successful and he had the money and power to do so. Clearly, his behavioural patterns were well formed long before that.
For his part, Gerry could never put his finger on what drove Keith to these acts of vandalism, other than as an outlet for the hyper energy his friend had always extolled. As someone who lived by the rules, who had been taught the importance of respect by his parents, who loved the music of rock’n’roll but not the juvenile delinquency so often associated with it, Gerry was mortified at the prospect of being caught, and one day when Keith was busy doing the destruction routine, he looked up and there at the window of the adjoining carriage was a London Transport guard, watching Keith’s every move. Gerry’s heart leapt to his mouth, terrified they were going to be hauled in, arrested even.
But nothing happened. “The guard was looking through from the other carriage, straight at him doing it, and for some reason the guard didn’t do anything. I think he was frightened of him.”
Gerry had begun to feel the same way. “It got so bad that I used to make excuses not to go home with him. He’d come and pick me up at six o’clock, so I used to leave at five to or ten to, and say to the manager, ‘If my mate Keith shows up, tell him I’ve had to go.’ I didn’t want the hassle.”
The final straw might well have been the day that Keith showed up at Drum City with an empty snare case and left with a full one – without buying anything. After all, it was one thing stealing
for
a friend; it was another entirely to steal
from
a friend. Except Keith didn’t look at it like that. The fruit and veg. from the market that was only going to go off, the jokes in the novelty store that were intended for misadventure, the snare that was insured by the store, all of these items he was putting to a better use. Had he been confronted with it, he could even have justified taking Gerry’s job in the Escorts the same way: ‘But I’m going to be a rock’n’roll star and you’re going to stay working in a music store. Doesn’t it make more sense then for me to be the band’s drummer?’ Still, Keith’s habit of testing his friendships to the limit meant he could never be quite sure of depending on them. It’s worth noting that when he left the Escorts – and they never really noticed his departure, just that he breezed out of their gang – he was as solitary as when he joined.
“He seemed to be very much on his own coming into us,” says Colin Haines. “And by the same token when he left us he went on his own. There was no one tagging along with him before or after.”
“Keith wanted to be different,” remembers Rob Lemon. “He didn’t want to be the Shadows’ drummer. He wanted to be extrovert. I don’t know if we thought he was the best musical drummer in the world, because he was all over the place. The way he decided to play the drums was outrageous. But he emulated Carlo Little and was the only person to do so. He was a real character. Madness bordering on genius.”
5
A s far as anyone recalls its exact wording, the advertisement in the
Harrow and Wembley Observer
that December 1962 stated simply that Clyde Burns and the Beachcombers were looking for a new drummer. Prospective candidates were to convene with their kits at the Conservative Hall on Lowlands Road, by Harrow on the Hill station, on a specified evening later that week for auditions.
The 16-year-old Keith Moon saw the advert and knew he had to be there. The last few months had done wonders for his confidence. Playing with the Escorts had been a thrill, only rivalled by the night he told Lou Hunt down at the Oldfield that he’d been taking lessons with Carlo Little and had been allowed to sit in with the night’s band for a couple of songs. He’d acquitted himself well, everyone agreed; Hunt even suggested Keith should get himself in a band, not knowing that Keith had already been in one. A few, in fact: he’d attached
For his part, Gerry could never put his finger on what drove Keith to these acts of vandalism, other than as an outlet for the hyper energy his friend had always extolled. As someone who lived by the rules, who had been taught the importance of respect by his parents, who loved the music of rock’n’roll but not the juvenile delinquency so often associated with it, Gerry was mortified at the prospect of being caught, and one day when Keith was busy doing the destruction routine, he looked up and there at the window of the adjoining carriage was a London Transport guard, watching Keith’s every move. Gerry’s heart leapt to his mouth, terrified they were going to be hauled in, arrested even.
But nothing happened. “The guard was looking through from the other carriage, straight at him doing it, and for some reason the guard didn’t do anything. I think he was frightened of him.”
Gerry had begun to feel the same way. “It got so bad that I used to make excuses not to go home with him. He’d come and pick me up at six o’clock, so I used to leave at five to or ten to, and say to the manager, ‘If my mate Keith shows up, tell him I’ve had to go.’ I didn’t want the hassle.”
The final straw might well have been the day that Keith showed up at Drum City with an empty snare case and left with a full one – without buying anything. After all, it was one thing stealing
for
a friend; it was another entirely to steal
from
a friend. Except Keith didn’t look at it like that. The fruit and veg. from the market that was only going to go off, the jokes in the novelty store that were intended for misadventure, the snare that was insured by the store, all of these items he was putting to a better use. Had he been confronted with it, he could even have justified taking Gerry’s job in the Escorts the same way: ‘But I’m going to be a rock’n’roll star and you’re going to stay working in a music store. Doesn’t it make more sense then for me to be the band’s drummer?’ Still, Keith’s habit of testing his friendships to the limit meant he could never be quite sure of depending on them. It’s worth noting that when he left the Escorts – and they never really noticed his departure, just that he breezed out of their gang – he was as solitary as when he joined.
“He seemed to be very much on his own coming into us,” says Colin Haines. “And by the same token when he left us he went on his own. There was no one tagging along with him before or after.”
“Keith wanted to be different,” remembers Rob Lemon. “He didn’t want to be the Shadows’ drummer. He wanted to be extrovert. I don’t know if we thought he was the best musical drummer in the world, because he was all over the place. The way he decided to play the drums was outrageous. But he emulated Carlo Little and was the only person to do so. He was a real character. Madness bordering on genius.”
5
A s far as anyone recalls its exact wording, the advertisement in the
Harrow and Wembley Observer
that December 1962 stated simply that Clyde Burns and the Beachcombers were looking for a new drummer. Prospective candidates were to convene with their kits at the Conservative Hall on Lowlands Road, by Harrow on the Hill station, on a specified evening later that week for auditions.
The 16-year-old Keith Moon saw the advert and knew he had to be there. The last few months had done wonders for his confidence. Playing with the Escorts had been a thrill, only rivalled by the night he told Lou Hunt down at the Oldfield that he’d been taking lessons with Carlo Little and had been allowed to sit in with the night’s band for a couple of songs. He’d acquitted himself well, everyone agreed; Hunt even suggested Keith should get himself in a band, not knowing that Keith had already been in one. A few, in fact: he’d attached
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