Scattered Memories of Neil Innes

I woke up this morning to the news that Neil Innes, of the Bonzo Dog Doo-Dah Band and The Rutles, as well as being the man affectionately known as the “Seventh (Monty) Python” died yesterday. I was shocked… and stunned.

(Real fans of Neil Innes would appreciate that last bit.)

I only met him twice, and for mere minutes at a time at that, but somehow, I feel like I lost a friend today.

Neil was one of my favorite songwriters and artists. He was the man who was able to give shape to the nostalgic but Dadaesque chaos that was the Bonzo Dog Doo-Band, acting as musical director amd ringleader while crafting wryly witty songs to compliment the surreal, found-art aesthetic on which the band was initially established.  And while Eric Idle will lay claim to creating the Rutles (and yes, he did pen the screenplay to the now classic 1978 mockumentary, The Rutles: All You Need Is Cash), it was Innes who pitched the idea of a Beatles pastiche for their show Rutland Weekend Television in 1975, and it was he who wrote the songs that that were so stylistically spot-on and incisive that some of them were mistaken for being lost Beatles tracks. Also, Let’s not forget that he was Sir Robin’s minstrel.

I want to make clear that this is not merely some moment in which someone I loved in my childhood passed away, causing me to revisit weird little artifacts from my youth. He has been, and will be, someone that I constantly revisit, his new work and old. In fact, I had been on yet another Neil Innes spree for the last month.

It was only a few weeks ago that I received in the mail my copy his new album, Nearly Really. I had been expecting it for quite some time, having pledged £25 to his crowd sourcing campaign over a year prior. The campaign was a success, and I received an email that my card was being charged and asking to confirm my address. Then I didn’t hear anything for a while. As I followed Neil on Twitter, I came to understand that the crowd sourcing platform he used, Pledge Music, had folded, taking all of our money with it. Well, thank goodness for American Express, because they got me my money back, even though the charge had been processed a year prior. I then immediately took my refunded money and went back to Neil’s website and ordered a signed  CD (I originally had pledged for a signed LP, but after the whole debacle, they forwent a vinyl pressing). It arrived relatively promptly, and I eagerly opened the CD up and found a handwritten message reading: “Thank you Robert! (heart) Neil Innes”

Now, unless somehow managed to miss the byline (and don’t know me personally, which I imagine most people reading do), you probably know that my name is not Robert. However, far from being crestfallen, I found it quite amusing. I had thought for a moment to give him a good natured ribbing about via Twitter, but figured that it would take up precious time that could be better spent on another diatribe about Brexit (which was the bulk of his postings).

Also, I supposed that it served me right. The first time I met Neil and saw him perform, along with old Rutles, Bonzos, and Python songs, he was performing songs from his then newly released album (and what has now proven to be his penultimate album of original songs), Works in Progress. I had gone expecting to just hear the old stuff, but was pleasantly surprised by the quality of his new songs. They embodied so many of the unique defining characteristics of his best songwriting: Intense literacy, clever (but not ostentatious) word-play, honesty, and his willingness to be silly without stampeding towards the joke.  

After the performance, there was no question that I was going to buy the new CD and have him sign it (Interestingly, I had received an original pressing of his first solo album How Sweet to Be an Idiot in the mail that very day, but declined to bring it along). I don’t remember what I said, probably something about how I thought his new material was excellent and I looked forward to hearing the album. He was mellow and gracious. He asked me to whom he should sign the album. Being a little cheeky and trying to look smart, I asked him to sign it to Ethel Rosenberg. He looked at me quizzically, and then I chickened out. “Nevermind,” I said, “sign it to Roger. R-O-G-E-R.” (My own aunt misspelled my name, adding a “D” in the middle, until I was 10. I don’t feel bad for spelling it out for him.)

I didn’t bring anything for him to sign the second  (and last) time I saw him, which was a little over a year and a half ago. I was actually in the process of writing an article about the 40^th anniversary of the original broadcast of All You Need Is Cash when I just happened to discover that Neil was playing a gig in town on that very night.  Once again, his set was a delight. Wonderful songs from the past several decades were performed alongside stories of working with the Pythons, recording next door to the Beatles, and explaining to us Americans some of the references  that we might have missed. (Urban Spaceman makes much more sense if you know that what we refer to as “vacant lots” are called “urban spaces” in the UK. And it stands to reason that if there are urban spaces, then there must be urban spacemen, right?) As had become his established format, the show began with a solo acoustic set, followed by an electric set featuring a local Beatles cover band. This time around the electric band featured The Weeklings (a New Jersey based Beatles tribute band featuring Glen Burtnik, onetime member of Styx) along with Ken Thornton, Innes’ band mate in the recent touring version of The Rutles.

At one point, Neil declared that he was going to reach deep into the back catalog and pull out some deep Bonzo cuts. Caught up in the moment (and with my tongue loosened by more than a few vodka and sodas) I screamed out: “Equestrian Statue!” (Again, For those non-rabid fans, “Equestrian Statue” is a song from Gorilla, the first album by The Bonzo Dog Doo-Dah Band, and the first recorded evidence that Neil naturally possessed a Beatles-esque sense of melody). Neil looked out at the audience in much the same way that he looked at me when I brought up Ethel Rosenberg.

When he emerged from the dressing room after the show, I gently accosted him, confessing that I was “the schmuck who screamed ‘Equestrian Statue.’”

He just smiled and said: “That’s because you’ve got good taste,” and he gave me a big hug.

We chatted for a good few minutes before some official looking guy reminded him that there was a line of people waiting to have a fraction of the time that I was taking up. One more hug and a “great gig – nice chatting with you” and he was off.

I don’t know how to tie this up. I don’t know what else to say. I connected with Neil’s songs, his sense of the absurd, and his sense of the real. I’m glad to say that I was able to communicate that to him personally. Pardon me if my words seem scattered. I’m just sifting through memories. Tomorrow I may have other thoughts, other memories, other associations. Right now I’m still shocked… and stunned.

The Rutles: Novelty Act or Super Group?

It was 40 years ago, on March 22nd, 1978, that the rock mockumentary, The Rutles: All You Need is Cash, aired on NBC.  It was a cult classic from the moment it aired, which is really just a nice way of saying that nobody watched it.

Of course, it wouldn’t be long before the lovingly scathing send up of the Beatles would go from obscurity to notoriety. And frankly, given the talent involved, how could it not? We’re talking about a show that featured the razor-sharp absurdist/satirical writing of Monty Python’s Eric Idle, memorable appearances by John Belushi, Bill Murray, Gilda Radner, and Dan Aykroyd…  And oh, by the way, George Harrison showed up too.

Arguably, though, the enduring quality of the show has more to do with the music. The songs that Neil Innes created for the soundtrack beautifully captured the feeling and style of the Beatles’ music without directly copying (mostly). The lovingly and expertly crafted pastiches reminded many viewers of what it was like to hear “I Want to Hold Your Hand” for the first time, and then pick up a guitar or tennis racket and pretend to be a Beatle in the bedroom mirror.  According to Innes, “Rutle” is a verb, meaning to emulate someone you admire.

It’s not surprising, then, that the movie was popular with musicians, many of whom were of the age that they were first inspired to learn to play by the Beatles, and loved how the irreverent parody humanized and demystified their heroes. “That was my Ed Sullivan show,” reminisced guitarist Ken Thornton, who currently plays with the reformed edition of the Rutles, comparing the broadcast of the 1978 special to the Beatles’ legendary first appearance on American television, “as a Beatles fan, a Monty Python Fan, as an SNL fan.”

It didn’t hurt that Innes recruited incredible players. Even if they originally came together for a comedy show, history treats them as a unique band in their own right. When one looks at the quality of the songwriting and the caliber of musicianship, the Rutles start to look less like a novelty act, and more like a super group.

Neil Innes aka “Ron Nasty” (guitar, keyboards, vocals, music and lyrics)

As keyboardist, guitarist, and musical director of the inimitable Bonzo Dog Doo-Dah Band, Neil already knew how to co-opt, adapt, and pervert different existing musical genres. Still, even when much of the Bonzos’ repertoire consisted of Dada-esque assaults on British trad-jazz, Innes already had an innate facility with Beatles-esque melodies (perhaps due to the fact that when the Bonzos were recording their first single, the Beatles were in an adjacent studio, and as Neil eavesdropped on the Fab Four in the process of recording George Harrison’s “I Want to Tell You,” and a light bulb just went off).

Neil’s work after the Bonzos’ breakup in 1970 included straight ahead pop-rock (his sadly short-lived band, the World), performances blending poetry and music (the GRIMMS), and his work with Monty Python (“Brave Sir Robin,” anyone?).

Notable “Extra-Rutular” Recording:

The Bonzos’ debut album Gorilla (1967), is an audacious assault on the sensibilities of sense itself. Covers of old songs from the 20s (“Jollity Farm”) are side by side with original calypso inspired pieces about self mutilation during the process of courtship (“Look Out, There's a Monster Coming”). Meanwhile, Innes’ sublime “Equestrian Statue” sounds like it could plausibly be an outtake from the Magical Mystery Tour sessions, due in no small part to the fact that Innes’ voice naturally resembles Lennon’s.

Ricky Fataar aka “Stig O’Hara” (guitar, bass, sitar, tabla, vocals)

Fataar's facility with both western and non-western instruments gave the band the ability to execute the more densely arranged material as well as to emulate Harrison’s Raga influenced pieces. After the breakup up of his first band, the Flames, he was invited by Carl Wilson to join the Beach Boys as a full member in 1972. He took on most of the drum duties after Dennis Wilson (not the best drummer to begin with) drunkenly punched through a window in his house. Fataar and fellow ex-Flame Blondie Chaplin would be instrumental in punching up The Beach Boys’ sound, and updating the band’s image. His later work would include a laundry list of session work, as well as being the drummer in Bonnie Raitt’s band for the last couple of decades.

Notable “Extra-Rutular” Recording:

The 1973 live album, The Beach Boys in Concert, really shows off how much energy and funkiness Fataar and Chaplin brought to the band. It also includes the previously unreleased Fataar/Chaplin/Love composition, “We Got Love.”

John Halsey aka “Barry Wom” (percussion, vocals)

Halsey had previously been a member of Patto, a band that never achieved major mainstream success in spite of (of perhaps because of) its dizzying mix of hard-edged blues-rock, and progressive. Fronted by vocalist Mike Patto, and also featuring another future Rutle Ollie Halsall, the band released three well-received albums during its short lifespan between 1970 and 1973. After the split, Halsey would play on albums by the likes of Joan Armatrading, Roy Harper, Annette Peacock, and Lou Reed.

Notable “Extra-Rutular” Recording:

Arguably, Halsey’s most famous drum work would be his playing on Lou Reed’s Transformer album, but to hear Halsey’s playing at its most creative and muscular, check out Patto’s self-titled debut (1970) or its follow-up, Hold Your Fire (1971).

Ollie Halsall aka “Leppo” (guitar, keyboards, vocals)

Though in the film, he only appears for a second in a still photograph of “Leppo,” (basically a doppelganger of early Beatle Stu Sutcliffe) on the soundtrack, Ollie Halsall handled the lead guitar work as well as the vocals on the more McCartney-esque songs (to which Idle would lip-sync in the film). He was a veteran of a number of different British bands including Tempest, Boxer, and the aforementioned Patto, and also worked extensively with the mercurial Kevin Ayers. Never a household name, he was a guitarist’s guitarist, known for his innovative technique and outside thinking. Jon Hiseman, his old band mate in Tempest, would remark: “He was on a different planet to the rest of us.”

Notable “Extra-Rutular” Recording:

For Tempest’s second album, Living in Fear (1974) Halsall replaced (and was reported hand-picked by) original guitarist Allan Holdsworth, no small shoes to fill. Halsall’s playing flickers, and cuts like shards of shattered gems. The tracks “Yeah Yeah Yeah” and their cover of the Beatles’ “Paperback Writer” also illustrate that much like Innes’ innate vocal similarity to Lennon, Halsall’s resemblance to McCartney in terms of range and timbre was no put on.

Take a listen to some of these tracks and judge for yourself. Even if you still say that they are no super group (which, even I admit is pushing it a bit), you’ll have to admit that, parody or not, the Rutles are no joke.