Interview with JIMMY HELMS

August 2025

Cross-genre artistry is ridden with challenges even when the genres in question stylistically border on each other, let alone significantly diverge in this regards: here’s why what Jimmy Helms has been doing for many years seems nigh on impossible. His name might be familiar to a lot of listeners, yet quite a few of them can see and admire the entire roadmap of the veteran’s musical adventures, even though his vocals remain easily recognizable in every context, decade after decade. For all the variety of Helms’ numerous endeavors, his creative integrity has remained intact, too.

The listeners associating the worldwide-famous singer – who was born in America, reached stardom in England and lives in France – with LONDONBEAT, a band he still fronts, are hardly aware of his prog-rock-related credentials, and those who heard him in such projects as “The Butterfly Ball” would not be sure whether it was Jimmy or his namesake that took a soul classic “Gonna Make You An Offer” to the charts. But a sample spin of his recordings will convince everyone: there’s only one, and only, Jimmy Helms. Well, actually, there is another one – and our long conversations with the real-deal-man touched on that among many other things.

– Jimmy, I knew your collaborations with Roger Glover and Eddie Hardin, but for many years, I didn’t realize it was you who sang “I’ve Been Thinking About You”: how many people, do you think, make the same mistake?

Probably a lot of people. And that’s okay too, because it’s a nice way to have a conversation – sometimes people come to a situation like this with preconceived ideas about certain aspects, or what they know or what they don’t know, and sometimes it’s better to come fresh.

– Let’s talk about preconceived ideas, then. You were born in the USA…

I was born in the north of Florida, in a small town called Noma, up near Tallahassee and Jacksonville, ten minutes away from the Alabama state borderline.

– …in the South. And like a lot of people from that area, you were influenced by blues but you chose a different path. Why?

Well, when you come back down to it, it’s all blues, really, first and last. My first introduction to music was in Florida, where I was raised by my grandparents and where my grandfather was a preacher, so I was in church a lot, and we were singing gospel. We had all kinds of gospel groups, coming through on tour, singing all of this rich harmony music was what I grew up listening to and was inspired to make music by. I would also listen to the radio every night – it was one hour, or maybe one hour and a half, of music coming from a Nashville radio station that played gospel, early R&B, country music too. There was Sister Rosetta Tharpe, there was Mahalia Jackson and THE FIVE BLIND BOYS, there were THE SOUL STIRRERS, the gospel group that Sam Cooke started with, and Aretha Franklin’s family. Singers who could break your heart with a single note, like Johnny Ace, Jimmy Scott and Jesse Belvin – (sings) “Good night, my love, pleasant dreams…” Doo-wop, R&B and rock came out of that gospel music. My dreams to want to play music came from that period, it was all a mix of what I was hearing every night, until my grandma said, “Turn off that radio and go to sleep!” (Laughs.)

– So “If Jesus Sang The Blues” that you wrote many years later harked back to those times?

Oh, absolutely! And by the way, my grandma would not approve of “If Jesus Sang The Blues…” I can hear her now: “It’s blasphemy, that song is! If your Grandpa was still alive, he’d be turning in his grave !” (Laughs.) Later on, when I started to find my feet playing in bands and traveling a little bit, we were doing covers of what was popular at the time, and the music that was popular at the time was very blues-based. There was a guy who sang a lot with the Count Basie’s band, named Joe Williams, so we did his song – (sings) “Every day, every day I have the blues…” and we did early B.B. King’s things, Chuck Berry, Little Richard, all that stuff. All that music was coming out of what we call the chitlin circuit in America. We would play a venue in any given town in Alabama or Georgia, going up the East Coast, and any given band was obliged to play some blues, and if it didn’t include, in some kind of way, twelve-bar blues, it was a hybrid thing, early R&B. I had left Florida when I was fourteen or fifteen years old, to be with my parents in Columbus, Ohio. I went to high school there, where I learned to play the trumpet, and after high school and a brief time in university, I went on the road, probably for the first time, with THE CARL SALLE BAND. We had two lady singers out front, and I was standing in the back, tooting my horn with two other players.

– Do you think playing trumpet trained your lungs for singing?

No question about it! I remember from my earliest days as a boy, I was like Forrest Gump, running everywhere – I don’t know why – so I understood that it’s important to have good breath. We used to have these contests at school, when I was so small, bobbing for apples: you took a big tub of water, put the apples in so that the apples were floating on top of the water, and you had to catch the apple with your mouth – you couldn’t use your hands. In order to do that, you had to duck your head under the water and hold your breath long enough until you caught the apple with your teeth and brought it back up again, and I was winning the contest because I could hold my breath under water longer than most of the others in my class. And because I had good breath control, I adapted to the trumpet quickly, and that transferred into singing. I listen now to singers who influenced me early on, Johnny Mathis, Ella Fitzgerald, [Frank] Sinatra, for example: they all had exceptionally good breath control. That’s a secret to playing any wind instrument, and singing, of course.

– Did you know that Ronnie James Dio and Glenn Hughes – the other singers on “The Butterfly Ball” – played, respectively, trumpet and trombone?

Wow! I didn’t know that. I didn’t always get to meet the people that I wanted to meet, especially in England, because when we worked together on projects, one guy would come in and do his thing, and then, maybe four hours later or the next day, the next artist would come in and do his thing. But all these singers playing winds instruments – that’s interesting.

– You mentioned university, and it wasn’t a common thing for black guys to go for higher education back in the Sixties. How did you manage that and what did you study?

That’s tricky, and here’s why. Far too many black guys I knew never even got a chance at higher education, because they got called up for military duty, to serve in Vietnam. Some of those who survived managed to get higher education through government aid, but I’m thinking of the guys who didn’t survive, or who didn’t get help, and I see how fortunate I’ve been. When I left high school, I just wanted to go and play music, but my dad said, “Look, you’ve got ambitions for music, but you need to have a vocation you can depend on in case the music doesn’t work, a safety net, if you will!” So I thought about it and said, “Yeah, okay, I’ll try it for a while and I see how I get on!” I enrolled at Ohio State University in Columbus, in a liberal arts course, and I stayed there for a couple of years. I wasn’t sure whether I’d get into some kind of medical profession, like dentistry, or study journalism – I finally chose journalism, because I’ve always had a big interest in poetry, language, verbal and written communication – in writing a story. My time at university served me well because, as I look back on it now, it helped me to hone whatever talent I may have for writing songs and stories. But I left university and ran back to music.

– But you also had a spell in the army.

It wasn’t something that I chose to do: I got notice to be drafted, and I did everything I could to avoid it. Vietnam was kicking pretty heavy at that time, which I wanted no part in, for a number of reasons, political and personal, but in the end, after all the efforts I made, I had to serve. But I look back on it now as a crucial point in my life, a crossroads, where I learned a lot about myself. I was lucky enough to get into the army band, so I stayed out of any action somehow – I was based mainly in Atlanta, Georgia, in the Third Army Band, and I stayed there for the duration of my time – but some of my good friends were not so fortunate. A lot of guys I knew got shipped out to Hawaii thinking, “Oh, I’m going to spend some good time!” but that proved not to be the case, because Hawaii turned out to be a stop-over point for Vietnam, and many of my friends didn’t come back. So all things considered, I’ve been very fortunate.

– Afterwards, you laid down the trumpet and became a vocalist. And you have a very distinctive way of singing: as much as you were influenced by gospel and blues, you have quite an operatic voice. Did you have any formal training?

Yes, for a bit. While I was at university, trying to stay focused on music and my studies, I worked nights as well, saved my pennies and I was having voice lessons from a lady named Mrs. Brickman – she was also a vocal coach for singer Nancy Wilson, who, in her early days, lived and worked around Columbus. Mrs. Brickman taught me a lot about breath control, about how to sing without damaging your voice, and she recommended some singers that I should listen to: contemporary and jazz singers, opera, a mix. And it was good, because later on, in the army band, we played a lot of classical music too, so I welcomed the challenge to train my ear, my voice and everything, to be able to accomplish singing all kinds of music. People like, again, Johnny Mathis, Sinatra, Ella Fitzgerald, even, later on, Pavarotti, have a big, big place in my musical universe, because I aspired to reach that level of being good at what singing means to be – but mainly to sound like me, not someone else.

– What about composition and melodic layer of classical music?

I learned to read music at school, but I’m limited in terms of composition. I can’t actually write out music arrangements for example, because I did not have the formal training in music theory etcetera, that a lot of my friends got, so the heroes that I latched myself onto were people like Errol Garner: this man could not read or write a note of music, but look what he did! “Misty” is just the tip of the iceberg of what he composed! Jimi Hendrix couldn’t read music either, and it influenced the nature of how he and Miles Davis would work together – there’s a story that late in his life, Hendrix did some collaboration with Miles who, of course, was a giant of composition. Miles had formal music training from his early days in New York City. But Miles was all the more impressed to learn that Hendrix was a totally self-taught musician. The point is, sometimes too much training can get in the way of your natural talent, your musical instincts. It’s like anything else: you learn the rules so you know how to bend them.

– Still, you started writing your own music and you even formed your own label, Oracle. You didn’t go to, say, Stax. Why?

Stax or Motown would’ve been great, but that opportunity never came. Anyway, in a big company like that, I might have had trouble getting the attention I needed – to get to the head of the class, so to speak. So, there are many roads to Rome… I found another path, because, your own life experience, your own dreams and emotions are what need to matter the most. That’s what makes you unique. I’ve always wanted to do my own thing – from listening to early Motown music, when Stevie Wonder and Marvin Gaye started to do it – and I look at what that represents now. Artists like Paul McCartney made their mark by what they created themselves, musically, while Elvis Presley, whose name will never die and whose legacy lives on, did not make his mark as a composer, so my aspiration has been for a long, long time to try and get to what I wanted to say. Nobody else can express what’s inside of you like you can – it’s about finding the tools and learning to use them, so you can do that. I feel pretty happy that I’ve been able to do that, to some degree – it’s not over yet, but I’m getting there.

When we started Oracle Records in Boston, it was a great time in the music industry for opportunities. Everything was wide open. Big corporations like Capitol Records and EMI were diversifying and tapping into sources of local music in a way that had not been done before, and we were fortunate to get the interest from Columbia Records to fund Oracle. The idea was to find artists around Boston, and wherever I happened to be working, if I saw somebody who impressed me that way. So it was a chance to not just do my own thing, but also to bring other artists on board. There was myself as an artist, getting other artists involved, and on the business side of things was my manager at the time, Buck Spurr, who was a great ideas man, and another good friend, Ron Simons, who I’m still in touch with. So I was the artist and talent scout, while Buck and Ron dealt with finance, marketing and distribution, in partnership with Columbia Records in New York.

– Why did you call it Oracle? Were there any predictions?

Good question! If memory serves, that name came from the Oracle of Delphi. I think it was Buck who came up with that name. It was the late Sixties, so yes, we were into Nostradamus, predictions and all that.

– Did you manage to sign anybody except yourself?

We signed a couple of projects that did well. One was a singer named Jaime Brockett, who had a big success with a kind of humorous song about the Titanic [“Legend of the U.S.S. Titanic” – DME] – if you can find humor in that, Jaime managed to – he had a pretty good career up and down the East Coast, doing the folk festivals, in and around Soho / Manhattan, and so on. Also a band called ORPHEUS, who had a couple of hit singles, sold some albums, did some good television and a lot of good tours. We were all playing concerts for various colleges and universities around New England, summer festivals, what have you. What we didn’t achieve in record sales, we made up for with live shows. Tours. That’s when I began to see the importance of touring. It’s the lifeblood of a band.

– It was on Oracle that you released your self-titled solo album in 1969. I love it very much, but I found it strange that you didn’t include any of your songs but covered THE BEATLES, THE DOORS, Broadway tunes and even Buffy Sainte-Marie.

Thank you! I was just starting out – Just beginning to hook up with people that I felt good working and writing songs with. I was living in Boston at the time, and the music scene was electric – it still is. Berkelee School of Music, one of the best music schools in the world, is there – and musicians from all over the world were coming to Berkelee for formal music training, so I had the best of Boston musicians playing on that album. I was doing a lot of television, so that helped promote it. And that album is what we came up with at that moment – that album is mostly songs that I was doing in my live shows. So you’re right, it was an interesting mix. I look at it now and I think, “Hmm, okay…” Because this was my thing, my vision, I had the chance to choose my own songs without too much interference from the record company. If it’s done by some guy who doesn’t know what you’re reaching for, it becomes his vision, not your own. I chose songs from different genres because it’s all music. You can label it – call it pop, R&B, whatever – but in my quiet way with that album, it was an effort to just say, “Yeah, let’s record the songs I do in my live show, songs that most people know. Nothing of mine made it onto the album, but we took the best songs we had at the time. My own songs came later.

– And when did you start to feel confident about your writing?

My confidence really started to arrive when we formed LONDONBEAT, where we had four people working together every day, collaborating, pitching ideas and being as objective and as critical of each other as we could be, because that’s how you grow.

– Still, you were confident enough to get into the sessions scene, and would work as a backing singer for quite a few famous artists. But did you really back THE BEACH BOYS, or it’s a different Jimmy Helms who’s credited on their “Feel Flows” box set?

Good question. I was checking my PRS statements – PRS is Performing Rights Society, where you copyright your songs to get your best chance of getting residuals from what you write – and I saw “Jimmy Helms” credited on a song I didn’t remember writing, so I checked online and there’s a guy named Jimmy Helms, who’s a country-and-western singer. So yeah, it’s easy to be mistaken for someone else in this business, it happens a lot, and I’m sure it was the other Jimmy Helms, because I don’t recall ever working with THE BEACH BOYS. I would like to have done, and I did spent some time in Los Angeles where I worked with a lot of world-famous studio musicians. My managers were sharing an office building with Jim Webb, so in and out of those doors I met and worked with many of them. But I didn’t do much recording with other artists in the USA, it was mainly for my own recordings.

– So your sessions began after you moved to the UK?

Yeah. Pretty much so. About ninety-nine per cent true.

– Why did you decide to move?

I was working the clubs, making records, doing a lot of television and theater, mainly on the East Coast, but what eluded me was major record success. Then, in New York, I met artists who had spent time in the UK and were going back and forth, and they were all saying to me, “Jimmy, you ought to get yourself to London, because there are good opportunities. It’s like a melting pot for all the arts!” What brought it to a head, though, was that I met [British songwriter] Les Reed in Athens, the Greek Song Festival – that’s pretty much like the Eurovision is now, but not quite like that – and Les, who wrote Tom Jones’ biggest hits, invited me to come to the UK. After what I already knew about the music scene in England and Europe, I thought, “Well, yeah, something’s going on, and I need to go check it out!” So I rubbed my pennies together, packed my bag and flew to London. It was a big step, I didn’t really know anyone in the UK – all I had was a couple of phone numbers and a very thin wallet.

– Did you get any cultural shock?

Oh yeah, for sure! First off, the food. I don’t crave overly spicy food, just food with good seasoning that makes you want to have it again, so I found the British food a bit bland in the beginning – but I’ll hasten to say this: things that surprised me in a good, positive way, far outweighed the negatives. The social atmosphere, the music scene, fashion, all coming from one place! London was electric! New York is New York, nothing can top it, but London… I had never felt that kind of positive energy. I was meeting more musicians – from all over the globe – than I ever dreamed of meeting in the US: that gives you some sort of idea. I’d be sipping coffee in some tiny cafe in Soho, or window-shopping in Carnaby Street, and out of nowhere comes a voice I knew from Boston, shouting, “Jimmy! My man! What’re you doing here?” I turn around and it’s somebody I used to gig with back home, when we were all struggling to catch a break. Now here he or she is in London, appearing at Ronnie Scott’s Jazz Club, or the Albert Hall, or whatever. It could only happen in London.

– As far as I know, there still was a certain level of racism at the time. Did you ever feel that?

Racism is like dog droppings, it’s everywhere. So yeah, I experienced it in the UK just like anyplace else. You’d be walking home late at night in London, and a car flies by and they’re shouting something that’s not worth repeating. There was social tension – still is. But I think I was kind of insulated by being around the people who knew London a lot better than I ever would, people who had already lived there for a long time who took me under their wings. There was a lady named Doris Troy – (sings) “Just one look and then I knew…” – Madeline Bell, who’s still performing, P.P. Arnold: all of them, and guys from every walk of life and genre of music, coming over from the US, gathered together at Doris Troy’s house. It was a meeting place where there was always just good, joyful feelings, a lot of music being played, a lot of jamming going on – and that was the kind of atmosphere that kept me away from the bad stuff. I’d get a tap on the shoulder, and someone would say, “This is a good place to jam. I’ll meet you there tonight” or “Stay clear of this or that place ‘cos it’s a bit dodgy.” Having friends like that meant everything to me in that situation. Imagine arriving anywhere in the world in a big city where you don’t know anybody, but it’s the music – and the people you connect with in music – that saves you. Performers are like family. We look out for each other. So I stayed, and I’m glad I did. Thank you, UK, and Europe, you’ve been very kind to me!

– You recorded the titular song for the movie called “Black Joy” – but did you find this film’s story relatable?

Yes, absolutely. I connect with it on many different levels. It’s a story that is universal for any kind of music, not just black music, but all kinds. It’s about the challenges – the social challenges, the career challenges that people have to face, whether it’s in music or working in an office. It’s all of these things: the racial themes, the social vibe amongst people who are coming from the same place, or from different roots, who have their likes and dislikes about the music that makes them dance. All of these things are relatable. But what’s also interesting is, “Black Joy” was one of the first projects that I got involved in soon, a week or two, after I arrived in London. I wasn’t actually in the film, not that I recall; my involvement was the song “Black Joy” written by a man named John Worth whom I met through Les Reed and who was a staff songwriter in Reed’s company.

There were other tracks being put together and recorded for this film, and I was invited along with Doris and Madeline and a whole bunch of other people, such as Jimmy Thomas, who’d arrived in the UK with Ike and Tina Turner and stayed on. There we all were under the same roof, and didn’t really know each other except for the music – that was our meeting ground! After that session, John Worth asked for my number, and he came up with the song “Black Joy” which became the title track of the film, and thankfully, he gave me the job of singing the lead on it. I was listening to it the other day, and I thought that in terms of diving off the deep end of the pool, with new people, new ideas, under challenging circumstances, it stretched me in a way that I’m grateful for now.

– And “Black Joy” led to your contract with Cube and Pye Records, correct? But you recorded only one album for them, “Gonna Make You An Offer!”?

Correct. That certainly was my liftoff in the UK and in Europe, because everything started to happen for me after that album, in particular with the track “Gonna Make You An Offer You Can’t Refuse” which John Worth wrote and produced. It solidified a really good artist-producer relationship between us, and it was my first taste of global success. A funny story: I remember sitting in the office at the record company, and in walks a man from Brazil with a suitcase, who said, “I have here the Brazilian royalties for “Gonna Make You An Offer! All tied up in cash!” He’d brought the cash money and plopped it on the desk! (Laughs.)To me, this was like the wild wild west, before PRS. Something I’ll never forget.

– You co-wrote a few tracks on that album with arranger Mike Moran who would become a popular producer too.

That’s correct. Mike had just graduated from the Royal Academy of Music in London, so it was great working him, especially when it came to the ideas that I had about what the strings ought to be doing. If you listen to “Make You an Offer” or “Brother Sunshine” you’ll hear little riffs in the music that Mike Moran and I sat at the piano and worked out. It was like “Boom!” from bar one, we got on like a house on fire. Mike later worked with Freddy Mercury and QUEEN with great success.

– Then, there was a single called “Romeo And Juliet” that would later appear on Northern Soul compilations, Only it wasn’t Northern Soul as such, was it?

So many things I’ve done, where I’d like to go back and tweak this or that, but “Romeo And Juliet” was one of my ideas that I can listen to now and say, “Yes!” – and feel a hundred per cent that I wouldn’t change it. “Romeo And Juliet” didn’t score as big as “Make You An Offer!” did, but it opened new avenues. It gave me more confidence in my songwriting. And as for the whole Northern Soul thing, somebody sent me a message a while back and said, “Hey, do you know they’re selling ‘Romeo And Juliet’ on vinyl for five hundred quid online?” I couldn’t believe it! It’s great to still see longevity in that song.

There’s something reassuring about new generations discovering music from back in the day, and on my personal level, “Romeo And Juliet” is one of those cases where young people comment online, “Where was I when this song came out? Why have I never heard it before?” That’s one of the great things about Northern Soul – it’s mainly obscure vinyl that people would ordinarily never have heard if not for some DJ who’s dedicated in his research, digging out those off-the-beaten-track kind of tracks, if you will. For me, it’s interesting because it’s about songs that artists have recorded and forgotten about, and that maybe, if the karma is right, they can hope to see a few pennies later on. So Northern Soul is a blessing for bringing that to light – plus the pure joy on people’s faces when they dance to it.

– Who were the players on that album, by the way?

Oh, Mike Moran on keyboards and directing some sessions; Andrew Powell arranged and conducted on some tracks as well. We had the top session musicians from around London; we had three guitarists, including Ray Russell, who’s done a lot of stuff, percussionist Ray Cooper who toured with Elton John, and Mo Foster – a dear friend of mine, a very comical, humorous, intelligent man – on bass. Mo passed away recently, and I was able to join in a final farewell to him at his memorial, which was organized by Ray Russell, with artists including Deborah Bonham, Simon Phillips, the superb drummer, and John Thirkle, brilliant brass player and arranger who went on to work with Jamiroquai. Mo Foster’s memorial was a good chance to relive the moments we’re speaking about now. Back then these players were just making their name on a global level. Just like the Stax sound and the Motown sound came from the players who were doing the tracks, England was at that point getting its own sound together, so it was a glorious time. We would book the session, lay down the tracks, then record my vocals, last of all. Later, when I went out on tour, to perform this music live, I always insisted on getting the same players, so we could recapture that vibe, that electricity that we had in the studio.

– You came to England to be a singer but you didn’t abandon the trumpet and you were part of the brass section on “No Easy Road” by WISHBONE ASH. How did guys like Andy Powell know that you could do that?

Good point! I was constantly experimenting, learning how to be uniquely me, and how I wanted to be seen and heard as an artist. I was looking at role models like Louis Armstrong. You can’t separate Louis’ trumpet playing from his singing – they are one. His whole persona comes out through his horn and his singing, it’s like he’s singing through his trumpet. So I took a big lesson from that and I thought, “For as long as I can and for as often as I can, with every opportunity I get, I want to have my horn in my hand!” If nothing else, it’s a good way to express an idea to another musician. I can sit there and go, “Play me a chord and I’ll sing it for you!” But when I can play the riff on my horn, that’s a more immediate way of communicating. So it was from my own recording sessions, where I played a bit, that other people started asking me to come along and lay down a funky horn riff with other brass players on their tracks. We’d jam around together in sweaty little clubs, and friends like Mike Moran and Andy Powell would ring me when they got session work, so that’s how the WISHBONE ASH thing came about.

– But it was more than that with STRAY. Not only you played a trumpet on their “Move It” but you also wrote “Customs Man” for that album. How did that happen?

STRAY and I had the same management at the time, and I became good friends with Del Bromham from just hanging out in the manager’s office, so when STRAY started recording “Move It,” our manager said, “We need some songs. Can you come up with something?” At that time, my then-fiancée was planning to come to England and she was having trouble getting a visa, so that’s where “Customs Man” was coming from. We had a great time in the studio working that out, and STRAY did a few gigs where I jumped on stage and played, and maybe sang a few bv’s [backing vocals. – DME]. That was the vibe!

– Was it the first time that you wrote a song for somebody else rather than yourself?

Yeah, that was the first time something I wrote and gave to somebody else actually got recorded. It was one more reason why I was so fulfilled, arriving in London, feeling like the cat who has landed on its feet.

– Do you remember your first session for other artists in England?

I think my earliest time in a UK studio, working with another artist, was for David Essex, where I first met producer Jeff Wayne. It was myself and my friend Jimmy Thomas, whom I mentioned earlier – we were sharing a flat for a while and doing these kinds of gigs. Jeff was looking for two guys to do some backing vocals, so we arrived, and the track turned out to be, (sings Essex’s “Rock On”) “Hey, did you rock and roll? Rock on!” And there’s a happy ending to that story. After recording “Rock On” I went back to the US for Christmas. So there I was, in New Jersey, the David Essex session just a great memory by then. Lo and behold, somebody had the radio on one day and I heard “Rock On” booming around the house. A big hit in the USA. Suddenly, I was seeing something that I had done, through the eyes of my folks back home – there’s something revealing that happens when you’ve had success abroad and you’re back home watching your people react to it. It’s a prism: when you see it through the eyes of someone else, especially your folks back home, it takes on a new meaning, watching your folks react to something you’ve done abroad. So “Rock On” was a big deal.

– And your next work was the “Songs I Sing” album that followed the pattern of “Offer”: a few pieces that you wrote complemented by covers. Why?

There was this back-and-forth with the A&R guys in the record company. We had to make some tricky decisions about what songs to put on the album. “You got to do this one! Not sure about that one!” – that kind of vibe. A lot of artists didn’t have any say whatsoever in that regard, so it was kind of a straitjacket: it puts you in a bind that, if you’re not careful, you’ll never get out of. It’s a compromise until an artist reaches the point where they have a few hits under their belt – and that’s a funny old word, “hits”! (Laughs.) It’s almost like being typecast as an actor, being confined to a certain kind of role. It’s great having success, but you’re also trying not to get boxed in.

– So who chose Barbra Streisand’s “The Way We Were”? You or the A&R department?

I did. I remember going to see the film [“The Way We Were”] and thinking that the song not only captured its storyline which so many people related to – it was one of the major reasons the movie was a big success – but became the soundtrack to a lot of people’s lives. I connected with the song on that level, and it stayed with me – still does.

– Your version of Barbra’s song is just fantastic. Was it difficult to approach a song where you had to change the gender aspect of it?

In a way, yes, in a way, no. As a guy about to tackle a song that was made so very popular by a lady – and Barbra is a fabulous, fabulous singer! – it would be a huge mistake to try and rehash her performance, or do it exactly the way she did. My point in doing the song was simply to say, “This is how I relate to that story on my own terms” – to approach it from my personal experience, and let my own life speak to these words. It has to be my interpretation of the words, the melody! When that happens and it feels right so much later, so many years after I’ve done it, I can still listen to it and say, “Yeah, that was a good idea!”

– There were three tracks on “Songs I Sing” co-written by Gary Osborne. Did you get to know him through Jeff Wayne who Gary had been working with?

It was a recording studio situation, because, once again, the studio is a crossroads where a lot of people meet for the first time, and a lot of friendships and associations happen there. Gary was in the studio when we were doing the backing for a song he had written or co-written, so he came over, said that he had heard “Gonna Make You An Offer You Can’t Refuse” and he liked my voice, and asked, “Is it okay if I send some songs to your management office?” I said, “Yeah, please do!” That was the beginning of my story with Gary. He writes good songs, I like his verbal imagery.

– You mentioned how invested you were in the storyline of “The Way We Were” – but how much were you related to what was going on in Roger Glover’s “Butterfly Ball” and Eddie Hardin’s “Wizard’s Convention”?

Well, once again, in a way, a singer interpreting a song is like an actor giving his interpretation of a character that he’s been hired to play. It’s listening to the song to see how it connects with your own life because it begins there. Your best and often your only hope of having a song connect with anyone else starts from how you connect with it, as the singer. If I connect with the song the right way, then I can make other people feel like, “Yeah, he’s singing about my life here!” The same applies to every song, whether it’s something I’ve written myself or someone else’s. I can’t remember what the character is in “The Butterfly Ball” – but whatever it is, animal or human, it’s a living entity, it’s something that has life and something you connect with, on some level, in this world of climate concerns. You had a lot of songs like that coming out, back when “The Butterfly Ball” was recorded: Marvin Gaye’s “What’s Going On” and all this music was coming through, and that was a frame of reference to say, “It’s all life, we’re all connected, in this creation that we’re blessed to be a part of!”

– Did you get into this circle of Roger Glover and Eddie Hardin’s projects through Ray Russell and Mo Foster?

Yep, Mo, Ray, and other players as well. It was word of mouth – as I said there was a network of people who, if something was happening that somebody thought you’d be interested in, they’d pick up the phone and ring you. With “The Butterfly Ball” it was a direct call – the producer from the sessions called me and said, “I think we’ve got a song for you. Come on down to the studio if you’ve got a minute.” “When?” “This evening, seven o’clock, after the traffic dies down.” So I made my way to the studio in the West End of London and boom! – I listened to the track that they had in mind, a couple of times, went to the microphone and started putting down my interpretation of the song. It was quite spontaneous. It wasn’t a case of them sending me the song two weeks before and me having the chance to get my head around it that way; it was a case of trusting my instincts, and that’s a joyful challenge, especially when it comes off right. If there’s one thing I would wish for young artists of any nature coming up, it is to build your chops up so that you can trust your instincts in a situation like that and go for what is inside of you. It’s total exhilaration.

– Most of the people who sang on “The Butterfly Ball” went on to perform that album at the Albert Hall a year later, but you weren’t there? Weren’t you invited?

I was in the US – again. Family and career situations at that time were dictating that I needed to be back there. I knew that event was coming up and I was doing my very best to be a part of it, but it just didn’t work out. And I’m sad, on one hand, because it was a very meaningful project to be part of, but on the other hand, I look at it and I think the record stands for itself. When you watch the video recording online and see the person performing the song [Al Matthews. – DME] it’s my interpretation of the song that you hear. And that makes me proud. That’s part and parcel of this thing we call synchronicity. When I went to the mic to record it, I was trying different things: I started off with a kind of poppy, middle-of-the-road approach, something that I thought might be radio-friendly, but then I backed away for a second and thought, “I need to sing this song from my heart!” You have to let inspiration come in and breathe on it, until something that wasn’t there arrives, and you need room to do that. I’m talking about digging deep, and singing from the heart. So I stepped back up to the microphone and I started to sing what finally came through on the record. The guys in the studio were jumping up and down saying, “Now we’re getting somewhere!”

– But were you given the actual story of what was happening on the album? Had you read the book it was based on?

I didn’t know the story. I had not read the book. I was just doing the character by the seat of my trousers. (Laughs.) And it was almost an identical situation with “Wizard’s Convention”: the approach, and the way things unfolded – it was almost like these two projects could have been done in the same recording session. What I mean is, I got a bit of a backstory, if you will, when I first arrived in the studio. They played me a bit of the song before and the song after the one I was going to sing, just as a reference, to say, “It unfolds like this and that, and so on.” But for me it was pure jungle instinct, start to finish.

– But there was one major difference between what you did on “The Butterfly Ball” and “Wizard’s Convention”: “Waiting” on the former album was done in a soul way, while you went for operatic approach on “Loose Ends” and, especially “She’s A Woman” on the latter.

It’s not just me who takes that approach. Singers, when they allow themselves, find that they have many voices inside them, and the ones that I admire most, have this ability. I keep going back to Marvin Gaye: he could sing soft and sweet so you barely heard him, but he pulled you in, and then he could stand back from the mic and blow the walls off. I mention Jackie Wilson, this dancing, magnificent performer singing his socks off on “[I Get] The Sweetest Feeling” and all that stuff, but I heard him sing like Pavarotti. Aretha Franklin, I heard her sing “Nessun Dorma” – and it’s something that I carry around in my soul as the best argument for what you’re suggesting here. I think soul music is really black classical music. And there are many sides to a true artist: with care and attention, you find all of these voices inside of you that you can express, hopefully, to your advantage.

– Eddie Hardin said somewhere that you had to do “She’s A Woman” quite a few times and there were many edits, so that final version was a montage. Why was it so difficult for you?

Because of the pitch: “She’s A Woman” was meant to be sung very high, and I wanted to sing it in full voice, not falsetto. Once again, I was introduced to this song in the studio, and after a few takes they offered to drop the key down, but I said, “No, let my voice open up. I’m here to do this properly. When we walk away from this session, all of us, especially me, want to know that I’ve done the song justice!” It took me a while to hit the high register comfortably, and if you listen now, you’ll swear I needed a ladder to reach some of those high notes (laughs) – but it’s about staying with something until you get it right. Sometimes, you record a song and it goes, “Bang!” – first take, like it landed from the skies into your lap – and that’s a blessing; other times, you have to work for it, and when the hard work pays off, that’s makes it even sweeter. By the way, Eddie Hardin was living here in France, and we were in touch, planning to do a remake of “She’s A Woman.” Sadly, he passed away before we could do it. My wife loves that song, I love it too. It speaks to womanhood, to manhood, and to who we are as humans, on a lot of levels. So, yeah, “She’s A Woman” has a special place in my heart. Bless you, Eddie!

– Since we’re talking about this, let me ask you about other quasi-theatrical experiences. You took part in the studio version of Dave Clark’s musical “Time” with, again, Ray Russell and Mike Moran.

That happened when I returned to the UK, after living back in the USA for a while. I was determined to get some music technology under my belt, so I went back to university in Boston, where I took some courses in computer science and programming, and I worked doing that for a while in Boston, until I got up to here (points to his throat) with it and decided that it was a good way to make a living, but not for me. At that time, I happened to pick up a copy of “The Wall Street Journal” and the cover story was about the new British music invasion in the US: there were bands like THOMPSON TWINS and, notably, EURYTHMICS, who were having great success with (sings) “Sweet dreams are made of this…” – That’s when I knew that the bell was ringing and it was time to return to the UK.

So we sold the house, packed up everything and boom! – we were back in London. Soon after arriving, I was in touch with Mike Moran, he told me he’d signed on as musical director for Dave Clark’s project “Time” which was being developed. Dave and Mike asked if I would be interested in singing some of the songs and maybe even doing an audition for one of the parts in the production. I knew Dave’s music, of course, and his reputation as a smart businessman with creative vision. So for all these reasons, I jumped at the chance to sing whatever songs they offered me. We recorded everything in Mike’s home studio, along with Stevie Wonder, Cliff Richard and many of the other artists who appeared on the “Time” LP. But speaking of theater, I had done the black lead, Hud, in the Boston production of “Hair”: that was great fun!

– What about your last theatrical experience, the part of a pirate in Jeff Wayne’s “Spartacus”? Did he remember you from “Rock On” and invited you back to work with him?

Yes, friends of mine had worked on “Spartacus” and maybe mentioned me, so Jeff’s office rang me: “Jeff wants to speak to you about something that he wants you to do.” “Great,” I thought, ’cause I had something I wanted him to do, as well. I had just started writing a story at that time, and Jeff gave me some pointers about what direction to take it in, in terms of visuals and so forth. The best artists, writers, producers, whatever, keep a few secrets up their sleeves: The Jeff Wayne I knew from “Rock On” was producing pop, pop-rock music. The fact that Jeff had now evolved to massive projects like “War of the Worlds” and “Spartacus” made working with him again a very exciting idea. Jazz, classical, everything: “Spartacus” has elements of so many music genres. I relate that to my love of jazz and classical music, right across the spectrum – and when I say jazz, I’m talking about bebop, Charlie Parker, Miles Davis, that early period when jazz was establishing itself as the American classical music – so working on “Spartacus” lifted me to a whole new level of myself. Besides, he liked our song “9am,” so what’s not to like about Jeff?

– The story you took to Jeff. What was it about and did you publish it?

My story is true fiction, about a boy, his computer game, and his dream about the Aztecs. He meets Montezuma, and Cortez, to tell them of his vision: “Why fight over gold? Put your heads together and bring chocolate to the world. You’ll be glad you did – and here’s why!” It’s safely copyrighted, but I didn’t publish it yet. It’s hard to get a film idea off the ground – getting it funded, getting the right people on board, who’ll commit to it and see it through. But I’m convinced it’s a story worth telling, so we’ll see.

– We talked about your session for “Rock On” that Jeff produced. What other sessions have stuck in your memory?

I remember recording a song called “Say It Ain’t So, Joe,” with Roger Daltrey, me and two lady singers on backing vocals. Then came time to shoot the video, at Shepperton film studios in London, if memory serves, and it was an experience I’ll never forget. This helicopter arrives, and out leaps Keith Moon, live and electric! Here was the dazzling drummer everyone knew and loved: full Moon, mad as anything, bashing his drum kit like Animal on “The Muppets”!” Keith, romancing the camera in his full-length mink coat and his Y-fronts. Roger, with his head in his hands, trying to hold things together. And the catering was like a Roman banquet: roast pig on platters… insane! Deliciously decadent. For just one day, we lived like Julius Caesar! (Laughs.)

– Let’s touch upon a few more records you were involved with. Ashton and Lord’s “First Of The Big Bands”?

Oh, yes, Jon Lord and Tony Ashton! Both great musicians and huge personalities. I first met them when we all worked with Doris Troy, on her big gig at the Rainbow, a famous rock venue in London. Later on, when we met up for “First Of The Big Bands,” Jon, Tony and I were dining out on memories of Doris. Jon, Tony – all these guys grew up listening to blues, R&B and jazz music. They turned me on to obscure American artists I’d never even heard of. So we hit it off in a big way.

– SCAFFOLD’s “Fresh Liver”?

I can’t remember where the call came from, because I’d never met Mike McGear before, but I remember turning up at the studio, looking from a distance and thinking it was [his older brother] Paul McCartney sitting there at the piano. The physical resemblance was striking! A very friendly man and very musical – I think music runs in the family bloodline, it’s in the DNA with these guys. He played what he wanted us backing singers to do. The way I connected with “Fresh Liver” was that I grew up eating liver and onions – whether I wanted to or not. “Shut up and eat your liver!” (Laughs.) Anyway, it was a good song, as I recall.

– Cat Stevens’ “Buddha And The Chocolate Box”?

I knew Cat’s work, he was very popular in the US, and I loved what he expressed in his lyrics. I’m not sure if Cat was on the session. His keyboards player [Jean Roussel] was there, and Jean was an absolute musical genius. I can’t remember what song it was, but that was one more chance to be connected with an artist that I respected highly.

– Next up, “Waking Up” by Topper Headon.

That’s an interesting one. I had just arrived back in the UK and was looking for a route out of computers and back into music where I belonged. I got a call from what we call a fixer [session contractor. – DME] who said that Topper from THE CLASH was working on a solo album. There are cases where an artist leaves a band, but he’s still obliged to deliver two, three or four albums to see out his contractual obligation, so that’s what this was. I knew THE CLASH, I remember sitting at home in Boston and watching “Rock The Casbah” on MTV, so to hear first-hand from Topper about how he wrote that song, was magic. I turned up at the studio, the producer started playing me tracks, and I ended up singing most of the songs on that album. There were already melodies and lyrics that had been kicked around and thrown out, so I had to come up with my own ideas for melodies and lyrics.

The truth of the matter is, in that situation, you deserve a credit in the writing of the songs, because you showed up, you dove into these unfinished songs and remade them, but you don’t get the credit because you’re acting in good faith. I changed a lot of melodies and a lot of the lyrics. That was my way of saying, “If I’m going to be a part of this, I got to make it the best I can, so that when I hear it years later, I’ll still feel good about it! “It was all done in the studio – I can’t remember ever taking anything home to rehearse and bring back the next day. It was all on the spot, in front of the microphone. John Turnbull, Bobby Tench, Mick Gallagher: a brilliant band worked on “Waking Up.” And we played some great gigs off the back of that album.

– The fact that you knew THE CLASH while living in America means you remained interested in what was going on back in England, right?

Oh, absolutely. MTV was on full blast then. Music was in my blood, and once it’s in your blood, it’s never out. Initially, I went back to the US at the end of “Going To Make You An Offer” era, when that hit had come and gone and we were not successful in finding a strong enough follow up. There were management problems and not good relationships with the record company who wanted me to sing what they wanted me to sing instead of what was in my heart and soul. I had recorded “Songs I Sing,” but the atmosphere was not helping me. I wasn’t happy with the direction my career was moving in, and there wasn’t enough support from my record company to develop my own song ideas and moving that forward. All that drove me out of the UK music scene. I needed to go off and do something else for a while, for my sanity, for finances, for all kinds of reasons, but I never shut the door and said, “I never want to hear anything about music again!” I would have been kidding myself to take that kind of approach, so every time I returned to the UK, it was because that was the right move to make at that point in my life. Music has always been the driving force in my life.

– So it was soon after you returned for good that you took part in “Mad Not Mad” by MADNESS?

MADNESS! Suggs! Carl! Yeah, I keep mentioning MTV. “Our House” was on high rotation on MTV back in Boston, so I jumped at the chance to do some session work with these guys, and, again, that recording work led to touring with them around the UK. Sheer joy and laughter.

– Paul Young’s “Other Voices”?

Now there’s an interesting story. Shortly before we got together to form LONDONBEAT, I got a phone call from George Chandler who was touring at that time with Jimmy Chambers as backing singers for Paul Young. Paul was already established with (sings) “Wherever I lay my hat, that’s my home” – but when George asked me to come on tour with Paul, I said, “No. Thanks for the offer, but I want to stay focused on something original, whether it’s solo or with a group.” But later, when the chance came to record with Paul, the three of us – George, Jimmy Chambers and I – did that together. It was a cover of a CHI-LITES song [“Oh Girl”], as I recall.

– The last one: THE JAMES LAST ORCHESTRA.

That was a bread and butter. James Last had an amazingly loyal following. His fans followed him all over Europe! My first inclination was to say, “Now, do I want to associate with this middle-of-the-road image?” That’s what he was famous for and hugely successful at, and here I was, trying to move in a direction that was far removed from that. I made the choice to do it because I needed to feed my family and pay the rent. And like many things in my life, it proved to be a great blessing, because financially it gave me room on the runway to get my own flight off the ground – We formed LONDONBEAT after that. But James Last really looked after his artists well, and it was a great eye-opener for me – the way we used to roll up and sell out the Albert Hall for an entire week. That’s saying something.

– All the work we’ve been talking about up to now was the things you had done with white guys. But you also recorded with Gloria Gaynor and Ben E. King.

Gloria Gaynor, Disco Queen! But she comes from a strong gospel, R&B background, so when she was recording in England I got a call to do backing vocals on a track for her. Lovely lady! And Ben E. King! “Stand By Me” has been a huge influence since I first started singing. Ben was touring in the UK at the time, and I was blessed to be asked to sing along side my hero in the studio. But my most unforgettable time with Ben E, King was at the Prince’s Trust concerts, back in the late Eighties. Joe Brown’s daughter, Sam, rang me and said: “Hey, I’m trying to put together some singers for this event taking place at Wembley Arena, and it’s going run for a few nights. Looks like lots of artists are going to be involved. So is it okay if I send you some of the stuff that we’re going to be doing?” “Yes, please do!” And that turned out to be one of the most magical few nights t I’ve ever experienced in my life – to stand on stage with all of these people. “Stand By Me” forever!

– How did it feel to be singing in front of the Royals?

Through my own eyes, being there was like, “Am I really here? I’m pinching myself!” We rehearsed the whole show for three days, getting it all together, in that joyful atmosphere with all these great artists and musicians that you’ve loved and dreamed of meeting and working with, all your life – Paul McCartney, George Harrison, Ringo Starr, Mick Jagger, David Bowie, Tina Turner, Ben E. King – sharing the microphone with you! Wow! But then, we’re performing, giving it everything we’ve got, and I look up into the Royal Box where then-Prince Charles and Princess Diana are seated, and Diana jumps up and starts dancing! It’s like, what more do you want from your life, man? Then came the ceremony, after our performances, when Charles and Diana came for the official meet-and-greet with all of the artists: it was a glorious moment that I wish I had some footage of, but I don’t. It’s the kind of moment that, when your grandchildren or your relatives back home ask, “What’re you doing over there in England, exactly? Ever meet anybody famous?” All you need to do is run that video and say, “This is what I do!” – and they see you standing with global superstars, shaking hands with British royalty. There’s no need for words.

– How much was Midge Ure, the musical director of the event, involved in arranging backing vocals?

Midge was totally involved, right from the rehearsals. But we arranged all the backing vocals ourselves. We rehearsed in a cinema in Wimbledon, near where the tennis championship takes place. And all these artists were there for rehearsals, especially the band who included Phil Collins, Ringo Starr, Mark Knopfler, Elton John, Eric Clapton. Everybody had a role to play. Everybody was there for a worthwhile charity, a purpose which was bigger than themselves, and that’s made it such a moment, like the Wild Wild West, where you leave your egos at the door when you come in, and everybody’s on equal footing. So it was glorious for many reasons, and it was beautiful the way it played out. The absence of egos, I should say, was what made it especially something to remember.

– Now that you mentioned the lack of ego, we arrived at the point where we talk about LONDONBEAT. What’s so special about it that you’ve stayed with the band for all those years and were the only constant in its changing line-up?

One big reason is the songs, the writing, the way LONDONBEAT was formed in the first place. We first got together to write songs – the idea of us becoming a band was an afterthought – and that opened up a new part of me, as it did with the other guys, too, because we had that key ingredient – a clear common goal. The whole process – the writing, recording, all of it – was a collective effort. We did it all ourselves. But for me personally, it was my first real chance to lock into getting what’s inside of me out. Our first LP, “Speak,” was more representative of what we wanted to be individually and collectively as a band, as performers, and it pointed the way for what we did later on. And that’s the other reason why I chose to keep it going, when the other guys said they wanted to do something else for a while: it was still in my heart and in my soul. Later on, when promoters started clamoring for us to do events, I formed a new LONDONBEAT lineup and we started doing live shows again.

– It must have taken some effort for any solo performer to dissolve their own personality in the collective. How did it work for you?

It’s the true test of a band’s motivation where all of these personalities, with all of these longings, all of these dreams are in the same boat, and the challenge is to try and keep everybody happy and on board, because that’s the only way the ship is going to sail. All of the members of LONDONBEAT came to the party with their own contribution. William Henshall, or Willy M, came with the guitar and much of the early musical ideas, while the three of us singers – George Chandler, Jimmy Chambers and I – came with our experience in harmonies, our gospel, jazz and R&B background and songwriting ideas. We brought all of that to the table, but once again, the record company suggested, to put it diplomatically, that they needed us to focus on one lead singer. As a band, that immediately put us in the situation where we were faced with making some compromises – or not.

I was the guy in that seat, and it’s not always a comfortable seat to be in – for reasons good or bad. Being the lead singer in a band stretches you, it keeps you on your toes to sing in tune and to keep your voice in shape, because if you’re not hitting the high notes, then it’s not working and you’re the guy in trouble. With LONDONBEAT, it was my best effort: I was living the dream of what I wanted to do personally and collectively as well. As for the others… Everybody in a band has a crucial role to play, but if I choose anyone and try and be in their shoes, it’s the guy out front singing the lead who is in a precarious situation in a lot of respects. There are egos to massage, so all of these personal desires and dislikes are coming to the fore. Band politics is a tricky business. Still, we managed to keep it going for a lot longer than a lot of other bands, and I’m thankful for that.

– You mentioned harmonies, and it was an interesting blend of differently styled vocal harmonies in LONDONBEAT, Southern American and Caribbean. It all came from the same source, of course, but still…

George Chandler is from the US, like me, so he and I had similar backgrounds in terms of gospel and R&B, dance moves etcetera, but Jimmy Chambers is coming from Trinidad, and his approach is a different one, about rhythms, beats and so forth. With my horns, I brought my contemporary jazz flavor. And then we have Willy M, this British guy, who would play a guitar lick and say, “I’ve got this James Brown thing. What do you think?” and we’d look at each other and say, “That don’t sound nothing like James Brown, but it’s unique because it’s your interpretation of James Brown!” It was an exciting time because we had all of these varied ways of looking at and making music together, under the same roof – it got us off to an exciting start.

– But at the start, on the “Speak” album, all three of you shared lead vocals.

True. That album had elements of everything: it had pop, it had gospel, it had hard rock. The biggest success we had off “Speak” was the song “9am” – so we created a buzz with that first album. But when it came to the second album, “In The Blood,” that’s when our record company said, as I’ve mentioned, “These are the guidelines. We need to focus on one lead singer – for promotional techniques, videos, etcetera!” There are many arguments for it and many arguments against it, but that’s pretty much how it was for us. And I think it worked more than not.

– How did the aspect of three of you being expats in the UK factor in all this?

At that point, I had my UK residency sorted out, and George had his sorted out as well: we were both married to British ladies, and Jimmy got his British nationality through birthright. So no problems with that. And the fact that we were all from varied backgrounds, made it all the more interesting for us, right from the start.

– How did it feel to start a whole new career being almost fifty years old?

Liberating. Redeeming! It proved to me, and hopefully to a few people watching, that you should never let age limit or define your dreams. You’re never too old or too young to realize your dreams. The important thing is to have a dream, know what your dream is and why you want it. Knowing why you want it is just as important than knowing what you want. And then it’s your motivation to say, “These are the terms by which I will go after what I’m dreaming of. Because now that I know why I want it, I will not let anything interfere!”

– Would it be right to say that part of the secret of the band’s longevity was a blend of natural instruments and electronica?

For sure! The British music scene was like an experimental laboratory, maybe more so than in the USA. Certain wines are only possible in certain places, and certain conditions. For that reason, I can’t imagine LONDONBEAT having been formed in the US. THE JIMI HENDRIX EXPERIENCE wouldn’t have happened in the USA. We had the best atmosphere in England for experimenting because computers were finding their way into music and music was finding its way into computer technology. People started doing loops, and you had bands like SOUL II SOUL, where it was still music but not like anything you heard before, because it had electronic elements mixed with gospel, jazz, R&B, and country roots, creating a new mix and a new way forward. We were fortunate to be on the cutting edge of that, and apart from our three voices blending in a certain kind of way, we had this very British, quirky, almost punk rock guitar, and that’s what gave us our edge. That’s what got us our publishing deal and record deal. But the secret is finding the balance between electronic and acoustic: Nothing can replace the sound of an acoustic guitar, piano, double bass and live drums.

– A couple of your records featured Johnny Turnbull from THE BLOCKHEADS on guitar. Who brought him into the fold?

John had toured with Paul Young, that’s how George Chandler and Jimmy Chambers knew him. But it was our managers Sandra Turnbull and her then-partner Kenny Smith – our management, Hyper/Kinetics, who also managed EURYTHMICS – who brought John on board. When we started to go out and do promotional tours for radio and television, and later on, when we did our first live tour as a band, first with Bryan Ferry and then on our own, that second guitar broadened the bottom end of the sound. Speaking earlier about predictions: I mentioned earlier that, while living in Boston, I’d read an article about EURYTHMICS on the cover of “The Wall Street Journal” and that that article prompted my decision to move back to the UK. Little did I know at the time, but LONDONBEAT would later sign to EURYTHMICS management, and to Dave Stewart’s Anxious Records, where we had our big success.

– The first guitar was Willy M. Tell me, please, more about his role in the band.

William arrived back in the UK from New Zealand about the same time as George, Jimmy and I were doing a big television show called “The Wire” for the BBC, with another band. William rang me later, saying, “Hey, I just saw you guys on TV. I like your voices. The way you blend, your harmonies, you sound like you’ve been working together a long time. Maybe we can get together and write some songs?” I thought, “Yeah, okay, we’ve heard this before!” In this business you see a lot of promises come to nothing. So I took his phone number and didn’t think much of it, but he rang me back again, so I thought, “Maybe the man is serious!” I rang George and Jimmy Chambers, and we agreed to meet William at his flat in London.

He took out this funny looking guitar and some mashed-up cassettes of ideas that he had saved up, we listened said, “Ok, nothing ventured… Let’s try it and see.” – and we walked away, each of us with a copy of his scratchy cassette. We chatted on the phone a lot, and met for a few more times, feeling each other out, before ever attempting to do any writing together, but when we did, all of these elements that I’ve tried to describe to you started to surface. William wasn’t such a great musician, but what is a great musician anyway? It’s all about how you use what you’ve got. So we came away after a couple of writing sessions thinking, “Maybe we’re on to something!” I was starting to see the possibilities of what we could do together, and what we could each bring to this situation, so we gave it a try. Bear in mind, we weren’t yet thinking about forming a band together, only about co-writing some songs.

– Although “Speak” was made in the English atmosphere, “9am (The Comfort Zone)” that you mentioned was about New York and had a New York sound, with Michael Kamen strings. How did you get him to do this arrangement?

“9am” is my personal favorite of all the songs we wrote. William had this idea with the chords and a few words about a New York subway, and it was this grainy sound on a loop that caught my ear, so I rang him back when I heard it, and I said, “There’s something going on here. Maybe this is a song we can write for somebody?” It turned out to be something totally different, though, with the strings recorded as an afterthought. Dave Stewart, whose Anxious Records, was our go-between record company between LONDONBEAT and BMG, rang me at four o’clock in the morning: “Nice track. It needs strings on it!” But we already knew that. Michael Kamen had done the strings on a track for the EURYTHMICS that went, (sings) “Here comes the rain again…” – so we were interested in working with Michael, because that track opened our ears to him, so we ended up putting the strings on at Dave’s studio in north London, the Church Studios, where a lot of important music came through. There are markers, things that happen along the way that make the lights come on, and when you say “9 am” to me, my eyes close and I’m sitting in the control room at The Church, hearing the first few bars of Michael Kamen’s arrangement: we were weeping with joy – it was a powerful, uplifting moment. I thought, “Whatever happens with this song, it’s already a hit in my heart!”

– So it didn’t matter that Kamen was born in New York?

It was total coincidence – but then maybe not. At the time, I didn’t know that Michael was a New Yorker. But now that you say it, maybe that’s why he liked the song, maybe that’s why he wanted to do it in the first place: it closes the circle. Anyway, here’s an afterthought: we wrote “9am” long before the tragedy of September 11th, and yet I feel a haunting connection between the song and the event.

The “In The Blood” album was more synthesizer-based, though.

There were no limits for us on the first album. At that point, we didn’t have an A&R guy in the record company saying, “Don’t do that, do this!” The only rules were, “How does it feel to us? If it feels good, then we go with it!” That’s what made “Speak” so eclectic, and with hindsight, the right thing to do. When we started our second album, we were reaching for a bigger audience and listening to comments we were getting about “Speak” – what they liked about that album. It’s a tricky thing, trying to build a wider audience and staying true to your vision at the same time. But that’s the way forward, I guess, the only hope you’ve got.

– However, “Getcha Ya Ya” featured Geraint Watkins on accordion!

Yeah. You just have to go for it. It’s no good doing something because that’s what somebody expects you to do. Over time you learn to experiment, so we had people come in with instruments you wouldn’t expect to hear on a track like “Getcha Ya Ya.” The accordion saves it from being predictable. You don’t expect to see some R&B guys standing there with an accordion player, but it’s interesting, and the artists whom I respect most, like Joni Mitchell and Beyonce, do it instinctively. The artists who are continually reaching beyond the tips of their fingers, pushing the boundaries, are the ones helping show the way forward. It’s important to do that.

– “She Broke My Heart (In 36 Places)” was totally unpredictable in that regard. Humor is not something most pop-soul bands were known for!

One of the best sources for songs is the banter, what happens on tour and between takes in the studio, where band humor finds its way into the music. I listen to Prince, Sly Stone, CAMEO, I listen to all of these people, and something inside of me is saying: “That happened in the studio!” or “It’s tour banter!” The guys are sitting around, everybody’s telling their best or worst joke, and out comes something funny. You say, “Yeah! Put that down quick, before it’s gone!” You don’t sit around for hours to come up with humor like that. It’s spontaneous, and it’s the spontaneity that keeps music from being predictable. It happens, “Bing!” – and you use it. So the story of “She Broke My Heart” began somewhere in Europe: we did three or four songs for a promo and were backstage getting ready to go back to the hotel, when somebody said, “Did you see that lady in the crowd? That tall, fine lady in the back?” And somebody answered, “Yeah, she broke my heart!” And somebody else added, “Yeah, in thirty-six places!” (Laughs.) And then somebody said, “All across the US of A!” See what I mean? I trust inspiration: don’t think, just dance!

– What was less unpredictable was that you brought together harmony as a human concept and as a music term on the title track of the “Harmony” album.

With “Harmony” we wanted to get to something that might be controversial, but that we needed to say. Our record company certainly thought it was controversial, talking about American Indians and the native people of any territory on the planet. The idea of history, good and bad, repeating itself, as a kind of karma, we’re seeing that today, so “Harmony” was our statement, our contribution to the idea that what goes around comes around. George Chandler and I have Native American heritage, and it’s in the DNA of many other people who probably don’t even know, or care to know, about it, but it’s history. There are points in the history – American history, with the indigenous people, blacks and Quakers – of many races and global cultures, where they mixed and intermarried, often as a way to survive the oppression that they were being put through. A common cause. So yeah, in terms of music and as a way to live, “Harmony” was an important statement for us to make.

– On that album, you returned to playing brass – there were flugelhorn and trumpet there – and piano. How did it all come back?

It was still the original lineup on the “Harmony” album, and we were discussing our individual life experiences – I had mine, and the other guys had theirs – so but we brought all of that together in an effort to move forward, step outside the box of being known for just straight up pop music. Our life experience is bigger than just a three-minute pop song. But it’s a tricky step to take when a band ventures into that territory, because you’re back to such questions as “Will it get played on the radio? Will it sell records?” Therein lies the pitfall of where we were trying to go with “Harmony” – but that just made us want to do it all the more. I started the opening track at home, and later on I added trumpet, flugelhorn and keyboard to a few of the tracks. The other guys made their own statements, and the idea was to turn the page and, again, do something different. That’s where our hearts were at. Ironically, “Harmony” was the last album we made before George Chandler left the band.

– Do you still play horns?

Yes, absolutely. I’m working on stuff now where I’m playing trumpet and flugelhorn. Oh yeah, I hope for as long as my lungs hold out, I will still be able to play.

– Daryl Hall guested on “All Born Equal” from that album. Why did you need an American singer on your record?

We had this song idea that Dave Stewart heard and played for Daryl Hall, because they were friends. Daryl knew Chambers and Chandler from early days, when they were touring with Paul Young, so he said he’d like to co-write and record “All Born Equal” with us, because the song wasn’t finished yet. So he came around, and we spent a couple of days working on it, but there’s a funny story. Daryl is a tall guy, he’s about two feet taller than me – as we used to say at home, he was made when meat was cheaper. (Laughs.) When we started recording the song, it was tricky, because he and I wanted to sing the choruses together, so we could catch the blend of our voices going into the microphone. But in order to do that, we needed to be the same height, so I had to stand on a two-foot box, like they used to do in the old time movies. Otherwise, you’d see my head level with Daryl’s chest. Not a good look! So there’s me, standing on a stool so I’d look as tall as Daryl. It’s funny now, but it was a bit intimidating at the time.

– Alongside those humorous and romantic songs, you also had ecological ones, and you used recordings of whales on “The Sea Of Tranquility” and on the “No Woman, No Cry” cover. You mentioned climate change and Marvin Gaye, but could you expand on that subject, please?

A person might seem short-sighted to not show concern for our planet. We live here, this is our home, so what goes wrong for our planet goes wrong for us, and vice versa. With “Sea Of Tranquility,” as with “Harmony,” we were once again speaking about global issues that were important to us and that should be important to everybody – we were putting our concerns into songs, that we hoped would resonate with our audience. “The Sea Of Tranquility” may not have reached as many ears as we hoped, but it was us stepping up and making the statement, and in that sense, it was a success.

– The band released the “Londonbeat” album a couple of years later, and then broke up – only to return with “Back In The Hi-Life” much later. Why did you stop?

We were at the point where some of us wanted to explore their own ideas. Everybody wants to do that – but how do you square that with the band’s obligations to the record company? So we said, “Let’s step away from this for a while.” The band was disintegrating behind issues about what musical direction we should take. Besides that, some members loved touring, but others disliked being on the road. Meantime, each of us had contractual obligations with the record company where we could do solo projects if we wanted to. So that’s what we did.

– What did you do?

I got together with Charles Pierre, who is now a part of the LONDONBEAT line-up, and kept on writing songs. For a few years, we worked out of our studio in Windsor, next to Windsor Castle, getting into the new technology, banging out tracks and putting down ideas. Amazing new software was becoming available at the time, so we were always reaching for that fresh, innovative way forward. Listening now to what we did, I say we were onto something.

– You didn’t think of resuming your solo career?

Yes and no. In order to go solo the way I like, I needed fresh material, new songs. So it was all about finding that fresh new sound to launch my next move from.

– Was that why the band went for a collaboration with Eumir Deodato on “The Crossing”?

Oh, yes. Deodato was always someone we wanted to meet and work with, but with “The Crossing” we never met in the studio – we just had this opportunity to be on the same album. We each made our contribution from wherever we were at the time: Jimmy Chambers and I did our recording in London, but Al Jarreau and Deodato did theirs in Italy, I believe. I got the inspiration for “The Crossing” from being on safari in South Africa: I witnessed the thundering herds, hundreds of thousands of wildebeests and zebras, arriving at the Maasai Mara river banks, with crocodiles waiting in the water – but that don’t stop the crossing. It was life-changing for me to see, up close, how brutal and unforgiving the survival instinct can be – and just how unaware most of us humans are of how fragile the circle of life is.

– Did you ever think about doing a solo show, where you would sing songs from various eras of your career, including “An Offer You Can Refuse” and “I’ve Been Thinking About You”?

I’m thinking about it now! The blessing of the technology we have these days is that a guy like me can sit here at home and kick ideas around, so I’ve been doing that, on top of the LONDONBEAT business. I’m putting new tracks down here at home that I can develop with other musicians when I’m ready, and the end result of all this will be to go out and do some live shows with the old songs like “Gonna Make You An Offer” and “Romeo And Juliet” and all of that background music from back then, as well as some new songs. It’s a way of shining a light on where things began, on the twists and turns along the way, up to where we are now. So yeah, that’s in the works.

– It would be remiss not to ask about “I’ve Been Thinking About You”: how did that song come about?

We were in the midst of writing the “In The Blood” album and we had what we thought may be a lead-off single, but the record company was not impressed. We each took a copy of the music track home and came back with our idea for what the song might be. So I did mine, George Chandler did his, and Jimmy Chambers stood up to the microphone and sang “I’ve Been Thinking About You” ninety-nine per cent top to bottom. Boom! It was quiet in the room for a little while, and then we looked at each other, nodded our heads and said, “Yes!” We played it for the record company, and they went “Yes!” too. But that was only the end of the beginning, because the record company said, “You need to put this in, you need to take that out…” And we ended up going around and around, re-recording, rewriting “Thinking About You” for the next month, month and a half, before we ended up back where we started. The original idea was the one that was released.

– There was one more significant piece, a solo B-side of yours that seems very important to me from a subject point of view, “Dream Merchant”: what’s the story behind it?

I started “Dream Merchant” when I was living in Boston, learning my way around the guitar – because you need to either be playing piano a bit or some chord instrument to write songs properly – so “Dream Merchant” evolved into the version with Mike Moran’s arrangement. Once again, it’s about Native American culture. There’s this thing called “the dreamcatcher”; I turned that into “dream merchant” and linked the song lyrically with those spiritual ideals. It’s open to interpretation, but that’s where “Dream Merchant” came from, and that’s why it’s important to me. Hang on to your dreams, folks!