RICK WAKEMAN is the most gifted keyboard player of his generation, as at home on stage at a rock concert as in the organ loft of a great cathedral. As keyboard player for the 70s supergroup Yes, his extraordinary live tours and multimillion-selling albums are legendary. He has also appeared on Top Gear achieving a lamentable lap time of 1.55.26.
MARTIN ROACH , who collaborated with Rick Wakeman on this book, is a five-time Sunday Times bestselling author who has written more than a hundred books on music, entertainment and youth culture.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
It is actually impossible to name everybody who has contributed to my life in one way or another, and therefore in turn have contributed to many of the adventures I relate in this book, but a few do deserve a special mention, as without them I may well have walked through completely different doors in the music and entertainment industry.
Firstly, two men, (both sadly no longer with us). Oscar Beuselinck was the greatest showbiz lawyer you could possibly wish for and he certainly influenced and helped me greately as indeed did David Moss, who was my accountant for fifteen years up until the mid-eighties. David fought valiantly throughout this period to inject some financial sense into my head, but eventually admitted defeat!
Brian Deal-a-Day Lane, was the epitome of rock n roll management and I could quite easily write a book on him alone, but he probaby wouldnt be happy with some of the chapters!
Jerry Moss and the brothers Ahmet and Nessui Ertegun were the greatest bossesof A&M records and WEA respectively and the likes of which will never be seen again.
On the Grumpy side of things, I really must acknowledge my great friend Stuart Pebble, who was the genius behind the Grumpy Old Men television series.
I could probably fill this book with names of people that perhaps I should have acknowledged, but if I listed them all, then it wouldnt leave any room for the stories that many of them played their part in, and so, if you are somebody reading this that feels they should be included in the acknowledgements... then I acknowledge you!
MY LIFE AS A RUSSIAN DOLL
You know those Russian dolls, the ones that are made to fit inside each other? Well, I was one of those once.
Funnily enough, it was in Russia.
Music has gifted me the opportunity to travel all over the world touring with Yes, taking my own solo shows around the globe, promotional trips abroad, its a lot of air miles. And Ive come back with as many bizarre experiences as I have souvenirs. On one occasion it was the souvenir itself that put me in a very peculiar situation indeed.
I was booked to do a TV show in Moscow, deep behind the Iron Curtain. The trip was right in the middle of the Cold War, and East/West relations were not good. Id travelled there before and loved the country I used to come home with my suitcase crammed full of souvenirs. With $20 in cash, you could buy the world. The kids and family all loved the red T-shirts with the hammer and sickle on them, the woolly fur hats... standard tourist fayre.
Luckily, the customs officers at the airport tended to turn a blind eye to all this black-market stuff.
Apart from the KGB uniform I bought from a total stranger in a dark alleyway.
Whats all this got to do with a Russian doll, you say? Bear with me...
My hotel was typical of the type used by Westerners. Police guards on the main doors and barricades outside. You were told there were places you could go, places you couldnt, things you could do, things you couldnt. Admittedly, it could be quite difficult because the British and American politicians didnt trust the Russians and the Russian politicians didnt trust the British or Americans.
I loved the Russians and got on with them great. The TV show went very well and myself and the band had a lovely time. It was only after the filming that things started to get complicated.
It was no secret that the Russian black market couldnt get enough dollars. The buck could buy you anything, and I mean anything! Funnily enough, the dollar bills themselves had to be crease-free, in absolute mint condition. They also needed to be low denominations, one or two dollars ideally.
This one particular day I slipped a dollar into the hand of the policeman on guard at the door of my hotel and went off wandering. It was freezing, properly cold. I was wearing this absolutely huge coat Id bought in America which was like a ranchers coat it was massive. As I trotted off down the street, I looked like Mr Blobby crossed with J. R. Ewing. Any Westerners wandering around certain dingy backstreet lanes were so easy to spot and with my hair, height and ranchers coat I was like a beacon of the West crunching loudly through the snow. It wasnt long before I was approached by a very suspicious-looking character whod clearly bought his battered old brown suitcase from Arthur Daley or Del Boy Trotter. Most of these characters actually knew me because, as Ive said, Id been over a few times and was always a willing customer. Youd walk along a main street and from the shadows of a dark alley youd hear, Mr Wakeman, over here, you buy T-shirt? These entrepreneurs would then open some dusty old suitcase and offer you perhaps five T-shirts for a dollar. They werent exactly the finest quality but I always bought quite a few and enjoyed our little chats.
However, on this occasion, it wasnt a paper-thin T-shirt that I was offered.
It was a genuine KGB uniform.
Out of a suitcase.
From a complete stranger down a back alley, off the beaten track in the middle of Cold War-entrenched Moscow.
Dont ask me why, but when this man whispered for me to go down this shadowy dead end to look at what would obviously be illegal merchandise, for some reason unknown to my right-thinking mind I did. He huddled behind a wall and opened up his case, saying, Here, KGB uniform. Is good.
I knew this was playing with fire. Being in possession of a KGB artefact or uniform was considered a very serious crime.
I knew all of this.
However, it was a really very splendid uniform.
Splendid.
At first I assumed it was a fake and I told him so. He was having none of it.
No, really, this is KGB. My brothers uniform. I got hat too.
But how do I know its real?
It was my brothers. He was in KGB and then... he... er... left.
Right. And how the hell am I supposed to get this thing back to my hotel room?
You take off big coat, put on KGB uniform underneath, put big coat over top and put hat in bag nobody know.
How much?
Five dollar.
Done.
I took off my Dallas coat, furtively changed into this long KGB greatcoat and, with my fingers struggling to grasp the buttons in the cold, put my own coat over the top. Looking like a blimp, I started to walk away, back towards the main road.
Mr Wakeman... It was the same guy, shuffling after me.
What?
You want to buy admirals jacket?
Great. I couldnt resist.
He opened up his case again.
Its splendid, very nice. How do I know its real?
Is really real, this is actual admiral jacket. It was my other brother. He was an admiral and then... er... he wasnt.
Youve got a lot of family in the military, havent you?
Er, yes, well, er, I did have.
Right, and how do you suggest I get this back to the hotel as well?
Is easy. You take off coat, put admirals jacket over KGB one of my other brother, then put your coat over top.
At least I wasnt going to be cold.
He took this admirals uniform out of his suitcase and it really was beautiful, resplendent with these magnificent shiny buttons and badges. Every bone in my body was telling me I was sailing a little too close to the wind, but it certainly was a splendid uniform.
