The Encyclopedia of Dead Rock Stars (10 page)

On the morning of the eighth anniversary of Buddy Holly’s death (
Pre-1965),
Joe Meek was in a belligerent mood. He was standing in the kitchen of his flat, studying unopened letters, when studio assistant Patrick Pink – who Meek was set to record – arrived for the day’s activities. Meek finished his breakfast in silence before disappearing to the upstairs studio. Pink was shortly joined by Meek’s landlady, Violet Shenton, who, observing the studio hand’s plight, offered to ‘talk Meek round’ (she had frequently dealt with Meek in the past, usually by banging a broom handle against her ground-floor ceiling). This time, though, an argument – apparently about Meek’s rent book – began to escalate in the room above Pink’s head. As he moved to investigate, a gunshot rang out. Shenton fell from the doorway, down the staircase and into his arms: she had been shot in the back. In utter shock and bemusement, Pink had barely mouthed the words, ‘She’s dead,’ when a second shot stopped him in his tracks. He looked up to see his boss prone on the studio floor, a gun by his body. Joe Meek died instantly, while 52-year-old Violet Shenton died on arrival at hospital. Police at the scene were quick to charge first Patrick Pink, then Heinz Burt, the gun’s owner (and for many years the target of Meek’s attentions), who, having kept the weapon at the flat where he’d until recently been staying, had left his fingerprints all over it. Various lurid tales have been linked to Meek’s world during the last months of his life – including one truly horrific story of the Suffolk murder and mutilation of 17-year-old Bernard Oliver, a gay youth known to Meek, weeks before his death, though no fast connection was ever made. Before long, though, it became apparent to all that there was no third-party involvement in the events of 3 February – it was simply a tragic and unnecessary end to the lives of two people.

One of his last productions, The Cryin’ Shames’ ‘Nobody Waved Goodbye’ (1967), played at Joe Meek’s Newent funeral as 200 mourners did just that to a man who had given much to many in a brief but potent period for British culture.

DEAD INTERESTING!

THE DATE THE MUSIC DIED

On 3 February 1999 - the thirty-second anniversary of Joe Meek’s death (and the fortieth of Buddy Holly’s) - the
Independent
newspaper gathered together a number of his surviving colleagues and protégés for a photograph to illustrate an article on the producer. The dark spirit of Joe Meek had clearly been stirred again - within eighteen months at least five of the assembled cast were dead: Screaming Lord Sutch committed suicide
(
June 1999)
; Heinz Burt died from motor neurone disease (
April 2000)
; composer Geoff Goddard suffered a heart attack in May 2000; RGM songstress Kim Roberts died two months later from heart problems
(
July 2000)
while Tornados’ guitarist Alan Caddy also died that summer
(
August 2000
).
(Meek’s favoured bassist Tony Dangerfield also passed on in 2007.)

‘His suicide was a logical end to the pressure he put himself under.’

Geoff Goddard, composer of ‘Johnny Remember Me’

AUGUST

Sunday 27

Brian Epstein

(Liverpool, 19 September 1934)

Brian Epstein was both Jewish and gay, when to admit to either might have been to compromise oneself. But this apparent outsider – in his adult life the music world’s best-known impresario – was born into a middle-class background, relatively secure in a series of private schools while Europe waged war for a second time.

While on National Service, Epstein underwent cruel (though at the time compulsory) army psychiatric treatment for his homosexuality and the inevitable discharge – with all the stigma that entailed. Epstein’s restlessness and below-the-surface flamboyance saw him spend three terms at London’s RADA before returning to a more modest retail position at his father’s Liverpool furniture business. Seeking relief from such mundane activity, Brian Epstein opened a record section in the music department, which to the great surprise and delight of his father proved a big success – so much so that the young entrepreneur soon opened his own separate branch (North East Music Stores – later an enormous music-business empire). His new-found position won Epstein a record review column in new local paper
Mersey Beat,
although he used it mainly as an advertisement for the store, which, of course, was also conveniently positioned near Liverpool’s most ‘happening’ venue, The Cavern Club. Although he most likely knew of The Beatles before spending a lunchtime checking them out, Epstein met the band here on 9 November 1961, kick-starting the most famous story in popular music.

Brian Epstein was suddenly thrown headlong into an industry pretty much inventing itself around him. Perhaps a little harshly, he’s recalled just as often now as the man who
mis
managed The Beatles, the group allegedly receiving almost no money for performances, records and licensing in the early days. Much of this may be true, but Epstein had soon become more than a manager, in the sense understood at the time: he oversaw The Beatles’ image, clothes, publicity and overall professionalism (which immediately prompted the sacking of drummer Pete Best and the poaching of Ringo Starr from Rory Storm & The Hurricanes) as the group began to make serious progress. At the start, much was based on trust – Epstein didn’t officially sign the band until almost a year after the Cavern gig, by which time they had (after numerous rejections) been picked up by George Martin at Parlophone, an otherwise spoken-word label. The Beatles agreed for Epstein to take 25 per cent of their earnings, which, had he lived longer, would have placed him among the wealthiest Svengalis in the world. As it was, a lack of appreciation for the importance royalties would play as the sixties progressed was to cost Epstein dearly.

Brian Epstein (far
right)
with The Beatles: Curtains for the manager?

‘After Brian died - we
collapsed.’

John Lennon, 1970

However, during 1963–4 The Beatles became the biggest-selling group in Britain’s history, while Epstein’s expanding stable achieved a strike-rate which has never been matched: his new charges Gerry & The Pacemakers, Billy J Kramer & The Dakotas and Cilla Black managed seven number-one singles between them, while the all-conquering Beatles topped the charts six times on their own. In the USA, the Fab Four’s utter blitzing of the American market brought an unprecedented
fifteen
hit records in 1964 alone – six of which hit the summit. There would not be much let-up for the next three years, either. While The Beatles (particularly John Lennon and Paul McCartney) continued to build as the most potent creative force popular music had seen, Brian Epstein began to find himself losing control of the reins. His world was now a circus and he would turn to artificial means to deal with the increasing pressures of being ringmaster to such a phenomenon. On top of his growing substance use, the world’s best-known manager found himself in and out of clandestine relationships – generally with partners unlikely to forge anything else – at an alarming rate. His contract with the group due to end in 1967, Epstein had one last ground-break-ing creative card to play – to put The Beatles on at several US stadia, culminating with Candlestick Park in August 1966, thus pre-empting ‘arena’ rock by several years. This, however, had an unforeseen consequence: the band unanimously agreed after Candlestick Park to retire from exhausting live work – which left Epstein with little more to do for them. Alarmed that The Beatles might not re-employ him, Epstein merged NEMS with the Robert Stigwood Organization in January 1967. Although this made for a mighty stable of talent (Stigwood had Hendrix, Cream, The Who, The Bee Gees and The Moody Blues), it smacked of desperation to those who knew Epstein. The news was not well received by The Beatles, either.