Part 10 - The Band A good discussion starter is to ask, "Which was the second best British band of the 1960s?" Someone from north of Watford might say "Gerry and the Pacemakers", whereas a Southerner might say "the Stones" or, if they are couth, "the Kinks". Yet there is unanimity as to the identity of the greatest band of the decade. There can be dispute about the Bonzos. For instance, which is your favourite song? Which is your favourite album? Which is your favourite member - creative genius Neil, saxophonist Rodney, bearded Bill, zany Roger or Ringo, that late admission to the line-up in 1968? Or front man John, with his shaven head and beanpole frame, 'dancing' to the music in what was almost a strutting, jerking, goose-stepping walk? The song argument is an evergreen with any band, no less the Bonzos. Do you like their new stuff or their old stuff better? But just about everyone loves their first big hit. Ask anyone of a certain age in the UK and they can tell you where they were and what they were doing in the spring of 1966 when they first heard 'Johnny Todd'.

(Saturday 4 December, 1965) John felt the smoothness of his scalp where he'd shaved it. It still didn't feel right. The shaving of his head had been symbolic - everyone else in the music business seemed to have long hair, well, not he! Better to look like a Buddhist monk, like those which were again immolating themselves in South Vietnam. John hadn't been born to be a radical. He used to despise and mock all forms of extremism - both the backward looking British Empire nostalgics and the trade unionists that would run the new technocratic society on behalf of the workers. Comedy had been a natural career for him, pricking the pretensions of those with no notion that they might be mistaken. But then came the Vietnam war. John could see no comedy there. There was nothing funny about a burning monk, or a napalmed little girl, or a poisoned rice crop, or a lunar landscape that was once a farming district, or concentration camps for relocated civilians or a village full of corpses, shot because of enemy activity in the area. Or nineteen year old conscripts, old before their time from what they'd seen and done, seeking relief in controlled substances and whores even younger than they. David had been the last straw. Insisting they not be critical of General Walter 'Get a Haircut' Walker on TW3. "It wouldn't be patriotic," said Frost. "Do you still have any idea what satire is about?" John raged. "I've a good idea about what job security is sweetie," David replied, "There's two things: we keep the network happy, we keep our audience. Nothing else matters. Anything that threatens these two things we avoid. Management supports the War. Our audience supports the War. The kids oppose the war but they don't watch telly. Ergo, we satirise the kids." John gave his notice that day. He still had the radio program "I'm Sorry, I'll Read That Again" a typically British mix of sketch, catchphrase and dada. He was both a performer and a writer. But his writing began to suffer. He no longer had a stomach for elaborate puns or fruity accents. He shared his concerns with his friend and fellow performer over a drink after one show. "I'll introduce you to Neil," said Bill, who was a musician as well as a comic. And so here they were. John, Bill, Neil, Rodney and Roger. They had been playing with various riffs, trying to hit on one that would be the next Big Thing. "You've got to come up with something that'll get the whole country behind you," insisted John. "Yes," replied Neil, as if John was stating the bleedin' obvious. "Then stop playing around with these R&B riffs." The rest of the band took a collective breath. What was this heresy? "Look, it's obvious. Who are the most popular band in Britain today?" "The Stones," said Rodney. "Nah, the Kinks I fink," said Roger. "Neither," said John, "It's The Seekers." "What!" exclaimed Bill. "It's true," John explained, "look at the record sales. They've even got their own show on BBC1. Easy listening folk music, that's where the audience is." "But we can't be like The Seekers," protested Neil. "They're so wet. And they even toured Vietnam before the Beatles..." he paused to give everyone else a chance to spit "...went there." "Folk doesn't need to mean 'sell out'," said John, "In America there's a history of folk protest running from the Weavers..." blank looks "...up to Bob Dylan." There were now comprehending nods. "In fact, I've got a Dylan song here. Didn't chart in America, wasn't released here. When Dylan did it it was just a folk song about a Liverpool sailor. I've changed the words so he's now a Merseyside Royal Marine. Goes off to Vietnam. Gets shot. When he returns his girl's with someone else." "Love the Vietnam twist, John," said Neil kindly, "but if the song went nowhere with Dylan behind it, it's not likely to have everyone in Britain humming along." "Ah, but that's where you're wrong!" said John triumphantly. "This is a song that everyone in Britain can already hum." He strode to the piano and began to accompany himself as he sang:     "Johnny Todd, he took a notion      For to cross the ocean wide      And he's left his own true love behind him      Walking by the Liverpool tide." "Oh," said Neil. "Oh," said Bill, Rodney and Roger.

'Johnny Todd' rose to be Number One in the charts in the second week of March 1966 and stayed there. Everyone was singing it, if only out of relief to have the words at last. Kilted Scots Guardsman marched into chest-high elephant grass with their regimental pipers playing the tune. The Ministry of Defence and the Army tried to ban the playing of 'Johnny Todd' just as they had banned earlier anti-war tunes. But they couldn't ban a tune that had already been popular and innocuous - the theme of a television police drama - before the Bonzos had released their version. Any officer who complained was likely to be greeted with, "Go back to Newtown and Seaport in your Zephyr, Barlow!" It was rather like trying to stop a pervert whistling the tune to a song with dirty lyrics.

(Sunday, May 1, 1966) Father Jack Putterill was 74 yet unwearied with age. He was marching along with Vanessa Redgrave on his right elbow and Lady Stansgate MP on his left. On Peggy's other arm was Viscount Stansgate himself, ignoring Wilson's instructions that the shadow cabinet were not to march. Behind them were half a million (police estimates: 150,000) marchers. And they were singing:      "All young men who go a-sailing       For to fight the foreigner       Do not leave your own true love, like Johnny       Stay behind and marry her." [If you'll just let me continue.]