"WE'LL BE RIGHT BACK"
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| THE BRASS SECTION |
CD COVER |
GUYS WITH HAIR |
Celebration; Listen To Me; Full Circle; Requiem Max; Silly Place For A Zebra; You; Moebius Strip; Nature
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| THE BRASS SECTION |
CD COVER |
GUYS WITH HAIR |
1) WHO'S PAUL GRIFFIN? 2) GET ME PAUL GRIFFIN! 3) GET ME A YOUNG PAUL GRIFFIN! 4) WHO'S PAUL GRIFFIN?
In 1973,
I founded a ten piece
band called Force Ten. (A
hybrid of Blood Sweat & Tears/Chicago/Tower of Power)
It was comprised of studio musicians from the Manchester area.
I met Barry Guard, our producer, when I was performing with Wilma
Reading, an exotically beautiful woman, and a wonderful singer from
Australia. Barry was also a producer for Cliff Richards and so he
managed to secure a
recording contract for us with Decca. They ordered us away to a
marvelous
studio in Oxfordshire called The Manor, owned by Sir Richard Branson and Virgin
Records. 
There,
we were to reside
within its confines for a week; free
from the distractions of those things that tend to distract twenty and
thirty year old guys with horns and other such instruments. Artistry and creativity were free to conjoin
in an
atmosphere of mutual expression and aroma
therapy. We followed a group named "Queen"
onto the premises, and while we were considering what aroma therapy had
done for them, I recall how one of the staff members commented
that we were "rather large for rock musicians." I made some snide
remark about, "rock on this! and who were those starving musicians,
anyway?" We
smiled knowingly, as
we tucked into our third helping of Yorkshire Pudding and a flagon of
their best mead. These serving wenches were going to hear some real
music now that we had arrived. What kind of a name is "Queen" anyway.
Force Ten! Now there's a name you can get your teeth into! Let the
royal treatment begin, says we.
The rhythm section was first at bat after our night of debauchery. The red light came on, and a wave of nausea ensued. The producer yelled, "CUT!" and the brass section hurled insults. "Flipping Heck" says I. Oh well, maybe a little game of football, (soccer) will get the creative juices flowing. Robin sends a pass in my direction, and I collide into a tree. I'm sure that was deliberate. More insults, and I spent the next month on crutches. (The nurses at the hospital agreed that we were "a little large for rock musicians.")
Now it
was the turn of
the elite, patrician horn section to make their grand debut before the
Neumann U87 microphones.
The red light is turned on and tension fills the air; Eric fouls the
air. This wasn't the aroma therapy we had signed on for. Eric lets out
with one of his robust belly laughs, and the producer
yells, "CUT!" More
insults, and another game of football ensues. By the third day, our
football game had really improved.
The
final product was
something we were all excited
about, but our timing, karma, or whatever, denied us our audience, our
entourage, our----MONEY! Decca went belly-up and we did the
same---belly-up to the bar that is; "more beer! and red meat for our
friends!" Decca refused to release the masters to us and when
asked for a rough mix, they gave us one that was full of bleeps and
other sounds that I'm certain we didn't make. (Except for Eric) I guess
we really were "rather large for rock musicians!"
Ah well,
Robin Hill,
our
guitar player has since gone
on to a successful classical career, having released his eighth cd for
a major
label. With the exception of our second trumpet player,
Eric, who became a commercial airline pilot, (Lord help us all) and who
also holds the record for surviving the longest bungee jump, without a
bungee, when he plummeted off of table mountain in Cape Town, the rest
have all enjoyed successful musical careers. As for me: after twelve years, I returned to
the land of my birth, and...
4) WHO'S PAUL GRIFFIN?
Fortunately, I managed to get a "rough mix" before Decca slammed the door on us. After years of storage on cassette, and non decoded reproductions of encoded dubs, the following tracks still survive on my hard drive. The issues of copyright have always amazed me. Evidently, the fact that we wrote and performed this music warrants us absolutely zero entitlement to the recordings or their disposition. Even though Decca entered into bankruptcy, their mean-spiritedness lived in perpetuity as they continued to deny us any acquisition rights to our own creativity. Given the musical climate of the seventies, this band definitely caught a bad break from a despotic multi national corporation.
Celebration:Our
first
track on the cd energized us
all. This was
one of the many compositions that Robin brought to the project.
Typically, he worked out the rhythm section and I would add the brass
later.
Listen
To Me:
Portrait Of The
Artist
Full
Circle
Come Home Baby
Moebius Strip
Requiem Max:
Nigel
Thomas (Nidge) asked Robin to go
for a pack of cigarettes. Take his car and his dog, Max, and the
Doberman would be happy for the ride. However, Nidge forgot to warn
Robin
that Max was very protective of the car. When Robin arrived at the
shops, Max allowed Robin to get out of the
car, but wouldn't let him back in. Nidge had to take a taxi to the shop
in order to
get Robin back in the car. Robin memorialized Max's ultimate demise
(in 7/8 time) with this track. (It should be noted that Max's
demise was not a consequence of this particular incident.)
Silly
Place For A Zebra
Seventh Position
You
Skiddleydoo
Nature:
This
track has become a post-script to our collaborative efforts. Robin, and
Maurice Cheatham (drums) visited Irene & I in the Catskill
Mountains. Robin and Maurice laid down the rhythm, and later, I added
some synths and trumpets. The Latin section was performed by Rodgers
Grant on Keyboards and Ron
Fink on flute.