I continued to date Jennie as Simon Dupree rose in popularity, which made Phil happy too, since I stopped hanging out with groupies and spent much of my downtime drinking tea, working on my voice, and making band plans with him. Phil liked Jennie. He liked her father even more. He didn’t want to go back to teaching, and he loved the idea of having something to fall back on, financially, if the band ended. I was a little less excited by the offer, though I have to admit the thought of never being poor again was enticing, and it was always in the back of my mind—even though I knew I was going to make it on my own.
CHAPTER
FOUR
LETTERS
OF GOLD
Everything happened so fast. On May 5, 1967, six months after ‘I See The Light’ went to radio, Parlophone released two more singles. ‘Reservations’ was originally by Albert Hammond, and our version reached #39 on the single charts. Still not Top 20, but we could see that our mainstream exposure was giving us momentum. The title inspired the name of our only album No Reservations, which came out at the end of the year. The B-side for ‘Reservations’ was ‘You Need A Man,’ which Evelyn wrote with Paul Smith. We all thought it was nice to have our sister writing for us, especially since our dad had kept her from being a performer. Our third single, ‘Day Time, Night Time,’ was by Manfred Mann member Mike Hugg, and that came out on May 5, 1967. Our fans loved it. Ray wrote the B-Side, ‘I’ve Seen It All Before,’ which was the first hint of what a great songwriter he would become.
It’s worth pointing out that we never got paid a penny for any of the singles we recorded at Abbey Road. We didn’t care—and not just because my girlfriend’s father volunteered to float us. We were being paid for gigs, but we didn’t see any real money until after we released our hit, ‘Kites’ (more on that later). Even if we had any money, we would probably have paid for the staffers at the label to record us. We loved being at the studio and using the top-of-the-line equipment. We felt special working with these big-name engineers and producers, and we enjoyed hanging out at the café with other musicians. Most of the groups were friendly with each other, and we also loved hanging out with the symphonic musicians who were always recording in Studio One.
One of the bands we saw down there from time to time was Pink Floyd. I wouldn’t say we were rivals; they just weren’t our favorite musicians to talk to. Simon Dupree & The Big Sound got solid attention from the mainstream by working our asses off and promoting ourselves like politicians at election time. The Floyd were more tapped into the counterculture elitists and had only played a few shows when they started generating a buzz. They hadn’t paid their dues, officially released anything, or developed much of a following. But because they were unpredictable, weird, and irreverent, critics came to their little shows and gushed in the papers about how incredibly cool they were. Journalists interviewed Syd Barrett and Roger Waters about drugs, the counterculture, and revolution. It made for good press, regardless of how shitty their music was at the time, and the producers at the studio read the papers and saw all the hype. The band didn’t have to audition for a panel of Abbey Road producers like everyone else. Not only that, they believed their own hype, and they decided they were above recording for free. They demanded a £5,000 advance from Parlophone to record their 1967 single ‘See Emily Play,’ and they got it. To show how incredibly cool they were, they went out and bought insanely loud Selmer amplifiers.
When the song came out on Columbia in 1967, it generated a cult following but didn’t sell many copies. That didn’t matter. As long as the press was good, EMI loved them and wanted to keep them happy. We played on the same bill as Pink Floyd a couple of times and, well, they weren’t terribly good. They were incredibly loud. Not loud in the good kind of way that makes your knees buckle and loosens your bowels. They were just bad loud. Even though they were playing a small club, they turned their amps up as loud as they could go, just to be subversive. Being in the audience when they played was physically and sonically painful. No one could hear what they were playing, and everything blurred into a flaming cloud of noise.
Syd Barrett was a real oddball and said crazy shit to perpetuate the rumors that he was an insane genius like Brian Wilson. In reality, he was merely drug-addled and mentally unbalanced. I don’t know how much they practiced, but when we played with them, they were sloppy and out of sync. The psychedelic thing they did sounded good when played at a normal volume, but I thought The Beatles did that kind of stuff way better. Syd was limited as a musician—too limited to be as dismissive toward us as he was when we saw him in the café. Of course, they became much more interesting and creative after he left. After David Gilmour took on a major role in the band, Pink Floyd grew into a great, psychedelic rock machine.
I’ve got to admit, their timing was good. The psychedelic wave flourished in the UK and around the world, and everyone wanted to take a trip and find themselves. Everyone was influenced by The Beatles’ Revolver album, and by the time they did Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band and Magical Mystery Tour, those who weren’t already on the acid train were searching for ways to expand their consciousness and make their music more interesting. So, in a way, we have The Beatles to thank for Simon Dupree’s biggest hit single, ‘Kites,’ which broke us through into the living rooms and entertainment centers of millions of families in the UK and across Europe
The songwriters responsible for the novelty hit ‘Itsy Bitsy Teeny Weeny Yellow Polka Dot Bikini,’ Hal Hackaday and Lee Pockriss, wrote ‘Kites’ and gave it to Robbins Music head Ian Ralfini to place. When John contacted Ian (who eventually became the head of Anchor Records), Ian said he thought it could be a hit for Simon Dupree. Since the writers of the song had a track record, some people in positions of power were banking on ‘Kites,’ and they promised to grease the right wheels to get us on the charts. If we recorded it, we would be guaranteed airplay on Radio One in the off-prime-time hours, and maybe more. John played us an acoustic arrangement of ‘Kites,’ which sounded strange. It was colored with electric psychedelic embellishments and sound effects and was far from mesmerizing. It was just odd, and at first we didn’t know what to say. There was this repetitive piano, sweeping strings, and adult contemporary vocals that might as well have been Neil Diamond.
‘You’ve got to be kidding me,’ were my first words to John. ‘This doesn’t sound like a pop song to me.’ The hooks didn’t seem strong enough, and I couldn’t picture myself singing about ‘Letters of gold on a snow white kite’ without bursting out laughing.
The problem—which turned out to be a blessing—was that we hadn’t written much, so we weren’t offered any other songs we liked any better. Phil didn’t want to do it. ‘Does someone suddenly think we want to be Pink Floyd?’ he blurted.
Ray was more diplomatic. ‘You know, if the label has connections, and the song is going to take us to where we want to go, why don’t we give it a shot?’ I agreed with Ray, but I still didn’t love the idea of recording this weird song as Simon Dupree.
‘Well, what do you think?’ John said.
‘I don’t know,’ I replied. ‘This doesn’t really fit with what we do onstage. I mean, this is not who we are. But we’ll give it a shot and see what we can do with it.’