Kenny Dentons" There Ain't No Rules In Rock n Roll" Stories From My 45 Years in The Music Industry.

This Deep Dive Review is from the memoirThere Ain’t No Rules In Rock n Roll by Kenny Denton, which provides an intimate look into the personal lives of entertainer Anthony Newley, his mother Grace, and his partner Gina Fratini. The narrative captures the vibrant spirit of Grace, affectionately known as "the Duchess", whose humour and Cockney charm remained constant until her death at age ninety-nine. Denton recounts significant final moments, such as a surreal dinner at a fish and chip shop and the emotional toll of Newley’s battle with renal cancer. The text highlights the deep bonds between the author’s family and the Newley’s, detailing how they supported Grace following her son's passing in 1999. Furthermore, it explores Newley’s complex artistic identity and his late-life reconciliation with Gina, a renowned fashion designer who became his dedicated carer. Ultimately, the sources serve as a poignant tribute to a unique family and the enduring friendships that spanned their final years.There Ain’t No Rules In Rock n Roll by Kenny Denton, Available From Amazon Books.

Anthony Newley Part Two. This Deep Dive provides an intimate biographical overview of the multi-talented entertainer Anthony Newley, as recounted through the personal recollections of his friend Kenny Denton. The narrative highlights Newley's emotional nature and his complex personal life, including his marriage to Dareth Rich and their unsettling experiences living in a notorious Hollywood mansion. It also illustrates his artistic legacy, detailing his professional friction with Rex Harrison during the filming of Dr Dolittle and his ambivalent feelings toward celebrity impersonators. Newley is depicted as a somewhat cloistered figure who remained humble and deeply connected to his mother, even while commanding standing ovations from industry luminaries. Finally, the account captures the poignancy of his later years, documenting his final triumphant live performances and the physical decline that overshadowed his concluding stage roles.The Full Story in Kenny Denton's memoir There Ain’t No Rules In Rock n Roll Available From Aamzon Books.

Anthony Newley: The Multifaceted Life of a Global Icon.This Deep Dive review provides a comprehensive overview of the prolific career and personal life of Anthony Newley, a versatile British entertainer who excelled as an actor, songwriter, and director. It highlights his immense influence on the arts, noting his role as the Artful Dodger and his Songwriters Hall of Fame induction alongside collaborator Leslie Bricusse. The author, Kenny Denton, shares intimate anecdotes regarding their professional partnership, including the technical challenges of recording Newley’s later albums. These stories reveal Newley’s complex personality, illustrating his distinct separation between his private self and his public "artiste" persona. Ultimately, the source serves as a heartfelt tribute to a man whose creative legacy reached from Broadway stages to iconic James Bond themes.More Anthony Newley stories in Kenny Denton's memoir "There Ain’t No Rules In Rock n Roll." Available from Amazon Books

This account details a chaotic and extravagant recording session led by the acclaimed songwriter Jimmy Webb at De Lane Lea Studios during the mid-1970s. Despite Webb’s immense talent, the production was plagued by technical hurdles, including an unfinished mixing console and a replacement engineering team struggling with an unconventional orchestral setup. The environment devolved into a hedonistic party filled with celebrities and onlookers, which severely hindered the professional focus of the 130 musicians and choir present. Efforts to record were further stifled by an incompetent supervisor and a lack of acoustic separation, resulting in a wall of noise rather than a polished track. Ultimately, the incredibly expensive session yielded only two usable recordings, both of which were eventually discarded as unusable. This narrative serves as a vivid illustration of the industry excess and ego-driven waste that characterised high-budget music production during that era.From Kenny Denton's memoir There Ain’t No Rules In Rock n Roll. Available from Amazon Books

Kenny Denton’s early days at Pye Studios were shaped by a unique scheme called the Saturday Special—cheap weekend sessions created by studio manager Pat Godwin. It gave young engineers like John “Peanut” Smyth the chance to record full bands, while struggling musicians could cut demos.Through Peanut, Kenny’s band recorded for free during studio downtime—mysteriously logged as “Stoner Music.” The lineup even featured Cliff Williams who went on to join AC/DC and George Curry who in a few years would be a founder of the Band Darts. They cut two standout tracks, “Louise” and “I Will Solve It Drinking,” convinced a record deal was within reach.Things took a turn when Kenny met ambitious songwriters Dave Meyers and John Worsley. Impressed, they quickly offered to manage the band, landing them a publishing deal and pulling them into London’s buzzing music scene—especially the Giaconda Café, where future stars gathered.Meyers had big dreams—and one wild plan: win Eurovision. Against all expectations, their song “Jack in the Box,” sung by Elaine Paige, won the UK selection and placed fourth in the Eurovision Song Contest 1971.But the dream unravelled just as quickly. Meyers secretly gambled the band’s advance money on a Muhammad Ali fight—and lost. Trust was broken, and the band eventually walked away.Meanwhile, singer Les Charles—once struggling for a break—reinvented himself as Billy Ocean. His hit “Love Really Hurts Without You” launched a career that would sell over 30 million records.Years later, Kenny ran into him again and joked about the four shillings he’d once loaned him—bringing the whole story full circle.A tale of near-misses, big risks, and the strange twists of the music industry—where success can be just one song, or one bad decision, away.

In this memoir excerpt, music producer Kenny Denton recounts his formative years at the legendary PYE studios, highlighting the influence of his mentor, Dave Hunt. He describes the rigorous technical training required to master analogue tape editing, a skill involving the precise cutting and splicing of magnetic reels. Denton reflects on the high-pressure environment of the control room, where even simple tasks were complicated by the presence of high-profile clients. A pivotal moment in his career occurred when he worked with a young Tim Rice on the iconic musical Jesus Christ Superstar. Despite a nervous and bloody first attempt at editing for the lyricist, the experience ultimately solidified Denton's professional confidence and led to a lifelong mutual respect between the two men. This narrative captures the technical precision and personal resilience necessary to succeed in the mid-century British music industry.Many More Stories In My Memoir There Ain’t No Rules In Rock n Roll. Kenny Denton.

This Deep Dive recounts a famous recording error during the production of Dr Feelgood's chart-topping live album, Stupidity. The narrative details how renowned producer and engineer Vic Maile mistakenly recorded a prominent hi-hat microphone across all drum tracks, leading him to fear the project was ruined. Despite Maile's immense technical background with legendary acts like Led Zeppelin and The Who, he remained convinced that this oversight would damage his professional reputation. However, the author explains that the album eventually reached number one in the UK, with critics ironically praising the very percussive clarity Maile had tried to fix. Ultimately, the source highlights the unpredictable nature of the music industry, where a perceived technical failure became a celebrated feature of a classic rock record. Many more stories in The Memoir There Ain’t No Rules In Rock n Roll by Kenny Denton.

This Deep Dive examines how J. Edgar Hoover and the FBI actively worked to dismantle the rock 'n' roll movement during the 1950s. The author suggests that the government viewed the era's youthful rebellion and search for identity as a significant social threat that required suppression. By highlighting the legal troubles, scandals, and personal tragedies that sidelined icons like Elvis Presley and Chuck Berry, the text illustrates a systematic decline of the genre's original stars. This vacuum allowed for the rise of wholesome, manufactured artists who were more palatable to the established authorities. Ultimately, the source links these early efforts to contain countercultural shifts to the eventual creation of more aggressive domestic surveillance programmes.

This Deep Dive details the founding and evolution of Hot Chocolate, specifically highlighting the contributions of its co-founder Tony Wilson. After relocating from Trinidad to London, Wilson and his bandmates famously secured a meeting with John Lennon and Yoko Ono, who helped name the group and released their first single on Apple Records. The narrative describes their transition to the RAK label under producer Micky Most, whose commercial focus led to massive success but also caused internal creative friction. While the band achieved global fame with hits like "You Sexy Thing," Wilson eventually departed to pursue a solo career due to artistic differences regarding the group's musical direction. The account concludes by noting the band's enduring legacy and the financial arrangements required to continue using their iconic name after the original line-up fractured.

Sir Thomas Hicks OBE AKA Tommy Steele The full story in Kenny Denton's memoir "There Ain't No Rules In Rock n Roll" Thomas Hicks, professionally recognised as Tommy Steele, was an English entertainer celebrated as Britain's inaugural teenage heartthrob and pioneer of rock 'n' roll. Born in Bermondsey, London, he was the child of Thomas Walter Hicks and Elizabeth Ellen Bennett, who were married in Bermondsey in 1933. Tommy Steele came to prominence when a freelance photographer named John Kennedy spotted his potential as Britain's answer to Elvis Presley. In just six weeks, Steele ascended to top billing in numerous variety shows. Following his discovery at the 2i’s Coffee Bar, he swiftly delivered a string of chart topping singles, including, “Rock with the Caveman” and “Singing the Blues”. During his early career, he released his first three singles at a rapid pace with a new one hitting the shelves every three weeks. As the 1950s and 1960s witnessed a surge in homegrown musical talent, Steele transitioned to a successful career in stage and film musicals, leaving his pop-idol persona behind. On the West End stage, he took on the lead role of Hans Christian Andersen. In the world of cinema, he reprised his stage role, from both London and Broadway, in Half a Sixpence and assumed character roles in The Happiest Millionaire, although some critics felt his on-screen persona was somewhat overpowering. In Finian’s Rainbow, what is likely his most recognised film performance,During the early 1970s, Tommy happened to own a modest West London recording studio known as Recorded Sound, located just minutes away from Pye Studios on Bryanston Street. In my quest for an encounter with him, I often dropped by to visit a friend who worked there and to enjoy a cup of coffee, all in the hope that fate would eventually bring me face to face with Tommy in his studio. I longed for the chance to meet the man I had once aspired to be like. Sadly, two years passed without so much as a glimpse of the elusive Mr. Steele, let alone the opportunity for a handshake. In the early 70s I was working at De Lane Lea in Wembley when, as luck would have it, a two-day weekend booking materialised to record the music for a Tommy Steele TV special. I immediately went after securing the job as engineer. Unfortunately, the television company adhered to stringent union regulations that dictated only their own engineers could handle the recording sessions. Despite not having any work obligations that particular weekend, I made a conscious decision to linger around the studio's restaurant, hoping for an opportunity to cross paths with Tommy Steele himself. But much to my disappointment he never made an appearance during those sessions. It was during the 90s that fate would bring me into contact with Tommy's daughter, Emma Steele. She booked a session at my studio, KD's, to record a couple of tracks. At the time our son Nathan was working alongside me and due to their similar ages, he and Emma quickly formed a close friendship. The full story in Kenny Denton's memoir "There Ain't No Rules In Rock n Roll"

This collection of anecdotes from Kenny Denton’s memoir offers a humorous, behind-the-scenes look at the British music industry over several decades. The text features legendary figures such as Barry Gibb, Little Richard, and Roy Orbison, highlighting the eccentricities and quick wit of famous performers. It also shines a light on the tireless work of session musicians like drummer Clem Cattini and the technical challenges faced by producers and engineers. From recording studio mishaps to bizarre interactions with advertising agencies, these stories capture the unpredictable nature of life in the limelight. Ultimately, the source serves as a tribute to the charismatic personalities and enduring friendships formed within the world of rock and roll.

While attending a lunchtime gig in a market square with my artist Toby and his band, in a small town just outside Lafayette Louisiana, my wife Sue and I decided to pop into a small bar while the band set up. As we stepped inside we found it was like many small bars in Louisiana – both dark and uninviting. Whilst I sensed my way to the bar in order to buy a couple of beers, Sue chose a small table close to the front door, perhaps considering we may need to make a hasty exit at some point. Not long after, the door creaked open, and in walked a man, although he wasn’t carrying a banjo he looked like he could have stepped straight off the set of Deliverance. The room seemed to tense as he scanned the bar, his eyes locking on ours almost instantly. Instead of heading to the bar, he came to our table with a deliberate, unsettling calm. Without saying a word, he leaned in until his face was just inches from mine, his breath hot and stale, and stared straight into my eyes. The silence was excruciating, every second dragging like an eternity. My pulse quickened, and I could feel Sue tensing beside me. Two or three minutes passed. though it felt like hours, before he finally straightened up, his expression unreadable, and wandered off to the bar as if nothing had happened. I felt a lot more comfortable few minutes later, when Toby’s weightlifting brother Balo, entered the bar. I told him about my unsettling encounter, hoping for some reassurance. “Don’t worry about it,” he grinned, “He probably thought you were kin.” Only in Louisiana could borderline terror be written off as a family reunion. In the studio, I sat next to the engineer at the recording desk, where the music was turned up so high that the phone on the right of the engineer could have rung like a fire alarm, and we still wouldn’t have heard it. Instead, the red light on top of the handset would flash, like a huge “hello, pay attention to me!” signal. Without fail, a couple of times a day, I’d see the light flashing and shout, “The phone’s ringing!” The engineer, undeterred by the volume that shook the room, would yell back, “What’s that now?” I’d raise my voice even louder and repeat, “The phone’s ringing” whilst pointing my finger towards the phone and once again, he’d respond with, “What’s that now?” This went on and on like a tennis ralley that would have earned us a standing ovation at Wimbledon. Finally, he’d begrudgingly lowered the volume, with me still shouting, “The phone’s ringing!” To my great relief he’d pick up the receiver, delivering a dramatic “JD’s, studio.” After a moment, he glanced at me, with a glazed look shaking his head. “Nope, no one there. Strange, that happens all the time.” I really wouldn’t have bothered with these daily battles, but the call could have been for me and may have been important. One day Lester, a friend of the engineer, popped in to say hello. After some small talk, the engineer asked Lester, “What’ve you been up to?” Lester looking somewhat bewildered by the question eventually replied, “Been doing a lot of fishing.” The engineer raised an eyebrow. “What’s biting?” Lester shrugged, “Nothing, haven’t caught a thing in three weeks.” “What bait are y’all using?” The engineer asked. “Stopped using bait,” Lester replied, like he was revealing the secret to life itself. “How long ago did y’all stop using bait?” “Hmm… about three weeks ago.” Listening to the two of them was like witnessing Laurel and Hardy on an acid trip. I figured this was the sort of guy that took a fishing pole to Sea World During these sessions, I had the pleasure of being accompanied by my good friend and all round musical wizard, Danny Saxon. Danny was in his mid-twenties, a good-looking guy with shoulder-length blonde hair, he looked like he’d just stepped out of a Californian beach more @ kennydenton.com

In the 1970s a group of students from the Portsmouth School of Art decided to start a rather unconventional orchestra named the Portsmouth Sinfonia. Their foundational concept was refreshingly inclusive: the Sinfonia welcomed virtually anyone who wished to participate regardless of talent or experience. Inevitably, it drew individuals with minimal musical background and, intriguingly, musicians that chose to embrace instruments completely foreign to them. As one might imagine, this eclectic blend of members resulted in an ensemble with a distinctly idiosyncratic character. Initially conceived as a one-time, tongue-in-cheek performance art project, the orchestra remarkably evolved into a cultural sensation over the subsequent decade, including memorable concerts, the release of LPs, the creation of a film and even a chart-topping single. Eventually their public performances came to an end in 1979, marking the conclusion of an era for this remarkable musical phenomenon. In 1974, I was introduced to the album titled The Portsmouth Sinfonia Plays the Popular Classics. This particular album held a special place in my music collection, as it was produced by none other than Brian Eno, who also happened to be one of the clarinet players within the ensemble. It remains one of the most comically entertaining albums I've ever had the pleasure of listening to. Surprisingly, this album proved to be incredibly versatile and valuable in certain social situations. It had the remarkable ability to elicit laughter when shared with friends, serving as a delightful source of amusement. Additionally, it came in handy for discreetly encouraging guests who had overstayed their welcome to make their exit gracefully. Furthermore, for those times when you felt a need to test the patience of your neighbours or perhaps engage in a bit of playful provocation, The Portsmouth Sinfonia Plays the Popular Classics unquestionably emerged as the perfect auditory choice. In the late 70s I was in the studio booking office at Wembley, when I overheard the secretary Miriam on the phone, she was taking a booking for a jingle on behalf of a maker of a famous box of chocolates. By now I had a real dislike for working on jingles, I was about to beat a hasty retreat from the office, when I heard Miriam confirm to the client the details of the session. “... so, Studio One 7 ‘til 10. Artist, The Portsmouth Sinfonia.” I turned around before she had finished the word Sinfonia and much to Miriam’s surprise, who knew how much I disliked these mini-TV nightmares, told her, “I’ll do that one please, please.” A few days later, with the studio set and ready, about 50 members of the orchestra arrived. Once seated, they started to run through the music they intended to record. I was desperately trying not to laugh too loud as I set about getting a recording level. The music we were tasked with recording was astonishingly brief, lasting only a minute. Achieving the right balance took a few run-throughs. By the time we reached the third attempt, the director turned to me with a hint of impatience and inquired, “How long is this going to take?” The Full Story & Many More Are In My Memoir "There Ain't No Rules In Rock n Roll" Available Form Amazon in Paperback and Kindle.

More stories in Kenny Denton's Memoir. "There Ain't No Rules In Rock n Roll" Or My Blog Kennydenton.com Elvis’s Stepbrother? & The Murder of Singer “Orion”Date: 1980Place: Nashville TennesseeArtist: Orion AKA Jimmy EllisArtist: Wayne JacksonWhile visiting Nashville in 1980I came cross this bizarre story about Orion and the possibility of him being Elvis’s stepbrother in 1980, when I had the pleasure of meeting a remarkable man, John Singleton, the brother of Shelby Singleton—a renowned record producer and entrepreneur. Shelby was best known for acquiring the rights to Sun Records from Sam Phillips, though this excluded Elvis Presley’s recordings. John and his wife embodied the essence of Southern hospitality. John had a collection of cars, one of which was a yellow taxi cab. While unremarkable in New York, this car stood out as one of a kind in Nashville. Every time we arrived at a restaurant in that bright yellow “eye-mobile,” heads would turn, fascinated by the unusual sight.Shelby Singleton Achieved his first hit single with Brook Benton’s The Boll Weevil Song and went on to produce numerous chart-topping records. He worked with renowned artists such as Jerry Lee Lewis, Ray Stevens, and Charlie Rich. Notably, Singleton acquired the master recording of Hey Paula by Jill and Ray, renamed them Paul and Paula, and saw the song spend three weeks at number one on the Billboard Hot 100. In 1968, he achieved another worldwide hit with Jeannie C. Riley’s Harper Valley PTA. The following year, Singleton purchased the Sun Records catalog, excluding Elvis Presley’s recordings. From that point forward, much of his career focused on releasing and repackaging the Sun catalog, including a significant amount of previously unreleased material. Meeting Shelby Singleton Not long after, I was introduced to Shelby himself, a man you might describe as a real character. He took me to his recording studio, which, despite being named Singleton Sound Studios, was designed to evoke the legendary Sun Studios. Shelby had mastered the art of selling Sun Records memorabilia—T-shirts, drink mats, and more, all featuring reproductions of Sun singles. The studio even made it onto the Nashville coach tour itinerary.Playfully, I pointed out, “But the real Sun Studio is in Memphis.” With a knowing grin, Shelby replied, “The guests don’t seem to know or care. They love buying the memorabilia—and besides, it saves them a three-hour drive to Memphis.”Introducing Orion Knowing I was a huge Elvis fan, Shelby soon introduced me to a new album he’d produced called Reborn featuring an artist named Orion. He played me a couple of tracks, and I was utterly blown away. It was the most astonishing Elvis impersonation I had ever heard. Shelby explained the album’s unique promotional angle: it subtly hinted at the theory that Elvis hadn’t actually died but had instead chosen to step away from the limelight while continuing to record. Skeptical, I said, “I don’t think people will believe that story.” Shelby countered with a grin, “There are three million Elvis fans out there who want to believe he’s still alive. That’s who I made the record for.” The story grew even stranger when I learned about the origins of Orion. Back in January 1979, author Gail Brewer-Giorgio had begun writing a novel about a fictional music superstar named Orion, who faked his own death to escape the pressures of fame. The plot was eerily similar to the circumstances surrounding Elvis’s death, sparking endless intrigue.It an interesting questionDoes this story ring true, who knows, but one thing is for sure, Jimmy Ellis had a very interesting life albeit a sad one.

Ben Matthews, memories of meeting Kenny Denton for the first time From Kenny Denton's memoir "There Ain't No Rules In Rock n Roll"I remember the first time I met Kenny; I was sticking postage stamps on to seven-inch record envelopes in the reception area of the small record company I worked at. Suddenly, the entrance door swung open and in walked Kenny - a man of short stature, adorned with thick, curly brown hair and sporting flares contributing to his very distinctive style. His infectious smile, stretching as wide as his lapels, lit up the room, and clearly, everyone was delighted to see him. It quickly became apparent why Kenny was so well-liked, he possessed a warmth and kindness rarely encountered in the cut-throat world of the music industry. Fast forward a year or so and fate threw me an unexpected opportunity: the company acquired a recording studio and, despite my total lack of experience, I found myself at the helm of its operations. It was here that Kenny took me under his wing and selflessly gifted me the benefit of his years of experience in studios around the world. From here we forged a remarkable friendship that endures to this day, punctuated by countless collaborative musical endeavours. During these sessions there was always time for Kenny to tell me a tale or two from his incredible past adventures, each narrative a masterclass in comedic timing, that never failed to leave me doubled over in laughter. With each anecdote, my appetite for more grew insatiable and Kenny, ever the raconteur, obliged without hesitation. In the midst of uproarious laughter, I'd often jest that Kenny ought to immortalise these tales in a book, they're brilliance too potent to remain undocumented. His response was always tinged with a knowing smile, as if the notion had crossed his mind before. I am delighted to declare that the day has finally arrived. Within these pages lies a treasure trove of anecdotes, offering a rare glimpse behind the curtain at some of the music industry's most iconic figures. Prepare to be enthralled, amused and perhaps even astonished, as Kenny's chronicles unfurl in all their glorious detail. It's worth noting some of the names of the people involved have been changed to protect the guilty. Ben Matthews

Working with Quo proved to be an absolute joy. The band members were an incredible set of individuals to collaborate with. Unlike some of the other groups, there were no disputes; instead, they radiated a real sense of enjoyment which was completely contagious. These down-to-earth, affable guys genuinely relished the process of creating their music.During those times, bands like Quo led a nomadic existence, constantly touring to build a fan base and scrape together just enough to sustain their chosen path. Securing a record deal and gaining access to a studio was a monumental achievement in itself. Should you be lucky enough to have a hit record it would be the icing on the cake, a real moment of triumph.The sessions were scheduled from 4 p.m. until midnight. As the days progressed, the work settled into a routine, each session would commence with a playback of the previous night's recordings followed by a round of hilarious anecdotes from their experiences on tour. Even now, half a century later, some of these stories are best left untold.John Schroeder had the role of producer with Status Quo at that time. He was a recognised British composer, arranger, songwriter and record producer, known particularly for his work in pop and easy listening music.John began his career as an A&R assistant to Norrie Paramor at Columbia Records. Notably, he co-wrote the song “Walking Back to Happiness.” Sung by Helen Shapiro, it was a UK number one in 1961. During the mid-1960s, Schroeder transitioned to Pye Records and, alongside Johnny Pearson, formed the instrumental ensemble Sounds Orchestral. Their rendition of “Cast Your Fate to the Wind” secured international acclaim, peaking at No. 5 on the UK charts. Interestingly, although in 1968 he orchestrated Quo's inaugural hit with “Pictures of Matchstick Men,” Schroeder might have appeared an unconventional choice for a rock band such as Quo, however, given his position as an in-house producer at Pye, he undertook the projects that came his way. John came across as a softly spoken, polite and unassuming individual, sporting a hairstyle that resembled an explosion in a bird's nest. His demeanour was very much in line with Pye's in-house producers during that era. When not occupied with their personal projects, they seemed to display minimal interest, if any, in the bands they were overseeing, their focus appeared solely directed at fulfilling contractual obligations.The Full Story In Kenny Denton's Memoir. "There Ain't No Rules In Rock n Roll"

Sham 69: Got What It Takes To Be A StarPlace – De Lane Lea Studios, EnglandTime – 1977Artist – Sham 69Engineer – Rafe McKennaIn early 1977 whilst working at De Lane Lea the managing director, Louis Elman, set up a new production arm to the studio complex, it was to be called Delben Music and to be headed up by Ben Nesbit. Ben had just retired from his position as the MD of Feldman’s music publishing company, but continued to personally represent Bob Dylan’s publishing for Europe. Delben music placed a large advert in Melody Maker, a weekly music magazine, stating they were looking for talent. The banner headline read, “Do you think you have got what it takes to be a star?” Followed by “then contact Kenny Denton” plus the phone number and a postal address. On publication date our phone lines became jammed and soon after we received a mountain of post. One of the first calls I received was from a young guy called Jimmy Purcey. I told him he needed to send in a demo tape before he could audition.He explained he didn’t have one but his enthusiasm was overwhelming and the band’s name, Sham 69, was strangely attractive. I was impressed by his confidence and decided to give him the allotted three-hour studio time for an audition. These auditions were also a great opportunity for the young tape operators to have a chance to practice recording artists. I would oversee the setting up and advise on mic positioning, compression and general recording advice. I decided to let Rafe McKenna engineer this session. Rafe had worked with me on many sessions as my tape assistant.The session The band arrived on time, which was about as professional as they got.Once set up we started to run through the only song the band had in their repertoire.Unfortunately it was apparent immediately that the whole thing was a sham, I could see where they had got their inspiration for the band name.It was impossible for them to all come in together after the drummer’s count of four.“One, two…” The guitar would come in.“OK, let’s try again. After four.”“One, two…” The bass would come in.After fifteen minutes or so I explained that I didn’t care what happened after the song started, but I insisted that the band should all start playing at the same time.I told Rafe to rehearse the intro over and over until they got it right and I would come back in an hour or so. When I returned, to my amazement the band had mastered the art of all coming in at the same time, but that was about all. On listening to a complete run through of their song, I was dumfounded by what I heard.It was obvious that a six-foot cannon placed three feet in front of the band couldn’t hit anything worth saving. I called the singer Jimmy into the control room. I said, “The bass player, he can’t play a thing.”“I know” he said, “He’s only got little fingers and can’t reach the notes.” I explained to Jimmy that I thought perhaps the band needed to spend a few more months rehearsing and that just owning and holding instruments didn’t mean that they would play themselves.After an excruciating three hours we finally got something resembling a recording so Rafe mixed the track and gave them a couple of copies.We wished them all the best as they went on their way, not expecting to ever hear from them again.SurpriseIt was less than a year later that Polydor records signed the band and Sham 69 entered the charts with their first of several hits.This is a true example of “There Ain’t No Rules In Rock n Roll.” In the next few years Rafe would go on to have a very successful career as an engineer. He has recorded artist such as UB 40. Wishbone Ash, Foreigner, Bad Company, 10cc., Wet Wet Wet and Big Country to name a few.

Louis or Lou Clark was born on February 27 , 1947 and sadly departed on February 13 , 2021. He was a remarkable English music arranger and keyboard player who also happened to be a dear friend. His legacy is most prominently associated with his contributions to ELO and his work on Hooked on Classics. Throughout his career, he collaborated with a diverse array of artistes, including luminaries like Roy Orbison, Ozzy Osbourne, Roy Wood, and the renowned band America. Although working on the ELO album Eldorado wasn’t exactly my favourite gig, it did introduce me to Lou Clark. During the mid to late 70s and into the early 80s, Lou and I collaborated as partners on numerous music projects. It was during this time that I introduced Lou to my close friend and manager, Stuart Taylor. Remarkably, Stuart and Lou immediately formed a strong relationship. Stuart, a maestro at pitching creative concepts to record companies, came up with a ground-breaking idea: Lou would craft arrangements of ABBA songs for a 100- piece orchestra paired with a rock" rhythm section. The envisioned album was supposed to bear the title ABBAPHONIC. Unfortunately, despite Stuart's determined efforts, finding a record company that shared his enthusiasm for this innovative project proved elusive. In no time, Stuart came up with an alternative concept: to reinterpret Status Quo songs aptly naming the new project Quophonoic. He managed to secure sufficient funding from Quo's management and publishers to record a couple of tracks, which he intended to use as a persuasive tool when approaching record companies. The hope was that these recordings would demonstrate the album's sales potential. Lou diligently set to work on composing the arrangements and an impressive orchestra and rhythm section, featuring two drummers, were booked for EMI’s Studio One at Abbey Road. Just as the first run-through of the music had commenced, Francis Rossi and Rick Parfitt from Status Quo walked into the control room. Lou's brilliant arrangements had seamlessly melded the sounds of ELO and Status Quo with a massive rock orchestra, creating something truly astonishing. As the final chord reverberated, Francis was so impressed that he exclaimed, “Jesus, did I fucking write that?” Despite the exceptional quality of the recordings, Stuart's efforts to interest major record companies, once again, led to disappointment. We could only surmise that any reluctance stemmed from concerns about the high recording costs and uncertainty regarding potential sales. It's worth noting that Lou eventually brought this unique project to fruition, albeit some years later after achieving success with Hooked on Classics. By 1978, Lou became increasingly disheartened with the music industry. This became evident during my next meeting with him. I gave him a call, informing him of my upcoming album project which I really needed his arrangement skills for, so we arranged for me to visit him. I arrived at his home in Birmingham and pretty soon Lou opened up to me about his grievances with how Jeff Lynne was treating him and the rest of the band. It appeared that Jeff was claiming credit for everything on ELO singles and albums. Over lunch, we discussed my forthcoming album project. He agreed to work on the project and I was pleased to hand him a cheque in advance, which he greatly appreciated. It was evident that he was facing financial difficulties, he had even mentioned the possibility of returning to teaching.

Following the release of Tubeway Army’s initial single, the label was on the look out for someone to produce their second single. My manager Stuart Taylor, with his keen eye for talent, suggested that we attend one of Tubeway Army’s performances to assess if I might be a suitable fit to work with the band. If that turned out to be the case, Stuart intended to propose to Andrew and Beggars Banquet that I take on the role of producer for their forthcoming recording. In March 1978, Stuart and I ventured out to Dingwalls in Camden Town to catch a live performance by Tubeway Army. On arrival, we found ourselves supplementing a sparse crowd of approximately eight people. The band was energetically playing through a set of somewhat forgettable songs. However, the thing that stood out was undoubtedly their frontman, Gary Numan. Numan possessed an undeniable star quality. With his guitar worn low like a gun slinger, he exuded an air of toughness and confidence. His closely cropped blond hair bore him an uncanny resemblance to Heinz from The Tornados, a heartthrob of many teenage girls in the 60s. Undeniably Numan had that all-important star quality. Despite this, it was the drummer who stood out as the star of the band in my estimation. This young musician played with a level of excitement behind the drum kit that harked back to the early days of Keith Moon, the legendary drummer of The Who. Stuart and I were in alignment regarding the band’s potential, even though we couldn’t quite put our finger on precisely what it was that set them apart. After the show, we patiently waited before making our way backstage to introduce ourselves. The band members, as it turned out, were quite amiable and easy-going. Although the frontman, Gary, appeared somewhat reserved, the overall atmosphere was friendly and approachable. The following day, Stuart had a conversation with Andrew about our impressions of the band. Andrew, in turn, relayed our feedback to the record company, leading to the finalisation of a deal. I was entrusted with the responsibility of producing the band’s upcoming recordings.

Peter Green and the Splinter Group In the 90s I owned my own recording studio in West London. It was here I received a call from my close friend Stuart Taylor, who was managing a band named The Splinter Group featuring Peter Green. He wanted to schedule studio time to mix a recording of their instrumental track, “Walk Don't Run.” This recording had been initially produced by the renowned drummer, Cozy Powell at a different studio but Cozy had grown dissatisfied with the band's overall situation and decided to part company. As a long-time admirer of Peter Green, the opportunity for me to collaborate with him was a genuine honour. Despite my knowledge of Peter's eventful history, I was genuinely taken aback when I met him. Instead of the image of a legendary guitarist, he resembled Mr. Smee from Peter Pan. His wispy sideburns peeked out from beneath a tightly fastened bandana around his head and his clothes, draped over his slightly overweight torso, looked like they had been discarded by Oxfam. Initially, engaging in conversation with Peter was quite challenging for me but, as our acquaintance deepened, I encountered a remarkable individual with a genuinely warm and gentle character. He had a profound passion for music as well as a mind deeply immersed in a world of his own creation. I couldn't help but develop a deep admiration for him. His constant musings on life always fascinated me. I once asked Peter whether he believed in an afterlife. After a lengthy silence, during which he gazed at the ceiling, he responded, “I'm not certain I believe in this one.” My initial responsibility as the engineer was to prepare the multi-track for mixing. The first ten tracks were dedicated to drums, bass and rhythm guitar, all of which where in good shape. Peter had recorded various takes of his guitar solos, so I meticulously listened to each one and selected the most exceptional sections. I then combined these sections into a single cohesive guitar solo. With the backing track sounding complete, I began to integrate Peter's guitar into the mix. While adding reverb to the guitar using one of my many electronic effects units, Peter inquired, “How many different types of echoes does the module have?” I replied, “There’s over 200 in this one.” Peter decided he wanted to hear every one of them. So, with the multi-track machine set to loop, playing the track repeatedly, I changed the reverb setting every ten or 15 seconds. We carefully listened to every variation, noting down the ones Peter favoured. After a thorough exploration of reverb options, Peter settled on his preferred choice. I then carefully balanced the level of his guitar with the rest of the instruments. Following this adjustment, Peter remarked, “The drums are too loud.” I promptly reduced the drum volume. He continued, “Now the bass is too loud, can we lower it?” I complied and decreased the bass level. Then he mentioned, “The rhythm guitar is too loud, please bring it down.” At this point, Peter's lead guitar dominated the mix. As a result of the changes he wanted me to make, he soon realised that his guitar was excessively loud, prompting us to backtrack on all our previous adjustments. As time progressed, I pulled Stuart aside, and together we discreetly devised a plan to reach a settlement. We would finish this mix with Peter then, later I would remix the track again by myself. When the finalised master was delivered, everyone appeared more than happy with the result. “Not long after, Stuart approached me once more with a proposal. He asked if I would consider producing an album featuring Robert Johnson songs for Snapper Records. You Can Read The Full Story in Kenny Denton's memoir "There Ain't No Rules In Rock n Roll"

In 1951, Philadelphia, PA became the home of Holiday & Essex Records, a company founded by Dave Miller. This record label gained significant recognition by the local music scene, largely thanks to its early releases featuring Bill Haley and The Comets. Dave initially transformed the band's name from the Four Aces of Western Swing to Bill Haley and the Saddlemen. Later on, he suggested changing the name to the Comets, drawing inspiration from Halley's Comet. The same year Miller inked a deal with Bill Haley for his Holiday Records label marking the inception of a new musical genre with Haley recording the first-ever track in this emerging style. The song was a rendition of Jackie Brenston's “Rocket 88.” Notably, this event occurred around three years prior to Sam Phillips being recognised for producing the pioneering rock 'n' roll crossover record, where a white artiste covered a track originally recorded by a black artist.

I first met Dave Miller at Pye in 1969 when he was deeply engrossed in recording for his Damil label. He was a robustly built man with silver hair, possessing a voice that resonated like that of a seasoned American voiceover artist. When engaged in conversation, he exuded humour, wit, entertainment and a deep well of worldly wisdom. Among the individuals I've had the privilege of encountering, Dave was one of the three exceptional minds I've come across, the other two being Jack Fishman and Dr Shyam Singha. Despite their remarkable qualities, all three of these modest individuals would likely have disagreed with my assessment. Miller has been the subject of numerous articles and stories over the years, often depicted as a smooth operator and occasionally compared to Colonel Tom Parker, the infamous manager of Elvis Presley. Born as David Leonart Kleiber in 1925 in Germany, both he and the Colonel emigrated to the USA during the 1930s and, on their arrival, adopted new names. They both shared a talent for shrewd business dealings, making the most of every financial opportunity that came their way. In 1949, Dave Miller established the Palda Record Company in Philadelphia. a label featuring various acts, including The Navy Shipmates, The Four Aces and The Blind Boys of Alabama, all experiencing modest sales locally. Dave, with an unrelenting passion for promoting records, seized every opportunity to produce and distribute a diverse range of content, from children's audio stories to recordings of local wedding ceremonies. In 1951, Philadelphia, PA became the home of Holiday & Essex Records, a company founded by Dave Miller. This record label gained significant recognition by the local music scene, largely thanks to its early releases featuring Bill Haley and The Comets. Dave initially transformed the band's name from the Four Aces of Western Swing to Bill Haley and the Saddlemen. Later on, he suggested changing the name to the Comets, drawing inspiration from Halley's Comet. The same year Miller inked a deal with Bill Haley for his Holiday Records label marking the inception of a new musical genre with Haley recording the first-ever track in this emerging style. The song was a rendition of Jackie Brenston's “Rocket 88.” Notably, this event occurred around three years prior to Sam Phillips being recognised for producing the pioneering rock 'n' roll crossover record, where a white artiste covered a track originally recorded by a black artist. Dave has often been associated with the decision to turn down “Rock Around the Clock,” but he consistently denied this accusation. An interview with the Comet’s bass player, Marshall Lytle supports this so my belief in his denial is justifiable. In the interview, when asked about song selection whilst recording with Miller, Lytle clarified that Bill Haley was primarily responsible for choosing most of the material. Whilst Dave Miller occasionally made suggestions, they were just that - suggestions. Lytle mentioned that “Rocket 88” was one of the songs that Dave Miller suggested, but when it came to choosing songs like “Rock the Joint” and others, it was Bill that had the final say. Given this insight, I’m sure that if Bill Haley had wanted to record “Rock Around the Clock” with Dave Miller, he would have done so. The fact that song choices were largely determined by Bill Haley himself underscores the idea that Miller's involvement in song selection was not as controlling as some accounts might suggest. Throughout the years, Dave frequently recounted tales from his early days, which I often suspected were embellished and exaggerated. Surprisingly, in 1979, after listening to Bill Haley's perspective on the same events, it became evident that if anything, Dave had downplayed the stories. Bill remarked, “Miller was an absolute wild man. Do you know he's the one who essentially invented Payola?The Full Story is in Kenny Denton's memoir "There Ain't No Rules In Rock n Roll"

The Full Story In Kenny Denton's memoir "There Ain't No Rules In Rock n Roll"The Photograph is Fred's Autograph To My Loverly Wife Sue and Our Son Nathan. Bing Crosby.In the summer of 1975, within the walls of De Lane Lea/ Music Centre in Wembley, a remarkable event unfolded, Bing Crosby and Fred Astaire were collaborating as a duet on an album. There was an air of uncertainty surrounding Bing's reputation for being challenging to work with in the studio, but this was swiftly dispelled during their time at the Music Centre. Here is a glimpse of the Bing Crosby I had the privilege to encounter. During a break in recording, Bing embarked on the short journey from the studio to our in-house restaurant for a well-deserved lunch. Just outside the studio, Peter Wilson, a member of the studio staff, was engaged in a phone conversation with his mother. It was her birthday and he was partaking in the time-honoured tradition of sharing birthday wishes with his dear old mum. As the studio was playing back the recording it could be heard clearly from where Peter was telephoning. He held the phone aloft so that his mother could hear Bing’s glorious voice resonating from the studio's speakers, evidently, she was an ardent fan. Unbeknownst to Peter, Bing was approaching, with a gentle curiosity, Bing inquired, “Who's that on the phone?” Peter, perhaps a touch nervously, replied, “It's my mother, it's her birthday today.” Responding with a wink and a warm smile, Bing took the phone from Peter and with such grace and kindness, he proceeded to sing the remainder of the song directly into the phone, serenading Peter's mother from afar. As the final notes of the song trailed off, Bing simply offered, “God bless,” and handed the phone back to a bewildered Peter. Overwhelmed and nearly rendered speechless by the surreal encounter, Peter managed to find his voice and exclaimed, “Mum, THAT was Bing Crosby!” This extraordinary and impromptu gesture by Bing showcased his genuine and kindhearted nature, leaving an indelible memory for Peter, his mother and anyone who has the privilege of hearing this heart-warming tale.Fred AstaireAfter completing the duet album with Bing Crosby, Fred Astaire decided to extend his stay at the studio by an additional week to work on his own solo album. Amid this productive period, Fred received heart-wrenching news - his mother had just passed away back at home in the USA. Despite this profound loss, Fred remained steadfastly committed to his work and obligations, including completing his solo album and fulfilling various scheduled TV interviews. A tribute to his professionalism and dedication during this challenging time.During a quiet moment over lunch in the studio restaurant, Fred shared a poignant memory of his mother, illustrating his enduring bond with her. He recounted a tale from 1957 when he had written a song titled “Life is Beautiful” The song had been recorded and sung by Tony Bennett and was poised for release as a single. As the songwriter, Fred received a copy of the finished recording from the record company. Filled with pride and anticipation, Fred sent the record to his mother in Philadelphia, eager to hear her reaction. After a few days, he made a call to inquire, “Mum, what do you think?” Her response was uniquely motherly and laced with affection. She exclaimed, “Fred, it's marvellous! How on earth did they get your voice to sound like that?” Mums can be so wonderful.Being present at both fo these stories it made me think “The bigger the star the nicer they are”

Firstly UK Only? I would like to point out that the following story New Faces Winners, Koffee n Kreme, Meet Their Fate may only hold interest to my UK friends as the act never gained any international notoriety. The mid 70s During the mid 70s I was very busy working as an engineer at De Lane Lea, but in what spare time was left I would spend writing songs and record them with anyone I could. Having gained a few single releases under various fictitious names, my efforts came to the attention of Louis Elman – the managing director of De Lane Lea Studios Wembley. Louis was starting a brand new production arm to the studio to be called Delben Music. It would be headed up by Ben Nesbit who had just retired from his position as the MD of Feldman’s Music Publishing Company. The birth of Delben Music and their new talent scout I was happy to be given the job as a talent scout, being tasked with finding promising new acts for the company, although my engineering work for the studio would always come first. At the end of 1974, Delben music took out a large advert in Melody Maker, the best-selling music weekly paper at the time. The banner headline read “Do you think you have got what it takes to be a star?” This was followed by “contact Kenny Denton,” and a dedicated studio switchboard phone number was added as well as the postal address of the studio. From the moment the ad appeared in the paper the phone lines were jammed solid, followed by an avalanche of mail in the next few days. Buried deep amongst the hundreds of letters that arrived every week, there would occasionally be an act that I believed would be worth bringing in for an audition. Time for Koffee n Kreme I received a very professional package from someone called Christy Lee, who managed a duo called Koffee n Kreme. I wasn’t aware at the time but In 1963 Christy and her band, The Beat Chics, supported The Beatles on the their first tour of Spain. Koffee was Lance Ellington and Kreme, Beth Hannah, they both looked good and both had excellent voices. Lance was the son of Ray Ellington who was a popular singer, drummer and band leader throughout the 50’s and 60’s. The Goons The Ray Ellington Quartet & The Goons had a regular musical segment on The Goon Show from 1951 to 1960, he also had a small speaking role in many episodes. The Goon Show was a British radio comedy programme, produced and broadcast by the BBC Home Service from 1951 to 1960 and starred Spike Milligan, Peter Sellers, Harry Secombe and Michael Bentine The Show was a ground-breaking series which revolutionised comedy and has influenced comedians ever since. Audition time I contacted Christy and asked them to come in for an audition. Being pleased with the results, I invited Ben Nesbit down to the studio to listen to the tracks and introduced him to them to the duo and Christy. Ben saw gold with this clean-cut good-looking duo with a positive pushy manager and so quickly offered them a recording contract which they all duly signed. Koffee n Kreme Image © The Stage Media Company Limited We then set about making a single. We chose a Neil Sedaka song called “My World (Keeps Getting Smaller Every Day).” I had Louis Clark, the renowned string arranger for The Electric Light Orchestra, to write the parts for the rhythm section and orchestra track. Enter Don Arden . It’s safe to say Don Arden was a hard-nosed businessman. Ian MacLagan said the Small Faces (who had fourteen hit singles and five hit albums in the UK plus commercial success across mainland Europe, Australia, and New Zealand) were on “£20 a week, that was it. Never got a penny from records, never got a penny from gigs.”

Patrick was a tall, elegant Irishman and what one would call a dapper dresser with the ability to speak at a volume most people couldn't even shout at. Many believed this was due to a slight hearing impediment, though he would never admit to it. Malynn was commonly known in the industry as Paddy Malynn, but if someone made the mistake of calling him Paddy to his face, he would go ballistic. During a phone conversation with him one day, I attempted to address him as Patrick but the moment I uttered “Pat,” he began talking over me, mistakenly believing I had said “Pad,” he promptly hung up. His touchiness was a recurring trait over the years with this remarkable, larger-than-life character. One of my cherished tales featuring Paddy, oops, I mean Patrick, unfolded when my wife Sue and I received an invitation to dine with him at his preferred restaurant. Our rendezvous point was his top-floor apartment in Clifton Gardens, Maida Vale. The residence was comfortably furnished, its walls were adorned with valuable paintings by renowned artists. We were scheduled to convene at his flat at 8 p.m. on that Saturday evening. On our arrival, Patrick promptly inquired about our drink preferences. Sue responded, “I'll have a glass of medium white wine, please. "Suzie, I only have champagne. What type of champagne would you prefer?” he replied, in a characteristically extravagant manner. The TV was on, and Dallas was playing in the background. Patrick, fixated on the screen, speculated several times about the favours he could offer the more glamorous female cast members. While intermittently gazing out the window, he shared that his girlfriend had been at his apartment for the past 24 hours and she had to return home this afternoon to rest due to complete exhaustion. His insinuations implying that the past 24 hours had been a continuous indulgence in physical pleasure. For the subsequent hour, Patrick maintained a watchful eye out of the window, reiterating his narrative about his girlfriend's exhaustion and emphasising,"If she doesn't arrive within the next ten minutes, we'll have to go; otherwise, we risk losing our restaurant table reservation.” Ten more minutes elapsed until Patrick at last declared, “Well, that’s it let's go. Leave your car here, we'll take my Rolls-Royce.” As Patrick locked his apartment door, I went ahead, down the stairs with Sue following closely behind. Once we reached the ground floor and opened the main front door, we encountered a stunning lady adorned in a mink coat, her finger poised to press one of the doorbells. She gazed at me saying, “Hello, are you Mr. Malynn? I'm your escort for the evening.” Patrick's hurried descent down the stairs could be heard as I responded, “I believe Mr. Malynn will be here any moment.” Patrick, arriving behind me at the front door, appeared flustered and evidently embarrassed as he urged, “Kenny, take your car and follow me.” It was apparent that Patrick's sudden change of plans regarding transportation was motivated by the need to privately explain to the young lady the events of their eventful last 24 hours together. Although we arrived at the restaurant a bit late, our table wasn't ready, so we took a seat in the bar and perused the menu. Patrick and the young lady skilfully maintained the facade of being long-time friends when Mario, the maître d', approached to greet Patrick. "Hello, Patrick, how are you?” Mario asked, shaking Patrick's hand. Patrick promptly introduced the rest of us to the maître d', who proceeded to playfully touch the top of Patrick's head, messing with his hair. In a booming voice, Mario exclaimed, “This is incredible Patrick! My friend had a similar procedure and his head was swollen for weeks, but yours... it's remarkable, Patrick, it looks so real the best I've ever seen no one would ever know.” This incident marked the first and only time I witnessed Patrick rendered speechless.