act was twenty-five minutes long; that night, it felt more like twenty-five hours, but she got through the songs and gave them the full treatment. As the first-half curtain came down, a couple of scattered voices shouted ‘Ger ’em off!’, but Shirley Bassey didn’t care. It was the interval, they could go to the bar and get even drunker, but she didn’t give a damn because she wasn’t afraid anymore. She had won.
6
M EET M E A T T HE A STOR
AFTER SHIRLEY’S SUCCESS on the Hippodrome tour, Michael Sullivan proceeded with the next stage in his plans: to find the right cabaret venue where he could introduce her remarkable voice to the West End. During the Fifties, London’s nightclubs were doing good business. Wealthy foreigners were flooding in, the Americans were coming back, and the newly rich Arabs, donning Western dress but drinking orange juice in public, frequented the clubs to eye the pretty girls on show.
Sonny Zahl was a leading London light entertainment agent, successful, affable and a gentleman, and he loved the business. Sullivan knew it would be better for Shirley’s image if a recognised specialist agent were to negotiate her cabaret debut, and he enlisted Sonny Zahl’s help.
Michael told Shirley that he had his sights set on a Mayfair club for her after the provincial tour. She was happy with the plan; after all, it would be better than singing in a pub. Considerably better.
Sonny Zahl suggested the Astor, an exclusive club in Berkeley Square, owned by the well-known nightspot entrepreneur Bertie Green. Michael was over the moon. He knew Green, and there were few venues better suited to his purpose than the Astor. If he and Sonny could persuade Bertie Green to engage Shirley, it would enhance her prospects. In a fashionable showcase like that, Shirley Bassey would be bound to attract the notice of the press. She’d be on her way – and so, of course, would he.
The beautiful young ladies who worked as hostesses at the Astor were classy – unlike some of the other cabaret clubs in Soho where it was not unknown for girls of no more than fifteen to sometimes cater to the after-hours requirements of a very different sort of male clientele. The Astor was a serious cabaret club, where a quality singer was always featured as an element of the club’s attractions.
Michael Sullivan made the first approach to Bertie Green, explaining that he was promoting a wonderful girl with an extraordinary voice. She was young and lovely and, though she was as yet unknown in London, she was a seasoned performer, even at that very moment on the last leg of a Hippodrome tour for Bernard Delfont.
‘Has she anything special to sing?’ asked Green. ‘Does she have her own songs?’
The question stymied Sullivan, but not for long. He immediately contacted a Soho connection in the music business and asked who was currently considered the best songwriter in town. The answer was Ross Parker who, among other things, had composed ‘There’ll always be an England’. ‘He’s tops,’ Michael was assured. Ross Parker turned out to be a large man with a very pleasantpersonality but, as he told Sullivan, his fee was three hundred pounds per song.
Michael didn’t blink. He nodded, and arranged to take Parker to see and hear Shirley in her show, which was playing not too far from London at Chatham. Shirley was enjoying a good week in Chatham, where every sailor in port was eager to get an eyeful and earful of the singer.
Shirley was catching on fast. She was at her most enchanting when she met Ross Parker after the show. Wide-eyed and admiring. ‘Oh, Mr Parker, are you really going to write a song just for me?’ The trip to Chatham had done the trick; Sullivan would worry about the money later. Meanwhile, he and Parker began working together, meeting at the flat of Juhni’s mother who had a piano. At their first session, Ross said, ‘Just tell me what you want, Mike.’
Sullivan had already given the matter some
6
M EET M E A T T HE A STOR
AFTER SHIRLEY’S SUCCESS on the Hippodrome tour, Michael Sullivan proceeded with the next stage in his plans: to find the right cabaret venue where he could introduce her remarkable voice to the West End. During the Fifties, London’s nightclubs were doing good business. Wealthy foreigners were flooding in, the Americans were coming back, and the newly rich Arabs, donning Western dress but drinking orange juice in public, frequented the clubs to eye the pretty girls on show.
Sonny Zahl was a leading London light entertainment agent, successful, affable and a gentleman, and he loved the business. Sullivan knew it would be better for Shirley’s image if a recognised specialist agent were to negotiate her cabaret debut, and he enlisted Sonny Zahl’s help.
Michael told Shirley that he had his sights set on a Mayfair club for her after the provincial tour. She was happy with the plan; after all, it would be better than singing in a pub. Considerably better.
Sonny Zahl suggested the Astor, an exclusive club in Berkeley Square, owned by the well-known nightspot entrepreneur Bertie Green. Michael was over the moon. He knew Green, and there were few venues better suited to his purpose than the Astor. If he and Sonny could persuade Bertie Green to engage Shirley, it would enhance her prospects. In a fashionable showcase like that, Shirley Bassey would be bound to attract the notice of the press. She’d be on her way – and so, of course, would he.
The beautiful young ladies who worked as hostesses at the Astor were classy – unlike some of the other cabaret clubs in Soho where it was not unknown for girls of no more than fifteen to sometimes cater to the after-hours requirements of a very different sort of male clientele. The Astor was a serious cabaret club, where a quality singer was always featured as an element of the club’s attractions.
Michael Sullivan made the first approach to Bertie Green, explaining that he was promoting a wonderful girl with an extraordinary voice. She was young and lovely and, though she was as yet unknown in London, she was a seasoned performer, even at that very moment on the last leg of a Hippodrome tour for Bernard Delfont.
‘Has she anything special to sing?’ asked Green. ‘Does she have her own songs?’
The question stymied Sullivan, but not for long. He immediately contacted a Soho connection in the music business and asked who was currently considered the best songwriter in town. The answer was Ross Parker who, among other things, had composed ‘There’ll always be an England’. ‘He’s tops,’ Michael was assured. Ross Parker turned out to be a large man with a very pleasantpersonality but, as he told Sullivan, his fee was three hundred pounds per song.
Michael didn’t blink. He nodded, and arranged to take Parker to see and hear Shirley in her show, which was playing not too far from London at Chatham. Shirley was enjoying a good week in Chatham, where every sailor in port was eager to get an eyeful and earful of the singer.
Shirley was catching on fast. She was at her most enchanting when she met Ross Parker after the show. Wide-eyed and admiring. ‘Oh, Mr Parker, are you really going to write a song just for me?’ The trip to Chatham had done the trick; Sullivan would worry about the money later. Meanwhile, he and Parker began working together, meeting at the flat of Juhni’s mother who had a piano. At their first session, Ross said, ‘Just tell me what you want, Mike.’
Sullivan had already given the matter some
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