark St office I watched to music publishing world go by.
On nights when the band was not working John would play gigs at the Flamingo,and 51 clubs. After hours he and Cleo could be found at a small club in Swallow St. off Regent St where Alan Clare played beautiful music. John would turn up at the office, dictate a few letters and ask if there were any good movies in town. Dell. our secretary, would scour the three evening newspapers and phone Cleo with a request to jump into a cab and meet us at the office. We were in for a night at the movies often followed by a meal in a posh restaurant. I used to think, I bet Ted Heath doesn’t do all this on his off nights.
In the Summer of 1955 we were due for our annual two week vacation. I planned to spend it visiting my parents on the Wirral abut John had other ideas. “How do you fancy a tour of the south of France”, he asked. He had a notion that he, Cleo and girl fan and I could make up a foursome and spend a fabulous holiday touring France by car. I didn’t drive but that was no deterrent. He would do the driving and the whole two weeks would cost no more than £25 each. I succumbed,. How did we do it on 25 quid ? We stayed in youth hostels. I bet Ted Heath wouldn’t have spent his holiday sleeping in dormitories in youth hostels. As I chatted with world weary fellow hostellers tramping round the world I would be asked what we all did for a living. How could I tell them the truth. “Well the chap sweeping the floor is Britain’s favourite bandleader and the young lady washing up is Britain’s greatest jazz singer.” Their responses were predictable. “Really” was about the most common reply.
We phoned our office and Dell told us George Martin wanted the speak to John We phoned and got the news that “Experiments With Mice”, the record of Three Blind Mice played in the style of several well known bands, was in the charts. We opened a bottle of wine and resumed our domestic chores. I got home with change from my £25
John agreed to a two week tour of South Africa not fully realising the impact of apartheid. He refused to play to segregated audiences and was approached by anti apartheid people for help in raising awareness of the appalling conditions of black people in South Africa. Back home we arranged fund raising concerts at the Festival Hall and elsewhere.
John was by now a national institution. He was invited to speak at the Cambridge Union, had a weekly column in the Daily Express and our office was a popular meeting place for journalists, broadcasters and arts folk.
In 1958 Cleo was simply too good to be a band singer sitting on the stage with her two colleagues ready to jump up and do her spot. She was invited to act in a production of “Flesh To A Tiger” at the Royal Court theatre. This was a very exacting part which kept her on stage throughout the performance. The band was in the midst of a seven week series of late night broadcasts and I had a fast cab waiting to take her from the theatre to the Aeolian Hall in Bond St. in time to sing still in her stage make up.
In 1956 the exchange of bands between the USA and UK was brokered by Harold Davison with some expertise from Vic Lewis. First US band here was the Kenton band and we laid on a party intended to be exclusively for the Kenton and Dankworth musicians. The secret venue was a drinking club in Frith St. eventually to become the Ronnie Scott Club. Every jazzer in London gate crashed on the grounds that they were personal friends or second cousins of Bill Perkins/Carl Fontana/Jack Nimitz/ Lennie Neihaus etc. As head bouncer I tried in vain to stop the influx but to no avail. I found John, warned him of the likely drinks bill but as expected he brushed it aside with a cheery, “We’ll pay.”
By 1957 Sunday concert were getting scarce. I found the London Dance Institute, on Oxford St. An ideal basement for jazz. We did a deal with the management and put the band on once a month together with a series of jazz presentations when the band was out of town. In the queue on opening night was a very tall young guy who chatted up a young lady he eventually married. Several months later I encountered him descending the stairs at 15 Abbey Gardens. We exchanged chat and he was surprised to learn what I did. Equally he turned out to be a devout Kenton fan and photographer. David Redfern was to become ‘master of the jazz camera’ and a regular supplier of Dankworth photos. When Jazz At The Phil played the Gaumont State theatre in Kilburn I kidnapped Dizzy Gillespie and he sat in with the trombone section. A memorable night.
After I decided to move on and enter into a venture with promoter and agent Ernie Garside running a ballroom, John remarked that we would need a suitable band to launch the enterprise. He offered to put the band in at cost price. Our profit on that “house full” opening night kept us going for several weeks. At least until we made a packet on the Hula Hoop promotion night !
In 1959 Jazz On A Summer’s Day had been a hit with the jazz fraternity and as a result of Anita O Day’s performance an offer to do some dates in the UK came up. John called and asked if I would set up some suitable venues. I got to drive the great jazz singer and her drummer round several of the venues. On a visit to the old office at 4 Denmark St. John introduced me to a shortish chap who had joined the band on piano a few days previously. He was Dudley Moore and on my way out John whispered, “Dudley’s a bit broke and if you have any gigs to offer he would be very grateful. From the office came a confirmation. “Yes, anything”.
My memories of John are many and varied. It took me a while to appreciate his tremendous good nature, exemplified, when leaving a party he would pop his head back round the door and in broad cockney accent, would offer the immortal advice, garnered no doubt from the streets of Walthamstowe where he was brought up, “Tell Ada I’ll let her know and love to all at number 43”. All meaningless of course. Not to be outdone Cleo had her own in cockney philosophy, “Life ain’t all you want, but it’s all yer got so stick a geranium in yer ‘at and be ‘appy.
Pass the geraniums.
I first met John after the famous Benny Goodman Palladium concert in 1949. A mate and I had travelled to London from my home town, Bradford. John was on stage in the accompanying band. After the show we walked through Soho to Mac’s Rehearsal Rooms in Great Windmill Street and savoured the sounds of the Club 11, the two groups led by John and Ronnie Scott. We got to chat with JD.
In January 1950 the committee of the Sunday afternoon jazz sessions I helped to run at the Cameo dance academy in Bradford, suggested that I venture off to London and check out this new Johnny Dankworth Seven band since I corresponded with their manager, Mike Butcher. I caught up with them at the British Legion hall in Kingsbury, north London and was royally greeted and announced as a possible supplier of a gig. I was just 17 and felt rather proud of my first negotiations with this amazing band. Regrettably the gig happened two weeks after I agreed to support king and country by an involvement with two years national service in the Air Force.
In September 1952 I joined a fellow jazz maniac at his newly acquired flat in London and entered a different world. Jazz in abundance in some form or other. Tony Anton’s 20 piece Kenton style band on Sunday lunchtime session in Acton where we caught a very young Tubby Hayes blowing his sox off. Tony Hall’s weekend sessions at the Mapleton in Leicester Square, the 51 club and Rick Gunnell’s various attempts to open clubs which lasted about six weeks.
Throughout1952 I left my phone number with anyone I encountered who had anything remotely to do with the music business, agents, publishers, promoters etc. At 6-15pm on October 12th came the phone call that changed my life. Bill Lesage, pianist and manager of the Dankworth Seven invited me to meet John and himself at the 51 club “for a chat”. It was the most rewarding job interview imaginable. Three days later I was road manager of the brand new Johnny Dankworth Orchestra. The band was in a secret two week rehearsal period at the Royal Forest Hotel ballroom in Chingford.
The band made its debut at the Astoria Ballroom, Nottingham on Friday Oct 23 1953.. Sixteen hundred happy Nottinghamians bopped the night away whilst journalist from the Melody Maker, Musical Express and fleet St. made notes. By Monday the band was the talk of the jazz fraternity and I basked in the knowledge that all my aspiration had been achieved.
Six months on with a full diary of one nighters, Sunday shows, poll winners concerts at the Albert and Festival Halls, broadcasts and TV appearances life just got better and better. Cleo moved into the basement flat at 15 Abbey Gardens St John’s Wood and I moved into the second floor flat. We were five minutes away from the studios where we recorded for George Martin. Bill Lesage left the band to stay in town and I was asked to take on full management. At the tender age of 22 and with few business skills I was thrust into organising a twenty two people company-sixteen musicians, three singers, a secretary, the nation’s favourite bandleader and me. Thank goodness we had a wonderful agent in Harold Davison who provided the work. From our Denmark St office I watched to music publishing world go by.
On nights when the band was not working John would play gigs at the Flamingo,and 51 clubs. After hours he and Cleo could be found at a small club in Swallow St. off Regent St where Alan Clare played beautiful music. John would turn up at the office, dictate a few letters and ask if there were any good movies in town. Dell. our secretary, would scour the three evening newspapers and phone Cleo with a request to jump into a cab and meet us at the office. We were in for a night at the movies often followed by a meal in a posh restaurant. I used to think, I bet Ted Heath doesn’t do all this on his off nights.
In the Summer of 1955 we were due for our annual two week vacation. I planned to spend it visiting my parents on the Wirral abut John had other ideas. “How do you fancy a tour of the south of France”, he asked. He had a notion that he, Cleo and girl fan and I could make up a foursome and spend a fabulous holiday touring France by car. I didn’t drive but that was no deterrent. He would do the driving and the whole two weeks would cost no more than £25 each. I succumbed,. How did we do it on 25 quid ? We stayed in youth hostels. I bet Ted Heath wouldn’t have spent his holiday sleeping in dormitories in youth hostels. As I chatted with world weary fellow hostellers tramping round the world I would be asked what we all did for a living. How could I tell them the truth. “Well the chap sweeping the floor is Britain’s favourite bandleader and the young lady washing up is Britain’s greatest jazz singer.” Their responses were predictable. “Really” was about the most common reply.
We phoned our office and Dell told us George Martin wanted the speak to John We phoned and got the news that “Experiments With Mice”, the record of Three Blind Mice played in the style of several well known bands, was in the charts. We opened a bottle of wine and resumed our domestic chores. I got home with change from my £25
John agreed to a two week tour of South Africa not fully realising the impact of apartheid. He refused to play to segregated audiences and was approached by anti apartheid people for help in raising awareness of the appalling conditions of black people in South Africa. Back home we arranged fund raising concerts at the Festival Hall and elsewhere.
John was by now a national institution. He was invited to speak at the Cambridge Union, had a weekly column in the Daily Express and our office was a popular meeting place for journalists, broadcasters and arts folk.
In 1958 Cleo was simply too good to be a band singer sitting on the stage with her two colleagues ready to jump up and do her spot. She was invited to act in a production of “Flesh To A Tiger” at the Royal Court theatre. This was a very exacting part which kept her on stage throughout the performance. The band was in the midst of a seven week series of late night broadcasts and I had a fast cab waiting to take her from the theatre to the Aeolian Hall in Bond St. in time to sing still in her stage make up.
In 1956 the exchange of bands between the USA and UK was brokered by Harold Davison with some expertise from Vic Lewis. First US band here was the Kenton band and we laid on a party intended to be exclusively for the Kenton and Dankworth musicians. The secret venue was a drinking club in Frith St. eventually to become the Ronnie Scott Club. Every jazzer in London gate crashed on the grounds that they were personal friends or second cousins of Bill Perkins/Carl Fontana/Jack Nimitz/ Lennie Neihaus etc. As head bouncer I tried in vain to stop the influx but to no avail. I found John, warned him of the likely drinks bill but as expected he brushed it aside with a cheery, “We’ll pay.”
By 1957 Sunday concert were getting scarce. I found the London Dance Institute, on Oxford St. An ideal basement for jazz. We did a deal with the management and put the band on once a month together with a series of jazz presentations when the band was out of town. In the queue on opening night was a very tall young guy who chatted up a young lady he eventually married. Several months later I encountered him descending the stairs at 15 Abbey Gardens. We exchanged chat and he was surprised to learn what I did. Equally he turned out to be a devout Kenton fan and photographer. David Redfern was to become ‘master of the jazz camera’ and a regular supplier of Dankworth photos. When Jazz At The Phil played the Gaumont State theatre in Kilburn I kidnapped Dizzy Gillespie and he sat in with the trombone section. A memorable night.
After I decided to move on and enter into a venture with promoter and agent Ernie Garside running a ballroom, John remarked that we would need a suitable band to launch the enterprise. He offered to put the band in at cost price. Our profit on that “house full” opening night kept us going for several weeks. At least until we made a packet on the Hula Hoop promotion night !
In 1959 Jazz On A Summer’s Day had been a hit with the jazz fraternity and as a result of Anita O Day’s performance an offer to do some dates in the UK came up. John called and asked if I would set up some suitable venues. I got to drive the great jazz singer and her drummer round several of the venues. On a visit to the old office at 4 Denmark St. John introduced me to a shortish chap who had joined the band on piano a few days previously. He was Dudley Moore and on my way out John whispered, “Dudley’s a bit broke and if you have any gigs to offer he would be very grateful. From the office came a confirmation. “Yes, anything”.
My memories of John are many and varied. It took me a while to appreciate his tremendous good nature, exemplified, when leaving a party he would pop his head back round the door and in broad cockney accent, would offer the immortal advice, garnered no doubt from the streets of Walthamstowe where he was brought up, “Tell Ada I’ll let her know and love to all at number 43”. All meaningless of course. Not to be outdone Cleo had her own in cockney philosophy, “Life ain’t all you want, but it’s all yer got so stick a geranium in yer ‘at and be ‘appy.
Pass the geraniums.
