I have
recently stumbled across some information pertaining to the jumper that is worn by the
'Shirley Temple' doll on the Sgt. Pepper sleeve that is contradictory to the Peter Blake
version that I quote in 'The Sgt Pepper Code'.
Blakes version of events is as follows: -
“I worked in Michael Cooper’s studio
for a fortnight constructing the set, fixing the top row to the back wall and
putting the next about six inches in front and so on, so that we got a tiered
effect. Then we put in the palm tree and the other little objects. I wanted to
have the waxworks of the Beatles because I thought they might be looking at Sgt
Pepper's band too. The boy who delivered the floral display asked if he could
contribute by making a guitar out of hyacinths, and the little girl
wearing the 'WMCA Welcome the Rolling
Stones, Good Guys' sweatshirt was a cloth figure of Shirley Temple, the shirt
coming from Michael Cooper's young son Adam".
However, the article from the August 1966 copy of 'Hit Parader' magazine is somewhat different.
So, it would appear that the sweatshirt says, 'WMPS' and not 'WMCA', despite what practically every source, including my own book, says, and that it must have been given to The Beatles by Jagger himself and therefore, did not come from Pepper sleeve photographer Michal Cooper's son, Adam.
Of course Cooper, and the Stones, would return the favour of the cross brand advertising when they realeased their next long player,'Their Satanic Majesties Request', by including concealed images of the Fab four on their mega expensive new record sleeve.
What story is the correct one? Who knows, however, it proves yet again that when dealing with stories concerning the Sgt. Pepper sleeve you just never know what is real and what is bogus. I mean, they way they carry on you would think they were hiding some hidden secret or something?
The Sgt Pepper Code has proved to be a huge success and appears to be very popular and is receiving some great reviews, including one from YouTube Paul is Dead legend, Iamaphoney, and I am including some examples here. "It seems like you have a fair amount of these "unknown to the masses" facts on board which is great, not that all of them are true but they are all little myths in their own rights, really. The book is for me those little doodles and here is a superb talent of getting those little stories to fit and, I must say, the Sgt Pepper cover is a "detailed-eternity" photo, there is always something to find and you, Redwel Trabant, have been doing a great job" - Billy Martin aka Iamaphoney "I was hooked after reading the first few paragraphs of the introduction. This work is intriguing, absolutely thrilling and wonderfully written. It would be interesting to see the remaining members of the Beatle's reaction to this book. I loved it. I tried, but I couldn't put this book down; I had to keep reading hungry for the information it had to offer." "I love conspiracies and this is a must read for every mystery enthusiast.
After reading this book I was inspired to read my copy of Atlantis by Ignatius Donnelly again.
Redwel Trabant is an amazing writer and I look forward to reading more of his work. Thank you for taking the time and effort to put this book together and giving it to us thirsty lovers of intrigue. You have a new admirer and my utmost respect. I really enjoyed this book, although I was surprised at the (on-going)
conclusion that was reached. I would never have linked any of those
findings with the Beatles." "Being a Beatles fan, I was aware of
the message played backwards, 'Paul is dead' but never in a million
years would I have managed to bring together all the items on the album
cover into a cohesive coded structure. Redwel Trabant must have
worked for years building up the links between the characters and the
real message that the album cover was telling us. I say us, but I'm not
sure if I'm one of them or one of us? A masterpiece of sleuth work,
comparable to the Da Vinci code."
"What an amazingly interesting read! The Sgt.Pepper Code takes you on a
journey through the facts, rumors, conspiracy theories and legends
regarding the infamous Sgt Pepper Beatles album. Redwel Trabant
obviously put a lot of time and effort into research for this book as it
is evident in every chapter. Whether you are a Beatles fan or not you will find this book just fascinating." "Much has been said and written about the Beatles and many a rumor,
conspiracy theory, hint and suggestion have surfaced, quietened down and
re-surfaced again over the years. Did the real Paul McCartney die in a
car accident in 1967, only to be replaced by a lookalike..? (yes, that
old one) But the stories surrounding Sgt Pepper and that iconic album
sleeve have never failed to fascinate and this is another new and fresh
approach to an already well debated subject. I think it's great." "I have enjoyed Beatles music for years but knew little about the band
and the mysteries surrounding them. The title of the book is based on
the Beatles bestseller Sgt. Pepper released in June 1967. It was the
eighth studio album by the English rock band. Given the critical and
commercial success of Sgt. Pepper, it is natural for music aficionados
to be intrigued by the myths and conspiracy stories that seem to
surround the band and hit albums. In the brief ebook, the author,
Redwel Trabant takes us through several mysteries and legends of the
Beatles. In chapter one, the author takes us through the urban legend
"Paul is dead" with a detailed analysis of lyrics and key characters
including Robert Fraser and Tara Browne. In subsequent chapters, Trabant
delves into other mysteries and legends surrounding the Beatles. An enjoyable read for Beatles fans and casual music lovers alike. " "There is no denying the influence of the Beatles on pop culture, and on
culture in general. It's very difficult to explain why that band -- at
that time -- would turn out some of the most memorable and meaningful
music of all time. There certainly seems to be a thread of mystery that
surrounds the super-celebrities. Music is a primeval means of
communication, as it speaks to the subconscious. Art, likewise, can
speak on a subconscious level. Who is to say then, that there aren't
messages to be decoded in the music and the art surrounding this
cultural phenomenon? Whether or not those messages are there on purpose
-- or perhaps created through an organic, artistic process, that can't
be fully explained -- there is no denying that there is a mystery. This
book does a truly great job of shining a spotlight on that mystery, and
of providing many details about the album in question and the Beatles in
general. Fascinating read!" "Kudos for the new e-book entitled The Sgt. Pepper Code, by Redwel
Trabant. This volume is dedicated to "Beatle fans worldwide," and is
must reading for them. More broadly, readers interested in the linkage
between cultural influence generally, and the fine arts in particular,
with the genre of Rock Music will find this a most enjoyable excursion.
Trabant looks deeply and imaginatively into the symbolism inherent in
this iconic album, perhaps the finest rock album ever produced in a
golden era of rock music. Trabant describes the album itself, and
its extraordinary cover, as a treasure trove of cultural clues. He
invites other Beatle fans to join in him in his search for the grail of
symbolic meaning hidden in this work, sometimes hidden in plain view.
At the highest level, Trabant finds a great amalgam of "Holy Eternals,"
but his quest for hidden clues covers individual personalities such as
H.G. Wells, Francis Bacon, Albert Schweizer, Edgar Allan Poe, and
mysterious movements such as the Rosicucian Society, the Knights
Templar, and the Masons, dating from biblical times and established in
England 600 years ago. Readers also are invited to recall the
fast-moving events of the lives of the Beatles, and the biograplhical
implications of the curious lyrics in this album at a critical stage in
their fragile careers. The old sphinx Francis Bacon, still a Lord
Chancellor and keeper of the keys of mystic knowledge, would review
Trabant's curious volume with delight."
"I love the Beatles music but I really knew little about them or the
fascinating Sgt Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band LP mysteries. You
really don't have even be a Beatles fan to appreciate the masterful way
Redwel Trabant uncovers clues that captivate the reader. Even if you are
their biggest fan, I bet this book will show you something you didn't
know. The amount of research the author put into this is both amazing
and compelling. A very enjoyable and eye opening read. Although the beatles were way before my time. I found this book to be
quite interesting and it taught me a lot of things that I did not know
or had never even thought about. Great read!! "
"Before I read The Sgt Pepper Code, I thought that The Beatles album, Sgt
Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, was just a great psychedelic album.
And yes- without revealing my actual age, I did spin the album backwards
to listen to clues about Paul McCartney. So when I picked up this book I
was intrigued. What has this Redwel Trabant discovered? I couldn't
wait to find out. I like writing that is dense with secrets and
possibilities that lie beneath the surface. A masterfully
researched book, Redwel Trabants's The Sgt Pepper Code, reveals that the
album, its lyrics and sleeve design contain clues that reveal a hidden
message. The album cover is a treasure map and clue by clue I
discovered a myriad of secrets. By following the clues, it's possible
to crack a code which was previously unfound since the album's release
in the 60's. Trabant uncovers the clues like an experienced
sleuth. From the tip of his fingers to his keyboard, this book is dense
with facts. Significant parallels to history of time and place, markers
of events, ancient buildings, religious Ley Lines, astrology, monks,
nuns, Kings, Queens, apples, pomegranates, rock stars, actresses,
poets, artists, paintings, pencil drawings, additions, subtractions,
hyacinths, farmhouses and priories, fabrics, colours, myth, temples,
statues, and symbols become clues to be read and understood. Greater knowledge, beyond the lyrics will astound you as the code is revealed. Masterful and intense- culture, people, history, merge in this iconic book."
What is the Sgt Pepper Code? Did the Beatles have access to hidden
knowledge about the origins of Christianity? Were they taught the secrets of
the Freemasons? Had they discovered the history of the Knights Templars or the
occult connections of the Illuminati to whom they became exposed? Does the
inclusion of Aleister Crowley on the record sleeve reveal their satanic black
magic – or black magick - roots?
The artwork for the Beatles Sgt Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club
Band LP has become a truly iconic and instantly recognisable image. It invokes
the spirit of a generation and captures the moment the world changed.
The Beatles embodied a new sense of creativity, a freedom of
mind and the values of a new dawn and they chose to encapsulate all that within
the confines of a twelve inch sphere of vinyl and a gatefold sleeve.
Who amongst us hasn’t looked at the cover of that seminal
album and wondered who are all these people and why are they there?
Who hasn’t read the printed lyrics and thought that the
Beatles were talking directly to them?
Well, you were right, they were. Encased within the grooves
and staring back at you from the sleeve is a remarkable treasure trove of clues
and encoded information just waiting to be discovered.
Embark upon this journey and you will discover the
remarkable hidden tale of a man who has shaped history, forged nations and
shaped religions. A man against who even the Beatles influence pales into
insignificance.
You will be astonished at just how much information is
concealed within the albums contents. This is a voyage of discovery, of immense
secret identities and a tale of hidden religious secrets.
Put simply, The Sgt Pepper Code is the Rosetta Stone that
will allow you to tap into the Holy Grail of Beatle mystery and symbolism.
Read this book and decode the vast quantity of hidden and
deliberately obscured information. One thing is guaranteed, Sgt Pepper’s Lonely
Hearts Club Band will never sound the same again!
This piece is a follow up to my previous blog, ‘Who breaks a
butterfly on a wheel?’ about the infamous Redlands bust - that saw the arrest
of the Rolling Stones, Mick Jagger and Keith Richards and art gallery owner,
Robert Fraser – and the involvement of the infamous Acid King, one David
Schneiderman.
To my surprise I recently received an email from an author
called Ed Ochs informing me that “You don't have to guess anymore. Everything
you ever wanted to know about David Schneiderman is in my new book
"Freedom Spy: David Jove and The Meaning of Existence" (Rock Press).” To purchase the book simply click the Amazon link above.
Interest well and truly peaked I rushed off to Amazon and
ordered my copy from across the Atlantic.
Sadly the book delivers very little concerning the Redlands
bust, however, one should not hold this against the author as his path did not
cross Mr Schneiderman’s, or more correctly, David Jove as he was now known, until
a few years after the incidents in West Sussex.
The book, however, presents an extremely interesting story
recanting many joint adventures of the author and David Jove whilst in L.A. where
David had fled to after having to exit both the U.K. and his native Canada. He
appears to have been a talented songwriter and artist who recorded two albums
worth of material. Nothing serious could come of his musical aspirations
though, as, being a fugitive from the law he had to keep a low profile.
That he managed to do so appears to be something of a
miracle and the book tells of many incidents, some funny some alarming, that
any sane individual would have avoided like the plague.
Of primary interest to me is the revelation that Schneiderman
/ Jove was a keen follower of Aleister Crowley and was a member of the Toronto
Lodge of the O.T.O.It is amazing just
how many people in the Beatles / Stones orbit of that time were Crowley acolytes
– indeed just to strengthen these ties even further, the books tells us that Schneiderman
/ Jove dedicated his two albums to fellow Crowleyite and film-maker, Kenneth
Anger – that I wonder if it was this fact that enabled him to access the Stones
inner sanctum initially?
Mr Ochs also informs us that David’s daughter, the violinist
Lili Haydn, has performed with the Rolling Stones. I wonder if she mentioned to
Keith Richards who her father was? I suspect not!
Jove eventually goes on to achieve some sort of success via
a cable t.v. show called New Wave Theatre, before the untimely death of its
host, Peter Ivers - some claim Jove may have been involved - before
launching the no longer extant website, thewholetruth.com. I don't recall the site, however, it appears he may have been a Canadian version of David Icke.
Schneiderman / Jove died in 2004 and one expects the truth
of his involvement in the Redlands bust died with him. However, if you, like
me, would like to find out more about the man behind the myth then I highly recommend
this book.
The following is taken from a review of a forthcoming book about Tara Browne
I received a call from the Irish writer Paul Howard, who, as
Ross O’Carro-Kelly (‘Rock’) has written a number of popular satires about Ross
and the Celtic Tiger, a series now necessarily discontinued. Howard is
presently embarked on a new project — a biography of Tara Browne, who famously
‘blew his mind out in a car’ in the Beatles’ song ‘A Day in the Life’, the one
that begins ‘I read the news today oh boy/ About a lucky man who made the
grade’. (He was similarly elegised in ‘Death of a Socialite’ by The Pretty
Things.) I knew Tara well during the Paris phase of his brief trajectory and my
first reaction to news of this biography was that it would be quite a short
book, Tara having died in a car crash in Redcliffe Gardens in 1966, aged 22.
John Lennon affects detachment in the lyric, ‘He didn’t
notice that the lights had changed’, but he knew Tara and it is clear from the
song’s elegiac mood that his death stood for something in the life of the band,
that it marked the end of the party. The last line ‘Now they know how many
holes it takes to fill the Albert Hall’ expresses the mood of disillusion, or
so I like to think, because that was the way I felt about Tara’s death myself.
Before it, the innocent phase of the 1960s, the Twist, the mini-skirt, ‘I wanna
hold your hand’. After it, long hair, old clothes, psychedelia, Altamont, the
rock-and-roll deaths. Before it, for me at least, the carefree present tense.
After it, fatherhood, work, the future.
Howard had assembled a few last witnesses of Tara’s life in
the tearoom of the genteel Montcalm Hotel near Marble Arch. I was so keen not
to miss anything that I arrived an hour early and fell asleep in the lobby, a
shameful condition to be found in for one about to boast of his wild youth. I
woke with a start and there was Godfrey Carey QC, Tara’s tutor during the Paris
phase of his life, hired to try and get him into Eton. We were joined by Paul
Howard, who placed a dictaphone on the table. I laid beside it a faded green
Chinese brocade tie of Tara’s which I had hoped would sum up his colourful
personality but which only looked small and sad.
At 15, in 1960, Tara was barely literate, having walked out
of dozens of schools. He smoked and drank but he hadn’t got on to joined-up
handwriting yet. He was living at home with his mother Oonagh Guinness and her
third husband, a louche Cuban ‘shoe-designer’ presently named Miguel Ferreras,
who was gaily going through her fortune. Tara was two years younger than me but
years ahead in sophistication and fun, dealing jokes, insults and ridiculous
boasts from an inexhaustible deck like a child delightedly playing snap. In his
green suits, mauve shirts with amethyst cuff-links, his waves of blonde hair,
brocade ties and buckled shoes, smoking menthol cigarettes (always Salem) and
drinking Bloody Marys, he was Little Lord Fauntleroy, Beau Brummell, Peter Pan,
Terence Stamp in Billy Budd, David Hemming in Blow-Up. His drawly Irish blarney
was the perfect antidote to our public school reserve and what would come to be
called ‘postwar austerity’.
All the white-gloved pre-debs doing time at Paris finishing
schools found their way to Oonagh’s apartment, where they encountered their
first taste of Sixties hedonism, without Daddy being around to say no to drinks
and cigarettes and staying up past their bedtime.
There was the
chauffeur-driven Lincoln Continental to conduct us to the clubs and
swimming-pools. There was fresh milk in the fridge picked up daily by the Irish
butler from the American embassy canteen, the only place in Paris where you
could find it in those days. If there was any embarrassment about money Tara
would pretend to find a ‘dix milles’ note in the street. He had one of the first
car record-players, which you could walk along with (‘Rubber Ball’ by Bobby
Vee, ‘Cut Across Shorty’ by Eddie Cochran) and after the clubs we took it to
the Aerogare des Invalides and danced for the cleaners and pilots, keeping the
photo booth busy. Our childlike faces peer out of the little black-and-white
squares in ecstasy at our newfound freedom in the adult world.
Godfrey Carey described arriving at the flat in the morning
to find bodies everywhere. An hour later Tara would peer out of a blanket, saying
his Irish ‘Sorrry, sorrry’. I seem to remember his lessons taking place in the
back of the Lincoln on the way to somewhere like Eden Rock, where Jean-Paul
Belmondo waved to him. These were the days of Godard’s A Bout de Souffle,
yellow-T-shirted American girls crying ‘New York Herald Tribune’ in the Champs
Elysees, Edith Piaf’s ‘Milord’ playing in Le Drugstore. I’ll never forget Tara
facing my father over the drinks tray in Majorca. Would he like some orange or
a Coke? ‘An orange juice,’ said Tara in the tones of Lady Bracknell. ‘I’d
rather have a Bloody Mary, sir. But do you mind if I fix it myself?’ The photos
have him building enthusiastic sandcastles on the beach next morning.
Animated anew by Tara’s memory, I was gabbling excitedly by
now. When Godfrey could get a word in he told us of the desperate last bid for
study time — a stay in the Drake Hotel in New York of all places. On the first
morning he awoke early to find that Tara had been watching TV all night. After
three days of ‘jet-leg’, Tara told his mother he did not think he should miss
Lucy Lambton’s coming-out ball. He flew to London and Godfrey never saw him
again. Miguel later accused Godfrey of having an affair with Oonagh, who was
55. I said the last time I heard Tara’s voice was when he asked me to testify
in his mother’s divorce case that Miguel had made a pass at me. (I declined.)
Howard revealed that Miguel had fought for General Franco in the war, joined
the SS and was taken prisoner in Italy. He was still alive in Canada where Howard
intended to doorstep him. Perhaps it would not be such a short book after all.
Tara could hardly have failed to be a success in Swinging
London. While I was wandering around the globe in ’63 and ‘64, he embarked on
the second and last phase of his meteoric progress. He got married, met the
Stones and the Beatles, opened a shop in the King’s Road and bought the fatal
turquoise Lotus Elan in which he entered the Irish Grand Prix. He let me drive
it once in some busy London street: ‘Come on, Hugo, put your foot down.’ I had
just got my first job and our ways were dividing. His money and youth made him
a natural prey to certain charismatic Chelsea types who turned him into what he
amiably termed a ‘hustlee’. He reputedly gave Paul McCartney his first acid trip.
The pair went to Liverpool together, got stoned and cruised the city on mopeds
until Paul went over the handlebars and broke a tooth and they had to call on
Paul’s Aunt Bett for assistance. There is still a body of people — and a book
called The Walrus is Paul — who believe that Paul is dead and is now actually
Tara Browne with plastic surgery.
Everyone has got some golden boy or girl in their life whose
death or sudden departure distils the period into the long party it should have
been but probably never was. When my first girlfriend was trying to think of
something really nice to tell me she came up with ‘Your eyes are nearly as nice
as Tara’s’. I remember being tremendously pleased about this and could hardly
wait to tell him. I discussed titles for the book with Paul Howard and there
seemed to be no choice: A Lucky Man Who Made the Grade.
Death of a Socialite - Is Percy Thrillington really Tara Browne?
From April Ashley’s Odessy….”Next morning I awoke early and took out the basket to gather some
provisions. As I veered into the King's Road it was as if I were seeing it for
the first time... Tara and Nicky Browne chatting to Michael Fish in the middle
of the road and handing out sweets to strangers. Anthony Haden-Guest was
writing about them, Michael Rainey was selling clothes to them at his shop
where, if you knew him, he'd go down into the basement, pull out a brick and
roll a marijuana cigarette (later he married Jane Ormsby-Gore and left World's
End in a gypsy caravan to look for the Holy Grail in the West Country).”
I recently discovered a new blog concerning the former wife
of Tara Browne which I believe makes interesting reading. If it is true or a
spoof I don’t know, maybe the author has been reading some of the posts here –
again I don’t know. However, certain issues are alluded too and accusations
implied that would back up some of the assertions I, and others, have made.
Here is one such claim, Nicki
and Tara were cult figures in the swinging sixty's of psychedelic era London
and I do mean CULT!! Ignoring the poor grasp of English the assertion here
is clear. Here is another. So, he was
with another women when his Lotus hit another car maybe he hit a pot hole too
and crashed and he was killed but not his new girl friend who was in the car
too. Some say Paul McCartney was the occupant of the other car, maybe a
conspiracy of some kind..
Reading on. Drugs with
Paul McCartney, John Lennon and the Rolling Stones, Brian Jones was a
boyfriend, all of that. He sat in on the making of the Beatles record
'Revolver'. First I have heard of him sitting in on Revolver and does the
author really mean that Brian Jones was a boyfriend? Certainly they liked to
swap girlfriends, Suki Potier jumped very quickly from the front seat of Tara’s
smashed Lotus and into Brian’s bed, but did they share a bed?
Who knows, however, and although I was aware of both of
these photographs, it has just come to my attention that they were snapped by
Michael Cooper with their partners for the November 1966 Vogue magazine, just a
month before Tara’s death.
Tara and Nicky Browne and Brian Jones and Anita Pallenberg
Anyway, let us continue…Tara
was involved with Britains first transsexual scandal April Ashley and the other
transsexual Amanda Lear who was with Dali. Anita Pallenberg, John Paul Getty
the second and Talita .. the effete elite, you name it. Anyway, it is an
interesting thread of magic, and spawned the story about Paul McCartney and a
body double..
All of which brings us to another interesting conspiracy
theory, and here I shall quote from another website….Amanda Lear is one of Europe’s leading gay icons. She has regularly
performed at Gay Pride festivals held in France, Italy, Germany, Switzerland,
Austria, Belgium, The Netherlands and Greece. The life of Amanda Lear is
confusing and there is a lack of photographic evidence from her youth. Her
Wikipedia page indicates that Amanda was born in either 1939 or 1946. Amanda
Lear was part of the Swinging London lifestyle of the 1960s. She was friends
with The Beatles, Twiggy, The Rolling Stones, Bowie and a large collection of
rock stars. Lear became a “stalwart of London’s demimonde” and an exotic name
on the nightclub circuit. She was romantically linked with Bowie, Brian Jones
and Tara Browne. Amanda Lear is the basis for a large collection of gay rumours
surrounding famous people, including Lennon, McCartney, Bowie, Jones, Tara
Browne and Salvador Dali.
Her connection with
Brian Jones resulted in the ironic Rolling Stones track “Miss Amanda Jones,”
included on the 1967 album, Between the Buttons. In 1979, Lear married French
bisexual aristocrat Alain-Philippe Malagnac d’Argens de Villèle who, in fact,
was the former lover turned adopted son of diplomat and controversial gay
novelist Roger Peyrefitte. The life of Amanda Lear is interesting. She has been
connected to a large group of gay men. Lear dated both Tara Browne and Brian
Jones. The conspiracy theory revolves around the suggestion that Amanda Lear
may be a famous man in disguise, possibly someone involved with the December
18, 1966, car accident. If you see Lear in her older photographs, she looks
like a man. In many of her images, Amanda is hiding her neck, giving the visual
impression of a fake head imposed on body.
Is this the motivation behind McCartney’s daubing Tara’s
Plastic Skirt?
And so to round off and to get to the question posed in the
title of this piece, here is Paul’s take on the origins of Percy Thrillington…We took personal ads in Private Eye and the
Evening Standard saying, "Percy Thrillington seeks the love of his
life." People eventually began to ask, "Who is this Percy
Thrillington who keeps taking out small ads?" And then on holiday in
Ireland with Linda we decided to find an actual Percy. We found a lad working
in a farmer's field. We went up to him and asked, "Would you mind doing a
photo shoot?" And so for a modelling fee we persuaded him to put on a
dinner jacket and Linda took some pictures. And this Irish farmhand became
Percy Thrillington. Now compare and contrast with this final quote from the
Break the Silence blog… She was an Irish
farmers daughter that secretly married him in 1963 in Paris..
Here is todays tweet from Percy…Percy Thrillington is deeply irritated by the curtailment of his
apres-ski enjoyment & is currently returning overland by private ambulance,
could this be a prelude to this?
Catalyst, Gallery
owner, art director of the Sgt. Pepper sleeve, the man whom inspired the Apple
Records logo and the song Gimme Shelter, supplier of exotica to the stars, one
of the first men die of AIDS in the UK. He went from being perhaps the pivotal
60s figure to a squalid existence preying on young boys in Leicester Square
amusement arcades. It was Robert who was handcuffed to Jagger in the back of
the car in the famous Redlands drug bust.
Robert hated the
soubriquet Groovy Bob and would have detested the idea that anyone thought he
was a drug dealer because he would never sell you any drugs; he’d just have a
whole range of them in a box that you could dip in to. “Try one of these dear
boy; they’re simply splendid”. He wouldn’t take any money, although God knows
he seemed short of it but then he would occasionally try and sell you a
Magritte. Ask McCartney who bought several from him. Even when he was flogging
you a painting, he did it with incredible old Etonian panache. After talking
with McCartney about a logo for the Beatles’ new Apple Records label, he’d
visited McCartney’s big house in Cavendish Avenue and discreetly left a small,
framed picture of an apple by Magritte on McCartney’s table. Paul commented, “I
thought that was the coolest thing anyone’s ever done with me. When I saw it, I
just thought ‘Robert’. Nobody else could have done that”.
Robert was so cool, he was quoted in the 1965
Swinging London article in Time Magazine:
“Right now, London has something that New York used to have: everybody wants to
be there. There’s no place else. Paris is calcified. There’s an indefinable
thing about London that makes people want to go there”.
His gallery was a
rainbow flash in a then drab Duke Street, one of the only sources of
contemporary art – Andy Warhol, Jim Dine and the like – in a West End packed
with galleries knocking out fox hunting scenes. The Robert Fraser gallery was
the White Cube of its day. In fact, Lord Snowdon took a photograph of Robert
Fraser in which it is hard to tell that he is not White Cube’s Jay Jopling –
another Old Etonian with a glamourous celebrity client list and a very small
discreet nameplate on the door of his gallery.
The appearance of the
gallery was sensational; one day there would be a conventional window display,
the next, the window had been taken out and an AC Cobra sports car, belonging
to Tara Browne and painted in psychedelic colours would be nosing out onto the
street.
Fraser was the son of
a Scottish merchant banker, who was turn the son of the butler to Gordon
Selfridge the department store magnate and he was thus identified at Eton as
being nouveau riche and developed that unique kind of snobbery the newly
moneyed oft acquire. He coupled this with outrageous social climbing and an
utter disregard for the rules. He liked the company of toffs and yobs in equal
measure. He loathed sport but loved sportsmen.
Robert was of course
gay, it was almost compulsory as Eton fellow old Etonian, the writer Derek
Raymond commented “It was an absolute hotbed of buggery and an excellent
preparation for vice of any kind”. It was also where you went to get that
tremendous self-assurance with which its old boys are shot through. Eton
“formed him to a great extent”, added Paul Getty. “Formed his style, his
personality. It’s still one of the best places to learn arrogance”.
Flung out of Eton for
smoking cigarettes, he was conscripted into the army and joined the Kings
African Rifles stationed in Uganda, in charge of a regiment of black soldiers.
Here a young boxing champion caught his eye, a 6 feet 4 inch sergeant major in
the army and a fine physical specimen. Robert and the junior officer Idi Amin,
later to be President of Uganda (and the last king of Scotland), became friends
and rather strange bedfellows – there is speculation that is exactly what they
became. It was the last days Empire and the east coast of Africa was alive with
goings on – white mischief. Later, when Amin had seized power and was
threatening Britain, Robert would get hot with pride whenever he saw the
strutting figure on the television.
After the army, Fraser
went to New York and immediately fell into fell into an artsy set in Manhattan,
working in galleries and setting up exhibitions. Here he started to foster the
healthy contempt for money that only those who can write home for a few quid
whenever necessary can have. His parents seem to have coughed up every time
this happened right until the end although his relationship with his father
must have been a strain on him since he would become almost overwhelmed by
stuttering whenever they spoke together. School friend Christopher Gibbs
reasons that perhaps Fraser felt over indulged and to some extent it annoyed
him. “I think it was a little bit of a disappointment to him that his father
was so understanding, he said. “I think it deprived him a little of the agonies
of being misunderstood”.
Having networked the
art scene of NYC, Robert became convinced that taking modern American art to
London was a potential money-spinner. He acquired the investment to open his
Duke Street gallery from his parents and returned to England in the early 60’s
with big plans and a bulging address book. The artist Jim Dine commented,
“Robert knew everyone in the world at that point”. He’d made the acquaintance
of all the movers and shakers in the New York art scene and he already knew all
the West End’s well heeled. Soon he would be able to add the rising new wealthy
of pop to his client list.
Fraser’s promiscuity
was a current undercurrent. He would apparently discuss the manhood of a Puerto
Rican boy with the same gusto with which he might describe a fine wine. In
London, he haunted sleazy clubs with Christopher Gibbs. He had a regular
boyfriend but it was the bits of rough that interested him, rent boys and
louts. On one occasion they swayed into Muriel Belcher’s Colony Room in Soho
and Francis Bacon remarked, “Here come the Belgravia pansies”, although he and
Robert were great friends; Bacon even wanted to paint him. Fraser had high
artistic standards but low morals and he could be incredibly snobbish;
sometimes he wouldn’t sell someone a painting merely because he didn’t his or
her look or thought the person was vulgar.
Of course the
libertines of the pop world didn’t mind all the bright coloured suits, buggery
and hep cat talk. McCartney said of him: “For me and many others, Robert Fraser
was one of the most influential people of the London 60s scene”.
When young film
director Dennis Hopper visited London, he fell into that Fraser scene. “That
60s time in London was the greatest. I knew I was in a place where all the
creation of the world was happening. The Beatles and the Stones had just
happened... It was just sensational. The art world, the fashion world, they
were exploding. It was the most creative place I’ve ever seen. I said all this
to Billy Wilder and he said, ‘It sounds like your describing Berlin just before
the Second World War’”.
Later, Fraser band
Hopper would tour Mexico together looking at art and hovering up all the
cocaine the country could offer.
Fraser’s flat at 23
Mount Street (only a few yards from the gallery but Robert would only ever go
to work in the Rolls Royce – and was frequently late) was for many years the
hub of the 60s, the place to be if you weren’t in Courtfield Road before its
demise. In fact if Brian Jones wasn’t on the road with the Stones or at home
then he was invariably in Mount Street. Michael Cooper who photographed the
Sgt. Pepper sleeve was always at hand with his camera to record the comings and
goings. Terry Southern (who wrote Candy in which Ringo Starr had a small part,
and the screen play for Barbarella) would be arguing with Brian Jones drinking
Turkish coffee and smoking a pipe of Morrocan. The Bonham Carters would be
talking to Robert who was trying to sell Mick Jagger a Magritte but Jagger was
still not yet in ther art buying league although McCartney was, and so was J.
P. Getty Jr., son of the richest man in the world. Getty liked art and hash and
coke and heroin and whiskey and beautiful women and anything else he could get
his hands on.
Peter Blake, the
artist who actually put the Sgt. Pepper sleeve together with his then wife Jann
Haworth watched the way that the riff raff of rock radiated around the Fraser
apartment. As much as the pop stars were adored and feted and mobbed in the
street, conversely bohemians like Fraser had pop stars sitting at his feet.
“You could just as
well say that Mick Jagger and the others were interested in hanging around
Robert”, said Blake. “Mick at the time was still a ruffian, although famous. In
a way he got more from Robert than Robert got from him. He learned a certain
sophistication from those people. The rock people were glamorous too, but
Robert was very glamorous. He was handsome, incredibly well dressed. He kind of
tutored them”. And he did it in an incredibly plumy Richard Burton kind of way.
One of things Fraser
undoubtedly taught them was how to acquire premier grade drugs. ‘Spanish’ Tony
Sanchez appeared on the scene, nobody knows quite from where save that
Christopher Gibbs thinks Fraser might have found him in an amusement arcade and
taken him home for some hanky panky. Sanchez makes no mention of being gay in
his own book Up and Down with the Rolling Stones, indded he himself had an up
and down relationship with Marianne Faithfull at some point but a little bit of
bi-sexuality was de rigueur in those days.
A visitor with a stash
from Italy introduced Fraser to cocaine and clearly Fraser introduced it
everyone else, starting with McCartney. When that ran out, Spanish Tony found a
local supplier and was from then on in high demand; so impressed was Keith
Richards with Tony’s resourcefulness that he was taken on a personal
assistant/driver just so Keith would have him on tap.
Prone to flying off to
Los Angeles at the drop of a hat, Fraser was also instrumental in introducing
the drug there. It’s a dubious claim to fame but now every dollar bill in the
town is impregnated with the stuff.
Robert had his first
acid trip one night in Rome and was found hours later, collapsed under a tree
in a square with no idea where he was or indeed who he was. Undeterred by the
traumatic trip, Fraser the sensualist somehow sniffed out the drug in London
and shared it around his friends. Anita Pallenberg says he was the first man in
London to have it; Christopher Gibbs says that Robert had it before anyone else
and then took more of it than anyone else, although the truth probably is that
the source of the drug was Michael Hollingshead an extraordinary Englishmen who
had been experimenting with LSD for years in the USA and who wrote The Man Who
Turned on the World about his mind frazzling experiences.
With the ever present
top quality stimulants and hallucinogens as lure, Robert’s glittering modern
art exhibitions were becoming more star-studded than ever. At one, Jagger and
Faithfull, the latest, hottest couple in town were giggling and having a mock
fight that involved Mick pouring his champagne down her cleavage. Marlon Brando
accompanied by a couple of young Thai girls was acting as a doorman, standing
by the gallery entrance and bowing to incredulous latecomers as they entered.
Robert had Brando’s belt in his hand, which seemed to hold an enormous sexual
charge for him. When the VIP guests went back to the Mount Street apartment for
drinks, drugs and dalliances they saw Tony Curtis chatting with Tom Wolfe and
Donald Cammell still going on and on about this film idea he had with his tame
crazy criminal David Litvinoff, who was a friend of the Krays, in tow. It was
the networking centre of the universe.
When the Warhol circus
came to London with a print of Andy’s film Chelsea Girl, it was of course to
Robert’s apartment that they headed. The address of the flat was on the
international grapevine. Fraser asked Keith Richards’ sidekick Stash (Prince
Stanislas Klossowski de Rola, son of the painter Balthus) to go and get hold of
McCartney’s film projectors so they could all view it. The Beatles all had
projectors; it was their custom to hire in movies for private shows for
themselves, friends and girlfriends; they thus avoided the hullabaloo that
would have been caused by them turning up at the cinemas. Ringo was a
particular home movie fan with left field tastes; he liked Kenneth Anger, Bruce
Conner and other stuff from the strange end of the American spectrum.
Semi-Royals, of
course, constantly dazzled Mick, and Fraser acted as his entree into their
world. He once took Jagger and Pallenberg to Wilton, the Palladian mansion
outside Salisbury owned by the Herbert family. The assembled guests stood
slack-jawed as Henry Herbert showed off the family’s Rembrandts, Reynolds and
Reubens.
The Herbert family
owned a villa in Tangier in Morocco. Robert frequently went to Morocco, as did
many others in the clique; some went for the sun and others went for the
sodomy; Noel Coward referred to Tangier as, “a sunny place for shady people”.
Paul Getty owned a palace in Marrakesh where Brian Jones was a houseguest as
was the playboy drug dealer Comte Jean de Bretuil; one New Year’s Eve, Lennon
and McCartney just popped in to sing Auld Langs Syne in the desert. Availing
themselves of the local dope, a writer who was also in attendance commented
that the two Beatles were laid on the floor unable to stand or speak and that
he had never seen so many out of control of people in his life.
Talitha Getty and
husband Paul had their photo taken on the roof with the Atlas Mountains and the
massive mosque tower as a backdrop. Anita Pallenberg says that once when she
was in Tangier with Robert and Keith Richards, they spotted two perspiring men
in dark suits wandering along the beach in the brilliant sunshine. Robert
recognised them and chatted to them warmly, introducing Anita and Keith to his
old mates Reggie and Ronnie Kray.
Robert Fraser’s
hopelessness with money meant that despite, or perhaps because of the opulence
of his lifestyle, he was always broke. He had plenty of super-rich pop star
friends and the temptation to hit on them for loans or to persuade them to buy
a picture from him proved irresistible, and he often used or attempted to use
them as a way out of his troubles. Christopher Gibbs used to buy things from
him and then Robert would buy something from him in return but invariably
Fraser’s cheques bounced and Gibbs would sue his friend and not talk to him for
months. Then, Gibbs says, he would forget that he wasn’t supposed to be talking
to Robert and they would resume relations, such was his character.
Mick Jagger says that
although he knew that Robert was a hustler, he didn’t really steal or
perpetuate frauds but that Fraser’s pictures always seemed a little too
expensive. But, Jagger says, Fraser used to hit on the Beatles more than the
Stones anyway, mainly because the Beatles had more money and possibly McCartney
in particular had more taste and was in the market. But Jagger lived to rue the
fact he hadn’t bought some of Fraser’s ‘expensive’ pictures as he watched the
price of them soar in the years to come. Robert did, after all, have immaculate
taste.
Fraser’s connections would
always prove invaluable. Another member of the Guinness clan regularly provided
the Stones and their posh but broke friends with a stopover was Desmond, who
ruled over the estate in Leixlep in Ireland. Desmond’s mother Diana Mitford,
regarded as the most beautiful of the Mitford sisters, divorced his father in
the 30’s and married the fascist leader Oswald Moseley. Robert Fraser, Jagger,
Christopher Gibbs and Paul Getty and his wife Talitha had also been regular
visitors and savoured the opulence of the great house.
Fraser’s relationship
with his manservant Mohammed kept the tongues wagging. The handsome young man
would act the role of driver, gallery helper and butler but a visitor to the
flat talks of a time when they had once walked past the toilet door in the
apartment and seen Mohammed sitting ostentatiously on the pan with his trousers
around his ankles reading the paper; and how Mohammed would frequently go off
on clothes shopping expeditions with Fraser’s credit cards.
Then came the
well-chronicled Redlands bust. It was all the usual suspects, Jagger, Richards,
Marianne Faithfull, a phantom Mars bar, Christopher Gibbs, Fraser plus an
unwitting hippie from the Kings Road and a mysterious figure known as the Acid
King or David Schneiderman who split the scene of the crime at almost the same
moment as the police who mysteriously hadn’t been searched, never to be seen
again. This led to endless speculation that the band had been set up by the
News of the World who had been working hand in glove with a jittery
establishment’s police force keen on taking a big pop star’s scalp as a warning
to us all.
Mick and Keith took
the rap for some pills and some hash and were given prison sentences, reduced
on appeal to conditional discharges. Unfortunately for Robert, he was caught
with a bottle of pharmaceutical heroin that the others present couldn’t believe
he had with him; they hadn’t suspected a thing. Heroin was so far still off the
menu for the Stones.
Spanish Tony had
boasted to Fraser and the Stones that for £6,000 popped in the right pocket, it
might be possible for the charges to be made to go away. In the event the
charges stayed right they were, just the money went away. Fraser got six months
in Wormwood Scrubs.
Prison was for Robert,
having already ensured the travails of Eton and the army, a breeze. The pain
came with his eventual release, the gallery was bust. But he rallied around; he
still had the building; he could still depend on his highly influential friends
and he knew how to sensationally tweak the tails of the art establishment and
the press.
One of those friends
was John Lennon who had left his wife and moved with Yoko into 34 Montagu
Square, Ringo’s flat. The couple made plans for an exhibition by John at the
reincarnated Fraser gallery. The exhibition would be a collection of charity
collection boxes, disabled mannequins wearing polio callipers and models of
dogs with bandaged legs. There were a few drawings by Lennon and some of
Yoko’s; there were also 365 white helium filled balloons that were released,
each with a tag asking the finder to get in touch with the couple at the Savile
Row Apple HQ. It was a proper hippie ‘Happening’ and prompted Yoko to comment
that, “The Robert Fraser Gallery was the driving force of the European
avant-garde scene in the art world”.
