There are many significant dates that live in my memory. Amongst them is November 27th 1992, as it was on that day that I first turned the key in the door of 59 Boreham Holt, Elstree, and in that moment became a 'London based' musician.
Last weekend marked 30 years since that most momentous of personal milestones, and it's a decision that I consider to be the biggest, and ultimately best throw of the dice I ever took.
That's not to say that I had very much to complain about careerwise prior to the big move, far from it. In fact, the first thing I did on arriving at my new home was to unpack my Grundig portable television in time to watch myself playing on that day's edition of the BBC's hugely popular lunchtime show 'Pebble Mill'. The show, playing with West End star vocalist Dave Willetts, had been taped on the Tuesday evening of that week, and I couldn't help thinking that a telly appearance on my completion date had to be a good omen. It was, even if things got off to a rather slow start.
Before I go any further I should stress that my career prior to heading for London had built solidly through my twenties. I'd been in the Midland All-Stars, the top function band in the area doing all the big civic and corporate events in and around Birmingham. I'd played with all the Midlands' best jazz musicians (and very good a great many of them were too) and in the couple of years before relocating, in addition to a couple of tours with the aforemaentioned Dave Willetts had been on the road backing showbiz vetrans including Ken Dodd and Max Bygraves, as well as working with several British rock and roll era solo singers, all of whom had come to prominence in the days before self contained groups were the default industry setting: names like Craig Douglas, Jess Conrad, and arguably most memorably, Susan Maughan. All of the above interspersed with spells on cruise ships, in holiday camps and provincial pantomime had kept a pretty full diary, but I was ambitious to see how much further I might progress.
As mentioned earlier, my career prior to the big move had included occasional TV and radio, although the one missing piece was records. An album by the MYJO from 1980 was about the extent of my credits at that point: this was a box I was desperate to tick and I thought being in London might shorten the odds. It did, albeit after three years and a few unfortunate occasions where a lack of loyalty led to me being sidelined for players who were better established.
Getting established was the biggest challenge. Heading to London at nearly 30 years of age I had none of the usual peer group support that comes from being enrolled in a London music college or joining the National Youth Jazz Orchestra. A number of my younger friends did, though it took a while to reconnect with many of them, and indeed the ranks of NYJO would be shamelessly pillaged when it came time to form my big band in the early weeks of 1995. Though this was quite a way off yet, the idea of being in a position to assemble a London based big band was already in my mind. Having had a bit of success with a couple of bands I had led in the Midlands I had a acquired a whole pile of music: all I needed was the players.
So Christmas came and went, I had done one gig with the Midland All-Stars at Lancaster Gate and then headed off to the idyllic vistas of Mansfield for five weeks of panto. It was January 1993 and I had a completely empty diary, a sizeable mortgage and about three useful phone numbers. The first couple of months of 1993 were largely spent commuting backwards and forwards to do gigs around the Midlands with existing contacts. Especially useful at this point was pianist Bruce Boardman who I had met a year or so previously. Although based in Milton Keynes at that time, Bruce had established connections on the London scene, and this would facilitate the opening of a number of doors further down the line, but for the moment progress was frustratingly slow.
Salvation came in the form of the resting musicians' friend, a rehearsal band, or 'blow' band as they are commonly known. As a result of the Dave Willetts tour immediately prior to completing on my flat I had become acquainted with Don Morgan. Don was a great trumpet player, a proper old school musician, was extremely well-liked, equally well-connected, and very usefully for me as it tuned out, did a bit of fixing.
Don's first favour was recommending me for a Monday night blow band (led by the legendary Colonel Bob Wheal), whose drummer had gone off to do the world cruise on the QE2. This gave me a regular weekly playing opportunity for many weeks to come, and whilst unpaid, presented a golden opportunity to get to know a lot of musicians. The Colonel's band had a frequently changing personnel, but on any given night you might happen across studio legends with careers going back to the 1950s, or former Ted Heath sidemen. In addition, current London heavyweight players would occasionally turn up, one among whom was the hugely respected pianist, musical director and arranger Trevor Brown, of whom more later.
So the days got longer and sunnier, both literally and metaphorically, and apart from a brief and deeply uncomfortable attack of shingles things were looking pretty positive. Part of my routine was to scour The Stage, Loot, and any other publication where potential playing opportunities might be sourced. Lots of miles were driven and hours wasted on originals bands who were always 'just about to get signed', and whilst the pop industry might have provided a career pathway if the cards had turned differently, truthfully my heart wasn't really in it. Much time was spent in sweaty, railway arch rehearsal studios, time which yielded a small number of well-intentioned but inevitably poorly paid gigs.
The Stage did yield one worthwhile lead workwise though. A bandleader/agent with whom I had become acquainted on a couple of brief trips on the QE2 a few years earlier was advertising for musicians for the house band at the New Empire Rooms, Tottenham Court Road. I called him, he remembered me and offered me the job there and then. It was three nights a week for average money. mostly backing singers and comedians as well as playing for a floorshow. The theme at the venue was 'Cockney Cabaret' as coachloads of hapless, unsuspecting tourists would be bussed in as part of their package holiday to London.
Not the greatest gig in the world by any means, but it was regular, it was in 'town' and I had a foothold. After about three months is wasn't working out terribly well. The venue manager, a deeply unpleasant man called Gerry, considered it entirely within his remit to demand that the house band played unpaid overtime to entertain his invited personal guests, who he sought to influence and impress. My antipathy towards exploitation of musicians has been more than adequately documented on this blog and elsewhere, and soon enough was enough. It all came to a head when the keyboard player and vocalist caved in. They agreed to play on while the three remaining band members were left waiting to break down our gear and leave. I walked on stage, packed my cymbals, drove home, and phoned the agent to hand in my notice, which was grudgingly accepted. The agreed two weeks passed by and nothing was coming in. My final night was Saturday July 3rd. Even mini cabbing would be better than this I ruefully concluded.
On Friday July 2nd, at about 10 am the phone rang. A voice at the other end said,
"Hello Pete, you don't know me, my name is Roger Richards. I got your number from Trevor Brown. I'm sorry about the short notice but would you be available to do a gig with Val Doonican tomorrow night in Camberley?" Waking up rapidly, I drove over to Roger's house in Amersham, talked through the show and the deal was done. I arranged to leave the Empire Rooms a day earlier than planned, acquitted myself adequately in Camberley and got offered all of Val Doonican's gigs. It was well paid, and regular, but only involved about five or six gigs a month, which was enough to pay my bills and leave sufficient free time to pursue other opportunities, which suddenly started to come in from several different directions.
One door closes, as the saying goes. It was getting this gig that put me over the line. I started to become established, and one thing led to another. In a way I was fortunate that there were a lot of great pro drummers about my own age who had ten years start on me in London, and were super busy all the time. The result of which was that I was competing against a lot of players who were quite a lot younger than me, and all that practical, real world experience gave me a competitive edge.
Don Morgan turned up trumps again, lining me up as first call dep with Andy Ross's band, famous from the pre Strictly version of Come Dancing. Terry Jenkins was the regular drummer, and was often busy with James Last.
Duncan Waugh fixed me up with a memorable panto featuring Rod, Jane and Freddie from 'Rainbow'. Being up the road in St Albans meant staying at home, not spending weeks in a provincial B & B, and finishing early enough to squeeze in later gigs. Trumpet playing friend and occasional houseguest Mark White managed to get me an in with the BBC Big Band the following year, and by late 1994 I was working for about 45 different people; some would give me one or two gigs a week, others one or two a year. Being a decent reader and stylistically adaptable was a big help through this period.
A blow band start up led to a weekly jazz residency courtesy of saxophonist Gerry Gibbs. This gig would run for three years in the salubrious setting of the since demolished Willesden Green library. It was a great quartet with John Horler on piano and Steve Pearce on bass; top players who were busy, and their frequent deps read like a who's who of the London jazz scene. It was one such dep, bassist Harvey Weston, who put me up for a regular touring jazz package show produced by the notorious Keith (Hefty Jazz) Smith and starring the fabulous Elaine Delmar. This was my entree into top tier British mainstream jazz. We worked constantly, and my epic solos started to get me a reputation and a following. This gig started in the early weeks of 1995, at the same time that my big band gathered for its first ever rehearsal at the fondly remembered Ruislip golf centre.
By 1995 I had started to get a clear view of the drummer I had dreamed of being since I was about five or six years old. That drummer was still some way off in the distance, but the seemingly far fetched childhood pipe dreams were actually beginning to look as though they might just be attainable. Sticking to my guns was possibly never more important, especially as financial temptation was about to sail into view.
The following year the West End show scene beckoned. The promise of regular money would have come at an artistic cost, and had I gone down that route, which necessitated an extended UK theatre tour before going into town, everything that I had built up in my jazz and big band niche would have had to go on the back burner. So I said no.
By mid 1997 the big band was well established and pulling crowds. In an attempt to get us out of the Sunday afternoon niche I had applied for a £4,500 grant to record the increasing amount of original music we were playing. On Saturday July 19th that year I received notification that my application had been successful. The moment I opened that letter I could see the next big door opening, and so it did with the release of 'Playing With Fire' in the spring of 1998. Five years down the line, from a standing start with little more than a modicum of talent and ambition, everything was falling into place as I had hoped, planned and imagined.
So a huge gamble paid off. Not all at once, but slowly and steadily, and continues to pay dividends three decades on. The social media post that inspired this saunter down memory lane was very much to do with ambition and self-belief. Don't be afraid or ashamed to put your head over the parapet, and particularly, don't ever let other people with other agendas talk you out of that which you might be able to achieve. Save yourself for positive people, and let the rest take care of themselves.
2023 approaches. With it come my 60th birthday and 40th anniversary of my first gigs as a big band leader (recordings of a few moments from that first concert in 1983 can be found on my YouTube channel). Also the new year brings with it at least three of the most ambitious projects I have ever undertaken. I shall bore you with all the details at great length elsewhere, but as a taster there's a big band recording project, a brand new big band concert package, and at long last, a big band minus drums educational package. A couple of further album releases with smaller groups are slated for late 2023/early 2024. Plans are great things to make. There's nothing quite like having stuff to look forward to.
I'm hugely fortunate to be in a place where I can choose what I do and don't do now. The old saying that fortune favours the brave is undoubtedly more than just an old saying, and sometimes I wonder what happened to all those originals bands.
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