Paolo Hewitt - Steve Marriott: All Too Beautiful

Steve Marriott was one of the music worlds most extraordinary individuals. A supremely gifted songwriter, singer and schemer; a vocalist from the same mould as Rod Stewart, Eric Burdon and Steve Winwood, but arguably the greatest white soul singer of them all. Marriott never held back from anything, least of all his music. His vocals always possessed an intensity, clarity and maturity that at the time were unmatched by any other singer.

His band The Small Faces were the first to be banned from Top of The Pops and were deported from Australia at gunpoint. Steves next group Humble Pie ruled the stadiums of America but the money earned was diverted by mafia associates and he returned to the UK broke and on the run from the taxman. In later life he struggled with schizophrenia but always continued playing blistering gigs in front of small audiences in the pubs and clubs around London. Recently reunited with his old Humble Pie sparring partner Peter Frampton, he was on the verge of a comeback when he was tragically killed in a housefire, aged 44. A huge influence on a new generation of musicians from Paul Weller to Noel Gallagher, due to his death, Marriott has perhaps not been granted the status in RocknRolls pantheon that he deserves. This book is long-overdue reassessment of and tribute to to one of the greatest rock stars of all time.

An exhaustive account of the East End musical maverick, it spans his beginnings as a child prodigy, his memorable work with arch top Mods the Small Faces, and all the way through to his later work with Humble Pie, his subsequent solo career and untimely death in 1991.
GARY CROWLEY, BBC LONDON

A riveting account of the singers life, crammed with entertaining stories of rebellion and debauchery and insightful historical background...Compulsive reading.
DAILY EXPRESS

One of the best books Ive read about the backwaters of rock music.
DAILY MAIL

A wonderfully researched, eminently readable appreciation of the creative force behind the Small Faces and Humble Pie, who created some of the finest pop, rock n boogie music of his generation.
***** CLASSIC ROCK

All Too Beautiful traces Marriotts mercurial career from his upbringing in postwar, bomb-damaged London to his cocaine-ravaged demise in a fire at his Essex home in 1991, aged 44. Revealing, sympathetic, long overdue.
**** UNCUT

Ultimately, this is a complex story of extraordinary talent, missed chances, exotic highs and frightening lows. This comprehensive biography of Steve Marriott is as close as were going to get to extracting the truth about Britains finest white-soul exponent.
***** RECORD COLLECTOR

Compelling reading.
**** MOJO

Dedicated to Sean Body, a total pro and a good friend, without whom this biography would have been lost to the world.

Since this books original publication, Sean Body, Laurie OLeary, Steves one time manager and confidant, and Rupert Trollope, kind owner of 22 Westmoreland Terrace, have joined Steve in the afterglow.

Both authors wish to salute their sad passing.

Im hyperactive, yeah. Ive always been like that and I always will be like that. I cant live to other peoples rules. I'm sorry. I dont expect them to live to mine. Thats just what I do. And I certainly cant live by theirs. If that makes them feel I am out of order then Im really sorry.

Steve Marriott talking to John Hellier, 1984.

When they walked into their first ever council flat, the Marriott family couldnt believe their luck. Compared to the accommodation they were used to, 9 Daines Close, Manor Park was stunning. Located on the third floor of a four-storey building, the flat had three bedrooms and a front room that measured twelve by twelve. On the wall was a serving hatch, behind it the small kitchen, and then, to the left and they couldnt get over this their very own bathroom. Thirteen years after the end of the Second World War and life for the Marriotts was better than any of them had ever expected.

There were four members in the family, Bill and Kay, the father and mother, Steve and Kay, the son and daughter.

Mother and son were the dominant characters. Between them existed a tight bond that they would both tug on all their lives, forever seeking to impose their iron will upon the other. Even fighting simply drew them closer and closer together.

The son was talented; extremely so. At thirteen years of age he had already left formal education and was now paying his way through the prestigious Italia Conti drama school in Brixton.

The whole family was behind him. They knew he had talent, knew he was destined to be somebody. It was a given in the Marriott family.

As they settled into life at Daines Close the signs of this talent became clearer. Take that night, that cold night in October 1963, when the young Marriott came out of his bedroom and walked into the sitting room to find his mother and father watching the nationally popular variety show Sunday Night At The London Palladium on their small black and white television. Round his way round most peoples ways at the time everyone stayed in to watch this show. It meant they could go in to work the next day and have something to talk about.

Not Steve Marriott. He has little time for light British entertainment. His kicks come from the American R&B records he has been collecting these past few years. Thats why he is dressed up to the nines tonight. He is off to a club to listen and dance to the records and sounds of black America.

Music falls out of the television. Instantly, Marriott turns, studies the screen intensely. Four young men from Liverpool are playing their latest disc and in the process busy changing lives across the country. After a minute, Marriotts face relaxes and he screws his nose up.

Load of rubbish, he sneers in his fresh, Cockney voice. His father looks round at him. He doesnt confront his son a lot, thats his mums job. But, he is not standing for this slice of insolence. Son or not, this young man needs taking down a peg or two.

Steve, he says, when you can sell out the London Palladium like the Beatles have done tonight you can make such judgements, but until then, youll do well to keep your opinions to yourself.

Yeah, Steve Marriott retorts, buttoning up his coat. Well, one day Ill sell out the London Palladium and then youll see.

Most families would have laughed at such a declaration from one of their members. The Marriotts knew better. So did their son. Nearly ten years later, in March of 1973, Steve Marriott sold out the London Palladium. Just like he said he would.

I had intended to begin this book describing Steve Marriotts last day on earth. My idea for the opening scene was the flight taking him and his third wife, Toni, home from America on Friday 19th April, 1991, an extremely turbulent journey; the couple argued continually until landing in the UK at around midday.

At that point we would meet their friend, Phil Anthony. He collects the couple from Heathrow airport and drives them back to their 16th century rented house in Arkesden, North Essex. Phil would leave and we would then watch the arrival of Ray Newcomb, another friend who invites the couple out for a meal at the Straw Hat pub in Sawbridgeworth.

We would sit at their table and discover what Marriott ate for his last meal (roast lamb and mint sauce) see his clothes that day (suitably, given his place in Mod history, a silver grey Mohair suit) and then view the actions that led up to him returning home alone at about 1.30 am.

There I would have stopped, hopefully with the reader now eager to know more about this unique man.