Remembering Chuck Berry

I saw Chuck Berry live twice – both times in the same year. The first time was at London’s Hackney Empire in July 2008. I almost never made it, having initially ordered my tickets through a hotline I saw advertised in a newspaper, which turned out to be a scam. I realised my blunder in time to halt the transaction but by then the show was largely sold out and only the very worst seats remained. I went to and fro over whether I wanted to watch Chuck from the nosebleed seats but eventually decided that I did and persuaded my friend Graham to come with me.

When I telephoned the theatre to book tickets, the lady in the box office was just about to reserve me some seats in the gallery when she paused. She said the system was showing that the theatre had just released some seats that morning, which it had previously been holding back. They were in the front row. Did I want those instead, she wondered. I didn’t need to be asked twice.

Graham and I caught a train and then a bus to Hackney for the show and took our seats in the front row, just right of the aisle, not really knowing what to expect from Chuck, now well into his old age. The theatre was beautiful and the audience filled with ageing Teddy Boys sporting elaborate hairdos.

The band kicked in a few seconds before the curtain rose to reveal Chuck already on stage, decked out in a glittery shirt and a white sailor’s cap. He launched straight into Roll Over Beethoven and, almost immediately, did his famous duck walk from one end of the stage to the other. He was fast and nimble. It was hard to believe this was a man of 81 and even harder to believe that the Chuck Berry was performing Roll Over Beethoven just a few metres away from us.

A grainy cellphone shot of Chuck Berry at the Hackney Empire (Charles Thomson).

In an hour-long set he blasted through hit after hit, from School Day (Ring Ring Goes The Bell) to Memphis Tennessee and Sweet Little Sixteen. He got the whole audience singing and laughing along with My Ding A Ling and invited some lucky women on stage to dance during Johnny B Goode. He had many more dancing in the aisles, too. Sadly, security were very heavy-handed and kept instructing people to sit back down, despite Chuck repeatedly shouting from the stage to let them dance.

Chuck was was so good that night that when, a few months later, Camden’s Jazz Café announced he was returning to London to play two shows at the venue, I told my friend James that we had to go. The Jazz Café was a favourite venue of mine at the time – small and incredibly intimate.

The choice of venue got me thinking. I had been to the Jazz Café enough times to know the artists usually entered through the same door as the ticketholders. I checked with a promoter friend who had booked artists into the venue and he confirmed the front door was also the artist entrance. James and I hatched a plan to get to the venue early and see if we could collar Chuck for an autograph on the way in.

Chuck, despite his many positive qualities, was not famed for his kindness towards fans. Musician Brian Johnson wrote in his autobiography that after Chuck toured with Johnson’s band Geordie for a week in 1975, using all their equipment for free, Johnson asked him: “Mr Berry, can I have your autograph?” Chuck replied: “I only sign one a day and I’ve already done it.”

If James and I were to get an autograph, we would have to be the first to ask that day. And so we arrived at the Jazz Café’s front doors at about 2pm, to make sure we didn’t miss him. By the time the doors opened about five hours later there was no sign of Chuck – we concluded he must have arrived about 10 hours early just so he wouldn’t have to sign his daily autograph – and we were cold and wet and our feet were sore.

On the plus side, we were numbers one and two in the queue and bagged ourselves a spot in the standing area, right in front of the stage.  Literally. It’s a tiny venue with a low stage and no barrier. When Chuck descended the metal staircase to the stage a few hours later and took his spot behind the microphone, we were perhaps four feet away from him. He was playing his guitar right in front of our faces.  

But he wasn’t playing it very well. Chuck was unrecognisable as the performer I had witnessed months earlier at the Hackney Empire. He seemed at times hesitant and confused.

An early sign that Chuck wasn’t altogether himself came when he started playing his hit song Maybellene but ended it singing the lyrics to Johnny B Goode. Later in the show he started playing Maybellene again.

His guitar playing was wonky throughout. He faltered at the beginning of Sweet Little Sixteen and had to start again. During South of the Border, he lost his place and announced, “Damn, I can’t think of the next line.” Apologising for his confusion at one point, he said, “I’m 81 years old, I’ve got no business being on this stage.” He was actually now 82. 

Chuck Berry on stage at the Jazz Café (James Newman).

Partway through the show – just before he played Nadine – he decided his guitar was out of tune (it wasn't) and began twisting knobs back and forth with abandon. The ensuing, lengthy, ham-fisted attempt to re-tune his guitar prompted an array of comical facial expressions from his alarmed band members, including his son, who after a while tried to step in and stop his dad fiddling with the strings. 

But it was too late for intervention, for by that time Chuck had begun walking to the opposite end of the stage and yelping at his young pianist, “Give me an E! Give me an E!” Alas, the pianist’s efforts did not appear to aid Chuck, who played the rest of the show with his guitar sounding rather peculiar.

Chuck Berry with his son at the Jazz Café (James Newman).

None of this is intended a criticism of Chuck, of course. As he had said, he was in his 80s and he didn’t have to be up on stage. We were lucky he was there at all and only a fool would expect a man of 82 to perform to the same standard as his younger self. Chuck was simply acting his age. But nonetheless, it was in stark contrast to his effervescent performance months earlier at the Hackney Empire, where he had defied his years.

Who knows what the problem was; Perhaps he was jetlagged. Maybe he hadn’t had a night off that week. Perhaps I had just caught him on uncharacteristically good form in Hackney.

Whatever the reason, it certainly didn’t diminish Chuck in the eyes of the audience, who laughed and cheered throughout the show. His confusion was endearing and he handled the situation with great humour. James and I look back on that evening extremely fondly. We have relived it several times, in hysterics as we recalled the sheer horror on the band’s faces as Chuck started meddling with his guitar. There is some video of the tuning incident on YouTube, although sadly incomplete and recorded from the side, missing the band's brilliant reactions.

A year later I learned Chuck was returning to the UK to play a show at one of my local theatres and bought tickets. However, the tour was later cancelled – apparently due to a dispute with the promoter – and he never returned to the UK.

He may have been well into his old age by the time I got to see him but it was a privilege to witness the man up close, even on an off day. Chuck Berry was one of music’s great pioneers, not to mention a phenomenal songwriter with a gift for musical storytelling which will likely never be rivalled.

More than that, though, he was a survivor. The obstacles he had to overcome were many and enormous. The genre he innovated was hijacked. Rock & Roll's creation was attributed to its white thieves instead of its black pioneers. Meanwhile, Chuck was maligned and mistreated by a racist justice system.

But despite everything, he soldiered on. He survived touring segregated America, he survived the theft of his music, he survived prison and he reached 90. He died a hero and a legend.

I am grateful that for a few brief hours we occupied the same space. My friends and I clapped and bobbed as he played the songs that changed the world. We laughed together. He duck walked past me, within touching distance, playing Johnny B Goode. I couldn’t ask for more than that.

Rest in Peace, Chuck Berry. The true King of Rock and Roll. 

Here is a video I took on my cellphone of Chuck performing Johnny B Goode at the Jazz Café: 

RIP Richard Street (1942 - 2013)

I was very sad to learn yesterday that former Temptations singer Richard Street had passed away.

Some of you may remember that I interviewed Richard last September as he prepared for a lengthy UK tour. At the time I said I might post a longer version of our chat on my website, as it had to be cut so short to fit into the newspaper.

I have today uploaded a longer edit of the interview.

Click here to read it.

 The story as it appeared in the newspaper (click to enlarge).

Saying Goodbye To Gladys

The Rise and Fall of the Marvelettes In Their Own Words

Former Marvelettes Georgia Dobbins, Juanita Cowart Motley and Katherine Anderson Schaffner pose with a picture of Gladys Horton, who passed away on January 26th 2011. (Photographer: Larry Buford)

The Marvelettes broke down racial barriers and bankrolled Motown with their early hits but in later years watched helplessly as they were almost completely erased from the label's history. In the days after group founder and lead singer Gladys Horton was laid to rest, Charles Thomson spoke to her family, friends and fellow Marvelettes.

Everybody has heard a Marvelettes song - Please Mr. Postman is one of the most ubiquitous pop songs of all time - but very few people have heard the group's story. Often disregarded as a one-hit wonder, the Marvelettes are arguably one of the most important pop acts of all time, perhaps changing the course of popular music forever.

The Marvelettes joined Motown in 1961 when the label was relatively unknown, having scored only one million-seller (the Miracles' Shop Around) and never had a number one hit. The group's first single, Please Mr. Postman, captured the public's imagination, stayed in the charts for three months and hit number one on both the pop and R&B charts. Throughout 1962 the girls remained Motown's most consistent hitmakers, rescuing the label from financial uncertainty. In other words, without the Marvelettes there may never have been a Motown as we know it today.

However, in later years the group had their royalties cut off and were excluded from the label's anniversary celebrations. The Miracles were increasingly credited with scoring Motown's first number one record instead of the Marvelettes. Then the girls were legally barred from performing under the name they made famous.

On January 26th 2011, group founder and lead singer Gladys Horton died after fighting for more than 20 years to regain control of the Marvelettes name. In the days and weeks after her death I interviewed original Marvelettes Katherine Anderson Schaffner and Juanita Cowart Motley, as well as Motown legend Martha Reeves and Gladys's son Vaughn Thornton. 'Saying Goodbye To Gladys' is the Marvelettes story, as told by the people who lived it.

--Click here to read my exclusive article, 'Saying Goodbye To Gladys'--

Martha Reeves; Soul Survivor

Motown legend Martha Reeves is still playing sold out concerts to adoring fans almost 50 years after her first hit - but she hasn't had an easy ride. Speaking frankly about being dropped by Motown in 1972 and her subsequent battle with painkiller dependency, she tells Charles Thomson why she's 'stronger than dirt'.

--Click here to read my exclusive interview with Martha Reeves--

FBI File Reveals Attempt to Convict Jackson with Racist Law

Documents contained in Michael Jackson's FBI file show that the LAPD tried to prosecute the star under the same legislation used in the past to smear black luminaries such as Jack Johnson and Chuck Berry.

Records show that the LAPD contacted the FBI on 7th September 1993 to ask whether the bureau would assist in the prosecution of Michael Jackson under the Mann Act.






The Mann Act, also known as the 'White Slavery Act', was introduced in 1910. Allowing officers to make arrests on the vague premise of 'immoral behaviour', the law was frequently used to smear black men, particularly those who consorted with white women.

Jack Johnson, the world's first black Heavyweight Boxing Champion, was the first person to be prosecuted under the act. In fact, Geoffrey C Ward writes in his book 'Unforgivable Blackness' that the potential to smear Johnson had been one of the primary motivating factors behind the introduction of the law.

Johnson was viewed by the press and the establishment as a black man who didn't know his place. Not only was Johnson a black world champion more than 50 years before segregation was lifted, but he flaunted his success in a society which demanded that he be humble. He wore expensive clothes and jewellery and invested his money in a fleet of luxurious automobiles, a hobby for which he was repeatedly punished by white policemen who issued him with undeserved speeding tickets.

But what riled the establishment more than anything was that Johnson consorted with white women. Johnson was often accompanied on his travels by prostitutes, but so were the majority of his white contemporaries.
In 1913 Johnson was prosecuted under the Mann Act for 'transporting a female across the state line for immoral purposes'. None of his white contemporaries who also travelled with prostitutes were arrested or charged with similar crimes.

Johnson's alleged victims had travelled with him willingly and admitted it under oath. Moreover, the trips in question had taken place long before the Mann Act was even introduced. However, an all white jury convicted him regardless.

Years later the Mann Act was also used to sabotage the career of black musician Chuck Berry.
In 1959 Berry met a 14 year old waitress in El Paso and asked her to work as a hat-check girl in his restaurant. The girl agreed and he drove her from El Paso to St Louis on his way back from a concert.

On this flimsy premise Berry was arrested for 'transporting an underage girl for immoral purposes'. He was convicted under the Mann Act and sentenced to three years in prison.

In the same year Berry's white copycat Elvis Presley began openly dating Priscilla Beaulieu, a 14 year old girl. Furthermore, Scotty Moore's biography of Presley asserts that prior to his involvement with Beaulieu, the star had been dating an even younger girl.

Ergo, in 1913 the Mann Act was used to convict a black boxer whose only 'crime' was to indulge in the same behaviour as his white contemporaries. Later, In 1959, the Mann Act was used to prosecute a black musician for giving a job to an underage girl, while his white contemporary repeatedly slept with underage girls and went unpunished.

The Mann Act is an inherently racist law. Whilst it has not been used solely to prosecute African-Americans, the potential imprisonment of Jack Johnson was a primary motivating factor behind its introduction and since then it has been repeatedly used to convict black men of crimes that they didn't commit.

That Jackson was also targeted under the Mann Act is certainly intriguing and could be seen to strengthen the argument that he was targeted by a malicious prosecution on account of his race. Devastatingly, it suggests that for all America's superficial changes, little has changed since the days of Jack Johnson. Of course, the US Attorney's decision not to prosecute Jackson under the Mann Act could be seen as a sign of progress, but the LAPD's decision to pursue Jackson in the first place - given the sheer abundance of evidence suggesting his innocence - remains disturbing.

That Jackson wasn't railroaded when he eventually entered the courtroom indicates at least some progress. That said, the fact that the 2003 allegations against Jackson even made it into a courtroom was proof in itself that Jackson was given a bum rap - the allegations were nonsensical and his accusers were proven con artists. But while Johnson and Berry were convicted, Jackson's jury at least made the right decision.

In Jackson's case it was only the media which tarred him as guilty.