Britain rocked before The Beatles (original) (raw)

Before the phenomenal success of The Beatles, British pop music had been largely insulated against the rest of the world by a peculiar mindset pervading the recording industry. In a business conducted by just a few major companies, singers and musicians struggled to rise above a general belief that nothing at home could match the superior and more inventive musical products from the US.

Trapped by this inferiority complex, during the early 50s British recording artists were in danger of becoming a small nation of copyists. All vocalists except the biggest names were thought of as interchangeable, a common disregard based on the notion that the singer was less important than the song, especially any ditties that had already been tried and tested hits in America. It took years for the domestic recording industry to understand that there were world-class artists and writers on its doorstep.

The UK’s music business in the 50s was dominated by five major companies: Decca, with its subsidiaries Brunswick, Coral and London, designed specifically for US releases; EMI and its group of labels, Columbia, HMV and Parlophone; Philips, owned by a Dutch organisation that also released records on the Fontana label; Pye, which began in the middle of the decade to promote mainly British artists, such as Petula Clark and Lonnie Donegan; and Oriole, which also produced Embassy, a budget line sold exclusively in Woolworths.

Independent record labels were nowhere to be seen until Top Rank, launched in January 1959, began a wind of change. Exactly a year later Joe Meek set up his short-lived Triumph imprint, followed by Jeffrey Kruger’s Ember in June 1960. Until this time, independent record producers had, by and large, been suppressed by the “power five”.

Despite an overall climate of control by the major labels, a situation that persisted throughout the 50s, the arrival of rock’n’roll brought a new dynamic to the sales charts and a more reasonable acceptance of artistic input from contract performers. Halfway through the decade, because of changing attitudes, British pop music had begun to develop personality – and the promise of a vibrant international life in the future.

Many remarkably good and original records were produced in Great Britain before the advent of The Beatles in 1962, but relatively few of them won overseas sales of any significance. When it came to the reality of having a “hit” or a “miss”, sensational “flops” represented the highest percentage of records released. These were more often than not the victims of poor promotion, apathetic distribution, or bad timing. Record sales were unpredictable, but quality of production was always a priority for the major labels. For instance, the clarity of sound on British pressings of US originals was often far superior to that heard on the source of supply.

Unique British stars were born during the rock’n’roll era, and it was also a time for many singers to come and go after one or two attempts at becoming the next Elvis. Some of their stories are well known, others not so. But every performer made some contribution to British pop music, however large or small, and step-by-step they had all begun to lay the foundations for The Beatles’ so-called invasion of America – long before 1963.

Ex-merchant navy seaman Tommy Steele was the first inspirational British rock’n’roll star. Born in Bermondsey, London, in 1936, real name Thomas Hicks, he came on the music scene at the age of 20 with a cockney accent, cheeky grin, and a throwback music hall persona that instantly appealed to both young and old. His debut record, Rock With The Caveman, an original song in an era of covers, was an uptempo dance number performed without even a glint of sexual attitude. Its initial impact was partly due to transparent old-fashioned values that hailed Steele as a working-class hero and Britain’s answer to Elvis in the same breath. He played himself in the 1957 film, The Tommy Steele Story, and in January that year had a personality-filled No 1 hit with a cover of Guy Mitchell’s Singing The Blues (Decca F 10819), which actually improved on the original. Steele eventually abandoned the music that made him by recording a number of twee novelty sides, such as The Little White Bull, and satisfied his thespian instinct by concentrating on a career in West End theatre.

Ronald Wycherley might never have shone so brightly in Decca’s Hall Of Fame if impresario Larry Parnes had not insisted he change his name to Billy Fury. Wycherley had formerly been a deckhand on a Mersey tugboat during the day, moonlighting with the Formby Skiffle Group on evenings when the band was lucky enough to get a booking. The turning point in Ronald’s career came after he sent Parnes a demonstration tape, on which he had sung That’ll Be The Day and one of his own songs, Margo. Parnes recognised talent when he heard it and by February 1959 Billy Fury was making his first TV appearance on Cool For Cats, performing his debut single Maybe Tomorrow. It was clear at that moment he had all the attributes of a teen idol, plus the bonus of a distinctive voice. Subsequent recordings also proved that Fury was one of the few British singers who understood the true essence of rockabilly. The majority of rock’n’roll records released in this country during the 50s tended to follow the Bill Haley swing-jive style. Fury’s did not, and his rockabilly masterpiece, a 10” LP, The Sound Of Fury, was released in April 1960. In the same year he released a single of equal quality, the haunting, echo-clad Wondrous Place (Decca F 11267), a song written by Jeff Lewis and Bill Giant. Fury’s version reached No 25 in the Top 20; the US original by Jimmy Jones did not chart.

After a couple of years getting established as one of Britain’s most promising rock’n’roll idols, Terry Dene was soon to screw up a good career. About a year after Elvis embraced his call-up by the US Army, Dene received his papers for UK National Service with trepidation. After one day with the Green Jackets regiment, rifleman 2360146 Terrence Williams fell sick and was admitted to a psychiatric ward for treatment. He was later discharged as medically unfit for duty. Thus Terry Dene ignominiously fell from grace and the general public realised, probably for the first time in the history of British pop music, that teenage dreams can have a downside. He was booed off stage when he tried to resume his singing career. This was a shame because Dene was a fine rock’n’roll vocalist, who with the right promotion could have toured America. He had previously entered the Top 20 with A White Sports Coat and Stairway Of Love, both covers of Marty Robbins’ hits, and also appeared in a film, The Golden Disc, but his rock’n’roll credentials are secured by his 1958 version of Pretty Little Pearly (Decca F 11076), the B-side of the much lighter Who Baby Who.

The skiffle movement of the mid-50s was a first indication that Britain was potentially a hotbed of musical invention, albeit of a quirky nature. Although skiffle had surfaced in America decades earlier, the British version developed a personality of its own. This largely acoustic style, often played on cheap or homemade instruments, became a melting pot of jazz, folk and blues with distinctly commercial applications. More than 20 years later, the same attitude of anyone being able to make music would be claimed by punk. Some of the UK’s most memorable vocalists emerged out of the relatively short-lived fad, and none more than Lonnie Donegan. His nasal voice, easily recognisable in a blindfold test, was the perfect vehicle to interpret a traditional song about Chicago’s Rock Island and Pacific Railroad, originally made popular by folk singer Leadbelly. Rock Island Line (Decca F 10647), cut with Chris Barber’s band in July 1954, was a lively sound that stimulated many young people to take up music, including members of the future Beatles.

Some record collectors perhaps still believe that Joey Castell, an Elvis soundalike who recorded the very desirable single I’m Left, You’re Right, She’s Gone/Tryin’ To Get To You (Decca F 10966), was US rockabilly singer Joey Castle in disguise. It was at one time assumed that the latter had been stationed here on military service and just managed to make a record before flying home. It’s not true. Castell, of British/Iraqi parentage, was a devoted Elvis fan who played with his band in London clubs and pubs from the mid- 50s to the early 60s. His sole release, cut in November 1957, remains one of the most authentic-sounding rockabilly 45s made in Britain. Far from winning acclaim and fame, his story is a tragic one. A road accident in 1962 left him with a brain injury and subsequent depression. Ten years later, aged 52, he chose suicide as the way out.

Mort Shuman was one American visitor who did contribute to the legacy of Britain’s finest pre- Beatles records. Shuman, from Brooklyn, and his music partner, Doc Pomus, were distinguished songwriters who lit up the 50s and early 60s with unforgettable hits, such as A Teenager In Love and Save The Last Dance For Me. In 1959, Shuman was invited by TV producer Jack Good to appear on his 21 November Boy Meets Girl show, which was to be dedicated to the songs of Pomus and Shuman. The highlight had Shuman at the piano singing I’m A Man and Turn Me Loose (Decca F 11184), two rock’n’roll numbers written for US heart-throb Fabian. Shuman looked comparably mature in person and slightly incongruous singing versions of his own teenage songs, which might explain why young viewers did not rush out to buy his UK-only record.

Wee Willie Harris, who is still going strong, was born in Bermondsey, Tommy Steele’s South London locale. Harris launched his singing career at the 2i’s Coffee Bar in Soho, where he became a big attraction. He was Britain’s first wild man of rock, on stage an animated flash of colour in an outsized jacket and polka dot bow-tie, his hair dyed a raving green, yellow or pink, another precursor for punk. He was not a great vocalist in the singing sense of the word, but if you can shout a lyric with conviction the way Harris did, you don’t need a good voice. He was destined never to have a hit record, but this only enhances his cult status. Rockin’ At The 2I’s (Decca F 10970), his 1957 debut single, remains significant because it celebrates in vinyl polymer a small part of London where many stars were launched, a place as historically important as The Cavern in Liverpool.

The dichotomy of whether to sing in a natural voice or adopt an American accent beleaguered many British vocalists during the 50s. Anthony Newley felt no such dilemma and used his London East End accent throughout his career. He had been acting in films since childhood and notably played the Artful Dodger in David Lean’s 1948 version of Oliver Twist. Newley came forward as a pop singer in the 1959 film, Idle On Parade, performing several rock’n’roll songs including the rock-a-ballad I’ve Waited So Long (Decca F 11127), which reached No 3. More hits followed, but in a lighter vein, as he pursued the all-round entertainer route. He later began a writing partnership with Leslie Bricusse, culminating in their musical production Stop The World – I Want To Get Off. Newley’s debut single remains relevant because it introduced a distinctive, unashamed British voice that was destined for export and you can still hear its echo in Bowie’s work today.

The 50s British recording scene was peppered with fine female vocalists, but only a few became household names. Lita Roza, who died in August 2008, has proved to be one of the most enduring and collectable standard singers of her day. Born in Liverpool, Roza won an audition as a dancer at the age of 12 and worked in pantomime with comedian Ted Ray, then married an American in her late teens and went to live in Florida. She returned to England after the War and sang with various big bands in London. Her biggest hits were covers of US records, such as her version of Patti Page’s How Much Is That Doggie In The Window? Roza occasionally recorded uptempo material, but she is best known for her impeccable interpretations of novelty pop songs and ballads. Hey! Jealous Lover (Decca F 10830) from 1956 is a typical example of her work.

Before signing a solo contract with Decca in 1960, and eventually having a hit record with Never On Sunday, Lyn Cornell had been a member of a 16-piece vocal group called The Vernons Girls, named after the betting agency Vernons Football Pools. However, it’s her debut single that, rightly or wrongly, attracts record collectors. At face value, Demon Lover (Decca F 11227) is a dramatic mid-tempo production with a minor-key feel, but it’s also a record that illustrates today’s pointless over-categorising of musical styles. Demon Lover was simply a blonde pop record when released. The Belgians adopted it in their clubs during the 70s as a prime example of “popcorn”; more recently it has become a favourite at soul venues in the UK. Cornell’s fame is secure in that one record but she also has a Beatles connection, having married Andy White, the Scottish session drummer who replaced Ringo Starr on Love Me Do, their first single.

There were no TV programmes dedicated to pop music until the BBC first transmitted Six-Five Special live at 6:05 pm on Saturday 23 February 1957. Singers Jim Dale, Terry Wayne and Jimmy Jackson were some of the pioneers on this show, along with singer and trombonist Don Lang, who recorded the theme tune. Born in 1925, Lang had been on the band scene before the invention of rock, but his infectious personality and strident manner of singing made him a natural for the teenage revolution, though his teen appeal was somewhat impaired by the fact that he looked more like a dad than a lad. On TV he was the first to demonstrate the sedentary motions known as the hand jive, a routine that originated in small coffee bars where there was no room to dance. Lang, with his Frantic Five, was a prolific recording artist primarily rooted in the Bill Haley jive style, but he also excelled at projecting rock’n’roll songs that made a loud declaration, such as his 1958 cover of Bobby Darin’s Queen Of The Hop (HMV POP 547).

Of all the contenders for the “British Elvis” title, Terry Wayne could easily have won the prize, yet he was perhaps undervalued in his day as just another singer of other people’s songs. He grew up in south London, and by listening to his father’s collection of country and blues records, he’d developed an instinctive feel for rockabilly by the time he made his public entrance, singing Carl Perkins numbers on Six-Five Special. EMI must have had high hopes for Wayne, real name David Skinner, when the company signed him for a six-single deal in 1957: contracts for new artists were usually awarded on a one-record-at-a-time basis. But it turned out that six singles plus an EP was indeed the extent of his 50s recording career, which began with a fine version of Perkins’ Matchbox (Columbia DB 4002). But even guitarist Bert Weedon, who played on some of Wayne’s records, couldn’t prevent them from sounding far too British to export to America.

Aside from his sometimes emotionally restrained style of playing, Weedon should be revered for his Play In A Day guitar manual, a slim book of basic instructions that virtually every aspiring guitarist in the land turned to as though it were The Bible. Its premise, to be able to master the rudiments of guitar playing in a day, was a ridiculous claim. It took longer to read it. But Weedon’s book was the only accessible source of fretboard information during the 50s, and in a way it overshadowed typical of the group’s output; meaningless except as an inducement to have fun. Alma Cogan was the most distinctive and successful of all the British female vocalists that Diana Decker rocks Johnny Kidd rolls Lita Roza with singers Dennis Lotis, left, and Dickie Valentine 78 Record Collector his many records. Being a self-appointed tutor meant he had a lot to live up to and his highly polished releases often lacked a spark of spontaneity. Though sparks were not required for Weedon’s cool and steady 1960 interpretation of singer Jerry Lordan’s evocative tune Apache (Top Rank JAR 415), issued prior to the hit version by The Shadows.

A study of the entire 50s British Hit Parade reveals a certain kind of patriotism towards homegrown talent. Despite the overwhelming effect of rock’n’roll, it did not steer the record-buying public away from mainstream UK artists such as Alma Cogan, Dickie Valentine and Dennis Lotis, all of whom remained popular throughout the decade. Performers such as this had nearly always begun their careers as vocalists with big bands, of which Ted Heath’s was the most significant breeding ground for world-class singers. Most big bands shrank as time passed; rising costs, a diminishing number of suitable venues, and the problems of keeping a large unit on the road made them hard to sustain. Those that downsized to a five- or six-piece outfit could still create a full-bodied sound without the expense, a portable situation which groups like Tony Crombie & His Rockets turned to their advantage during the early days of rock’n’roll. Crombie and his essentially jazz-oriented combo jumped on the bandwagon while rock was hot, to produce a healthy number of dance singles in a style that sat somewhere between Bill Haley and 40s swing. Let’s You And I Rock (Columbia DB 3859) is typical of the group’s output; meaningless except as an inducement to have fun.

Alma Cogan was the most distinctive and successful of all the British female vocalists that Diana Decker rocks Johnny Kidd rolls Lita Roza with singers Dennis Lotis, left, and Dickie Valentine 78 Record Collector his many records. Being a self-appointed tutor meant he had a lot to live up to and his highly polished releases often lacked a spark of spontaneity. Though sparks were not required for Weedon’s cool and steady 1960 interpretation of singer Jerry Lordan’s evocative tune Apache (Top Rank JAR 415), issued prior to the hit version by The Shadows. A study of the entire 50s British Hit Parade reveals a certain kind of patriotism towards homegrown talent. Despite the overwhelming effect of rock’n’roll, it did not steer the record-buying public away from mainstream UK artists such as Alma Cogan, Dickie Valentine and Dennis Lotis, all of whom remained popular throughout the decade. Performers such as this had nearly always begun their careers as vocalists with big bands, of which Ted Heath’s was the most significant breeding ground for world-class singers. Most big bands shrank as time passed; rising costs, a diminishing number of suitable venues, and the problems of keeping a large unit on the road made them hard to sustain. Those that downsized to a five- or six-piece outfit could still create a fullbodied sound without the expense, a portable situation which groups like Tony Crombie & His Rockets turned to their advantage during the early days of rock’n’roll. Crombie and his essentially jazz-oriented combo jumped on the bandwagon while rock was hot, to produce a healthy number of dance singles in a style that sat somewhere between Bill Haley and 40s swing. Let’s You And I Rock (Columbia DB 3859) is began their careers with big bands. Known as “the girl with a laugh in her voice”, she made dozens of records but most were covers of other people’s hits. When her private record collection was purchased after her death, acetates were discovered of original songs that had been sent to her by top songwriters such as Carole King. Cogan, for one reason or another, had never commercially recorded any of those songs. She remained primarily a “ghost singer”, as cover artists were known in the 50s, although the unique quality of her voice always turned second-hand material into Alma gold. A good example of her “happiness” style is the 1958 single, Last Night On The Back Porch (HMV POP 573).

Most of the major labels were eager to try new talent, but approached it with caution. A recently-signed artist could be ignominiously dropped if he failed to bring in sales after one or two records, though EMI in particular signed plenty of also-ran rock’n’rollers who actually cut some very fine singles. His recording company dismissed Vince Taylor soon after he made his mark with a second record, the sensational 1959 rocker Brand New Cadillac (Parlophone R 4539), but he may only have had himself to blame for his scant number of 50s releases. Apparently quite difficult at times, he threw a tantrum after an appearance on the TV show, Oh Boy!, when producer Jack Good asked him to get his hair cut. Taylor eventually found his niche in France, where he is still regarded as an archetypal rock’n’roll icon, black leather jacket and all.

Neville Taylor was unusual for two reasons: He was one of the few black rock’n’roll singers performing in England during the 50s and he made consistently good records that never made the charts. The fact that he often recorded under a pseudonym didn’t help the latter situation. Originally from the Caribbean, Taylor and his band, The Cutters, made their recording debut with Mercy Mercy Percy (Parlophone R 4447), a cover of a US rockabilly number by Joe Penny. Being adept at singing meaningful ballads as well as Little Richard-style rockers meant Taylor was the perfect ghost singer for the budget label Embassy, where he recorded some excellent sides under the various names Hal Burton and Hal Munro.

Cuddly Dudley, from Jamaica, was as bubbly as his name. Cheerfully sporting loud clothes and wide grin, he looked more like a comedian than a singer. Unsurprisingly, he was sometimes referred to as Britain’s Big Bopper. Dudley’s persona was perfect for stage and TV but the half dozen singles released under his name lacked a cohesive style necessary to identify him on radio. His best work is a 1960 cover of Chuck Berry’s novelty rocker Too Pooped To Pop (HMV POP 725).

One of the best female R&B singles, recorded and released solely in Britain, was by an American. Bertice Reading, born in 1933 in Pennsylvania, began her singing and dancing career as a child after being discovered by Bill ‘Bojangles’ Robinson. Reading came to London during the early 50s to sing Bessie Smith songs in the West End production of Jazz Train. She subsequently appeared in many stage musicals and later joined the National Theatre Company. However, in rock’n’roll terms, her greatest recording triumph is Rock Baby Rock (Parlophone R 4462) from 1958. This record was not even released in America, despite her genuine accent and a natural feel for jazz and blues. Reading died of a stroke at the age of 57.

So many straight vocalists tried their hand at rock’n’roll when it was new, perhaps making just one record in the genre before returning to their comfort zone. UK resident Diana Decker fits this category. She was primarily an actress who used her natural New York accent to good effect, being typecast as scatty blondes in British movies. She also sang well enough to make a name as a recording artist, and did very well with sentimental songs such as, Oh My Papa and The Happy Wanderer. Who would have guessed she would let her hair down in 1956 to release the jive single Rock-A-Boogie Baby (Columbia SMC 5246)? Who would have guessed the record would still be in demand as a must-play item at retro dance venues all over Britain?

It was unusual, but a British vocalist occasionally had a record released in America during the 50s. Singer-songwriter Johnny Brandon was one of that rare species. He was hardly a household name in the UK but, in 1956, he billed himself as The King Of Rock & Roll and somehow arranged a working tour of America. On the strength of his visit, which lasted for several weeks, the King imprint of Cincinnati was impressed enough to release Brandon’s first two Parlophone singles, Rock-A Bye Baby (Parlophone MSP 6238) and Shim Sham Shuffle (Parlophone R 4207).

Singers who only cut one or two records pepper Britain’s musical landscape of the 50s, but in some cases that was all it took to guarantee a place in pop history. Janice Peters was a young brunette who signed with EMI in 1958 and came out jiving with her version of Ruth Brown’s This Little Girl’s Gone Rockin’. The following year Peters collaborated with Ian Samwell to record his song A Girl Likes (Columbia 4276), which remains one of the most dynamic female rock’n’roll records ever sung with a British voice.

Dean Webb was a two-shot-wonder who missed both times. But failure with such good records, possibly because of lackadaisical promotion, might also have been the result of someone’s odd selection of tracks for his first single. They were both black vocal group numbers, Hey Miss Fannie, a 1952 hit for The Clovers, and a ballad first recorded by The Drifters called Warm Your Heart. The songs were slightly old fashioned, even by 1959 standards, and the original recordings relied on fine lead singers and group harmony to make them work. Nevertheless, Webb transposed the given material to suit his own voice, and made his version of Hey Miss Fannie (Parlophone R 4549) into a near-perfect example of British rock’n’roll at the tail end of the era.

Bobby Angelo & The Tuxedos are also remembered for just two early 60s singles. The first was a cover of Baby Sitting (HMV POP 892), an American rock’n’roll number written and first recorded by Myron Lee for Keen. Angelo’s version was just as good and had the advantage of another rocker, Skinny Lizzie, on the flipside, though songs about fat or thin girls had lost much of their novelty appeal by 1961. One guarantee of immortality for Angelo’s Baby Sitting is that it can be heard on a jukebox in the 1961 film, Victim, the first to realistically address the subject of homosexuality, then a criminal offence.

Other notables with a low record count must include Dean Shannon, who covered Ubangi Stomp (HMV POP 1103), a song originally recorded by Sun rockabilly star Warren Smith. Danny Davis, a recording artist for a couple of years, cut a version of the Leiber/Stoller song Love Me (Parlophone R 4657) in 1960, but it was too late to expect much response to a cover of an old Elvis hit. Shane Fenton, with his backing group, The Fentones, made a valiant attempt to stop the sun setting on rock’n’roll with his 1961 original, I’m A Moody Guy (Parlophone R 4827). He made a comeback during the 70s as Alvin Stardust, a hitmaker in glam rock. Jimmy Crawford actually sustained a recording career into the 70s, but it’s his 1960 debut single Long Stringy Baby (Columbia DB 4525) that sets him apart as a British rock’n’roll pioneer of the pre-Beatles era.

Talent shows to discover unknown singers didn’t exist on British TV in the 50s, but were a feature in clubs and ballrooms. It was the task of talent scouts and promoters to seek potential teen idols there. Larry Parnes – “Parnes Shillings and Pence” was one nickname – was one pop impresario who became famous for the number of acts he developed into stars. He had little interest in subliminal advertising, and his first trick was to give his artists positive names, such as Steele, Fury, Wilde and Power. “They won’t forget those names in a hurry,” he’d declare.

Marty Wilde, real name Reginald Smith, was one of the best and most prolific of Parnes’ protégés, though his reliance on covering US hits in the 50s and early 60s masked his true worth. To his credit, Wilde transformed second-hand material with his distinctive voice and persona, and gave the public a difficult choice – which were the best versions, his or the originals? British record buyers had no such dichotomy when it came to Wilde’s 1959 version of Dion & The Belmonts’ A Teenager In Love, especially the flipside Danny (Phillips PB 926), a moody interpretation of a song that was scheduled for, but omitted from, Elvis’ 1958 film, King Creole, which hit No 2.

Vince Eager had a substantial run of singles from 1958 to 1963, mostly covers that didn’t add much to the originals. Eager’s rock’n’roll qualifications remain intact primarily because of his first EMI single, Five Days, Five Days (Parlophone R 4482), which was comparable in every way to Gene Vincent’s version.

Few British, or US, pop performers were more visually arresting than Dickie Pride (Richard Kneller). His “Sheik Of Shake” nickname left little to the imagination. Pale and thin in a stylish suit, he’d shout frantic rock’n’roll numbers and literally vibrate to the music. Slippin’ ’N’ Slidin’ (Columbia DB 4083), his first record, in 1959, a cover of Little Richard, is typical of Pride’s style. His untimely death aged 27, apparently the result of experiments with drugs, deteriorating mental health and a lobotomy operation, left a void in British pop music that no one could fill.

Singer/pianist Roy Young was another from the strident school of rock’n’roll performers. He’d found it difficult to secure a recording contract before passing an audition for ATV’s Oh Boy!, but finally made it to a studio in 1959 to cut Big Fat Mama (Fontana H 200), a selfcomposed rocker coupled with a cover of Dee Clark’s Just Keep It Up. Young was a friend of The Beatles, having played piano for them at the Hamburg Star-Club. He declined Brian Epstein’s offer to join the band and later joined Cliff Bennett & The Rebel Rousers.

Bennett, from Slough, Bucks, was a popular recording artist for most of the 60s. With The Rebel Rousers, he first recorded for independent producer Joe Meek, who leased the sides to EMI. Meek’s productions are the most sought-after of Bennett’s oeuvre, especially his crashing 1961 rocker You’ve Got What I Like (Parlophone R 4793).

Meek employed vocalists on looks first, talent second. Sometimes he found singers with both attributes and was fortunate to discover the Elvis-inspired Danny Rivers, who, in 1960, cut a version of Johnny Desmond’s Hawk (Top Rank JAR 408), a finger-snapper in the Fever mould. Though his cover was superior to the original, Rivers quit his brief career in music to work as a cab driver.

A genuine British eccentric, Meek found his match in Screaming Lord Sutch. The latter’s ghoulish stage act, derived from the performances of R&B star Screamin’ Jay Hawkins, inspired Meek to indulge his penchant for the extraordinary by introducing screams and effects on records such as Dracula’s Daughter (Oriole CB 1962). Sutch later took up politics and formed the Monster Raving Loony Party. He hung himself in June 1999, following the death of his dog.

John Leyton was an actor, trained at the Guildhall School Of Music And Drama, who moonlighted as a singer during “resting” periods. Fortunately, his handsome blond looks appealed to Meek, who persevered with his protégé through a couple of failed records until they struck gold in 1961 with Johnny Remember Me (Top Rank JAR 577). This song, written by Meek’s colleague, Geoff Goddard, was given an ethereal treatment reminiscent of Frankie Laine’s plaintive, cinematic style. Today, it’s hard to fully appreciate the emotional impact and eccentric but liberating musical qualities of Johnny Remember Me; you had to be there.

By 1961, Britain’s recording industry appeared to be producing more distinctive talent than America, considering its size. Teenager Helen Shapiro, from Hackney, London, arrived from nowhere with a masculine voice and plenty of confidence, to score internationally with her third single, Walking Back To Happiness (Columbia DB 4715), which sold over a million. Shapiro was, and remains, a singer without precedent.

But originality doesn’t always equal lasting success. The relatively unknown singer/ songwriter, Suzy Cope, from Brighton, made four singles that deserved a wide audience. She began recording in 1961 after winning a talent contest at London’s Stork Room in front of Sammy Davis Jr, Red Buttons, Jule Styne and agent Tito Burns. Cope’s debut Teenage Fool/Juvenile Delinquent (HMV POP 941) is an example of how young British singers were confidently writing their own songs in order to present themselves as a complete package.

No one in pre-Beatles Britain could write songs to fit their own voice better than Frederick Heath, aka Johnny Kidd. His early skiffle groups The Frantic Four and The Nutters failed to resonate. Then he put a patch over an injured eye and called his band Johnny Kidd & The Pirates. His first single, the explosive Please Don’t Touch, illustrates how British rock’n’roll had developed an exclusive musical language by 1959. The clipped English accent, more cutting than the round vowel sounds of most US vocalists, was partly responsible, but the colloquial way musicians played their instruments made a difference. In 1960, Kidd proved you only need three guitars and a drum kit to make a complex two-and-a-half minute symphony in sound. Shakin’ All Over (HMV POP 753) still stands as a perfect pop record, created out of simple musical elements that, placed side-by-side, generate a balance of tension and excitement without precedent on record. It remains one of a select few pre-Beatles British records regarded internationally as bona fide rock’n’roll.

While Kidd was recording his own songs without restriction, other singers made a British breakthrough by having songs written for them. Adam Faith had made a few unsuccessful covers, including a limp High School Confidential, before songwriter Les Vandyke and musical arranger John Barry set him on the road to stardom with one of the most distinctive records of the late 50s. What Do You Want? (Parlophone R 4591) suited Faith’s pronounced lisp as no other; an irresistible tune brought to life with the movement of John Barry’s orchestrated pizzicato strings. It was another perfect pop single and utterly British.

Although British pop ended the 50s in better shape than at the beginning, the age of austerity was not quite over. America was still perceived as having everything the Brits wanted, including good weather and Elvis. Then along came Harry Webb to give the public a ray of sunshine and, briefly, a taste of Presley-ish glamour. Harry and his band, The Drifters, were playing at the 2’i’s coffee bar in April 1958 when they met their catalyst, musician/songwriter Ian Samwell. He later joined The Drifters as a guitarist and, meanwhile, suggested that Webb should change his name to Cliff Richard. According to Samwell, he wrote Move It! (Columbia DB 4178), Cliff’s first record, on the upper deck of a London bus. He’d scribbled the words on a guitar string packet but only had time to write one extended verse. Cliff didn’t bother to add any lyrics and simply sang the same lines twice for the recording.

Good timing and Jack Good’s Oh Boy! were the spur for Cliff’s success, making him the next most likely contender for the British Elvis crown, though he was too vocally distinctive to sound like Presley. Cliff’s band, The Drifters, became The Shadows and the twin acts’ stardom survived the onset of Merseybeat.

John Lennon reportedly said, “before Cliff Richard there was nothing worth listening to in British music”. It was an understandable comment, but patently untrue. Cliff Richard was an important voice to join a decade of others that together helped erode the parochial nature of the Great British recording industry.