This book aims to contribute, in a variety of respects, to the significant body of revisionist literature on the period between 1955 and 1975, via its questioning of the widespread preconceptions concerning generational reactions to popular music during this time, and in its exploration of the manner in which these reflect changes and upheavals in specific sociocultural realms and institutions, from the churches and the family to the world of popular theatre and entertainment.

Naturally, the study is not exhaustive, and, inevitably, it has touched upon certain areas and themes which could benefit from further scholarly exploration. For instance, the manner in which considerations of gender shaped and informed reactions to popular music, though examined in some detail throughout the book, could undoubtedly be pursued with greater rigour in future studies. Explorations of race and ethnicity are not especially predominant within the work, and, once again, more meticulous dissection of the manner in which these intersect with generational attitudes to popular music would be invaluable. Both Keith Gildart and Bill Osgerby have highlighted the ability of local studies to add subtlety and nuance to broader generalizations concerning postwar British youth culture; this book has endeavoured to consider evidence from different parts of the British Isles, but there is a stronger focus on England and Scotland overall, and undoubtedly much could be gained from further study of specific component nations, regions or communities. Lastly, while the themes identified by the book were chosen for their particular vibrancy and pertinence, there is certainly room for further exploration of other vital facets and institutions of British social and cultural life, and of the extent to which they accommodated popular music. The responses of educational authorities and schools to popular music were often featured in contemporary press reports. The varied reactions to the music at which such reports hinted certainly seem, at first reading, to mirror or otherwise complement those exhibited by youth clubs and other informal educational establishments. While some schools perceived the music as encouraging unhealthy social habits, and as compromising the performance of pupils in the classroom, others were tolerant of the music, considering it a valid pathway towards more diverse musical tastes or a means of cultivating confidence and self-expression.

Introduction

On 24 March 1964, A Man Dies, a musical play depicting the passion and death of Jesus Christ, was performed at the Royal Albert Hall in London. This work, intended as a modern, experimental depiction of the Gospel, largely entailed actors miming to the accompaniment of a spoken narrative, but most conspicuous was its use of contemporary, popular- style, music to enrich the unfolding story. The media frequently dubbed the work a ‘rock ‘n’ roll Passion Play’, but this label did not reflect the array of contemporary musical styles utilized in the production. The songs, some directly adapted from Biblical passages, and others offering social and moral commentary in the tradition of the Mediaeval Mystery Plays, variously embodied almost every musical trend which had made its presence felt in Britain from the late 1950s onwards – from calypso, folk music and skiffle to ‘beat’ and, indeed, rock ‘n’ roll. The play had been steadily growing in fame since its rather more modest premiere performance in a church hall in 1960. An abridged version of the production, when filmed for television in 1961, attracted considerable media attention; although it caused a brief, minor outcry, as one politician campaigned for the banning of its broadcast, by the time it featured on the stage of the Royal Albert Hall, the majority of the most vociferous public objections had receded. The play largely gained acceptance as a legitimate and influential theatrical offering, with new productions continuing to be staged by other groups around the country for the remainder of the 1960s and beyond.

The manner in which the play used popular music for dramatic effect remains, in retrospect, one of its most striking aspects. Considered within the context of the period, and particularly bearing in mind the early 1960s origins of the work (it predated the experimental ‘rock opera’ or ‘concept album’ by several years), it was, in many ways, a daring and innovative move, and one which would be much admired and imitated. Some commentators traced a direct lineage from this production to Jesus Christ Superstar and Godspell, two subsequent, large- scale Christian- themed musicals. However, what is perhaps even more remarkable about A Man Dies was the fact that its original cast comprised not professional actors, but teenage amateurs from the youth club of St. James's Presbyterian Church in the postwar residential area of Lockleaze, Bristol.

‘Call it music? This is TNT!’ declared the Daily Mail correspondent Don Iddon in September 1956. He was referring to rock ‘n’ roll, the American musical trend which had suddenly begun to feature prominently in British headlines. As Rock Around the Clock, an otherwise innocuous film- vehicle for American musician Bill Haley, was screened in cinemas in the autumn of that year, press reports of youngsters ‘jiving in the aisles’, vandalizing cinemas and generally participating in ‘riots’ which were, frequently, spearheaded by ‘Teddy Boys’ proliferated. For almost two weeks, readers encountered stories of rowdy ‘teenagers’ aiming fire extinguishers at outraged ushers, of widespread disruption in the streets of Manchester and South London and of Alsatian dogs and plain clothes police officers patrolling cinemas. The incidents petered out relatively swiftly, constituting a typical ‘nine- day wonder’ for commentators, most of whom ultimately refocused their attentions on the rather more significant crisis developing simultaneously in Suez. Nevertheless, with their inflammatory language and palpable outrage, the Daily Mail's initial reports on rock ‘n’ roll, which described the genre as ‘cannibalistic […] music of the delinquents’, both ‘deplorable’ and ‘tribal’ in character, certainly set the tone for much of the press coverage of the music. Competitors from the Daily Mirror to the Manchester Guardian duly produced various reports on ‘jiving rioters’ ‘whipped into a frenzy’ and ‘savages drunk with coconut wine’ possessed by ‘the spirit of the rock’. However, the Daily Mail's original coverage remains particularly infamous, cited not merely as evidence of initial press hostility towards rock ‘n’ roll, but also as a particularly ‘apocalyptic’ articulation of adult responses to the music in society more broadly. The papers seemed to confirm this by printing letters from older readers whose appraisals of the music resembled those of Iddon in tone and style; while some believed that youngsters ought to receive ‘medical treatment’ for their enjoyment of this music, others saw the incidents as ‘a terrible indictment’ of modern life and a threat to the cultural integrity of Britain. The dangers inherent in the licentious ‘jungle beat’ of the music were repeatedly highlighted. Many who were young at the time recalled similar reactions from their own parents and elders. Yet, for many of these youngsters, there was something almost thrilling and galvanizing about the disapprobation which their elders expressed towards their musical choices.

Introduction

Many of the memories of Cheryl Vines, interviewed for the BBC's Millennium Memory Bank oral history project in 1999, seemed fairly typical of those of the generation which matured in the late 1950s and early 1960s, but she had one particularly unusual anecdote to share. In 1963, Vines won a competition to meet the Beatles, becoming the envy of her peers as she did so. The occasion was featured in the local press, and it proved an unforgettable experience for Vines. Nevertheless, although she was an avid Beatles fan, she also stressed that her love for the group had originated not so much in deep- seated enjoyment of their music or personalities, but, rather, in a desire to be different from her older sister. When her sister ‘took up the rock ‘n’ roll craze with a vengeance’, she had deliberately avoided doing so, because she always did ‘the opposite’ of whatever her sister chose to do. Eventually, however, she decided to embrace Cliff Richard – albeit expressly because her sister had admired Elvis Presley – and later she turned to the Beatles because ‘they were mine, they weren't [my sister's] – she'd kind of moved on’. Vines became a typical Beatles devotee, filling drawers with memorabilia and cultivating a particular love for Paul McCartney. On entering the competition to meet the group, she longed to win and harboured a strong conviction that she would succeed. Again, however, her motivations for participating were mixed – she was clearly a Beatles devotee, but equally she hoped to supersede a classmate who had simultaneously entered a similar competition, organized by Radio Luxembourg. Vines could not remember whether her sister had delighted in her victory – having ‘left home […] she was not particularly interested’ – but her mother, she expressly recalled, had ‘shared [her] joy’. The experience of meeting the Beatles had been exciting – and her favourite, McCartney, had been ‘very pleasant’. However, inevitably, life moved on for Vines, and she eventually became an art student, embracing the ethos of the 1960s as wholeheartedly as possible. ‘We really did think we could change the world’, she said of her generation, and, while attending college in London, she recalled experiencing a particularly enriched ‘freedom’.

Introduction

On Easter Sunday, 17 April 1960, during an edition of the popular Associated Television (ATV) programme Sunday Night at the London Palladium, pop singer Adam Faith and comedian- entertainer Bruce Forsyth, the show's compère, performed a short routine in front of the curtain of the illustrious Variety theatre. Faith, the ‘headline’ act on a bill which also included the acrobatic Dior Dancers, the high- kicking John Tiller ‘Girls’ and actress Beryl Reid, had already performed his own numbers, much to the excitement of younger audience- members. He returned to take several bows, but, to the astonished amusement of the audience, his place onstage was suddenly assumed by Forsyth, dressed as Faith in an identical leather jacket and blonde wig. After a brief exchange, in which Faith dutifully assured Forsyth that he did not object to this impersonation, the two commenced a duet of one of the younger singer's most successful hits, ‘Poor Me’. Forsyth was a renowned impressionist, and he relished the opportunity to mimic Faith's trademark stuttering vocal style. The audience evidently enjoyed their comic performance, at the end of which the two men shook hands before joining fellow cast members on the Palladium's revolving stage to take their final bows.

Both Faith and Forsyth had reached an apex in their respective careers by this time. Faith had already attained number one chart hits with ‘Poor Me’ and ‘What Do You Want?’, and ‘Someone Else's Baby’, which he performed on the programme, reached number two in April 1960. Forsyth, meanwhile, had doggedly pursued a theatrical career, despite several lean periods, until the ultimate Variety assignment – that of compèring this illustrious show – became his. In other respects, however, the two performers represented strikingly different musical and cultural worlds. Forsyth had been performing since his teenage years in the 1940s, working steadily in various entertainment fields – dance, musical performance and comedy – to develop as a distinctive, versatile performer. Meanwhile, Faith, though increasingly acquiring theatrical experience, was a novice by comparison. Terence Nelhams had, by his own account, entered the popular music world, and assumed the name of Adam Faith, almost on a whim, during a time in which young men could, apparently, swiftly rise to fame in the business, even with limited abilities, provided that they were managed effectively and possessed the right appearance and demeanour.

Introduction

The final chapter considers succinctly the manner in which shifting dynamics, both in the music world and in the newspaper industry, effected something of a reversal in approach between the popular and the serious press. As the popular music scene grew increasingly diverse and experimental during the latter half of the 1960s, and as shifting economic dynamics intensified the struggle, particularly among the popular titles, for readership and revenue, the enthusiasm of the popular press for the contemporary pop scene appeared somewhat compromised by the late 1960s. It was at this point that the serious newspapers began to appear more pertinent and viable fora for critical writing on popular music – a state of affairs which remained prevalent into the late 1970s and beyond, as newspapers such as the Times and Guardian found themselves, in the eyes of some, superseding even the dedicated music press in terms of the perceived effectiveness of their popular music- related content.

Nevertheless, it is important not to dismiss outright the ‘post- Beatlemania’ coverage of the popular press. Younger critics within these titles were able to reinvigorate popular music criticism to a considerable, albeit uneven, extent, and the Daily Mirror, although struggling by the early 1970s to keep pace with its bold parvenu rival The Sun, demonstrated, somewhat unexpectedly, that it had not lost its erstwhile enthusiasm for pop irrevocably.

Changing Fortunes, Reversing Trends: Evolutions within the Press and Popular Music Worlds during the Late 1960s

By the mid- 1960s, as the global success of the Beatles grew to almost unimaginable proportions, changes within the British newspaper world, and innovations within the pop scene which would affect the manner in which the press understood and related to it, were beginning, gradually, to unfold. The increasing sophistication of popular music, particularly as performed by the Beatles and other influential groups (such as the Rolling Stones or The Who), led eventually to the transformation of ‘pop into art’ and to its broad recategorization as ‘rock’. ‘Rock’, although as fluid a generic construction as any other during this period, gradually came to denote greater artistic integrity, originality and sophistication – in essence, a genre which, like the earlier jazz styles, was seen to inspire serious listening, rather than appearing a simple accompaniment for dancing or leisure.

The reactions of British newspapers to rock ‘n’ roll, and popular music more broadly, have, since the ‘cinema riots’ of 1956, frequently been viewed by scholars monolithically and straightforwardly, and explored largely by those who seek evidence of disapprobation and misunderstanding. For some, the press reactions to the music constituted a clear example of ‘moral panic’, as developed in the work of Cohen and fellow sociologists. When deployed with subtle caution, this complex term may still provide a useful means of exploring the 1956 incidents and broader press responses to rock ‘n’ roll. Many of its key elements were evident in the newspaper coverage, and reiterated during future incidents in which popular music was seen to be involved. There is, nevertheless, a danger that, particularly when deployed too loosely, the term may become misleading, encouraging straightforward conclusions regarding ‘press reactions’ which can ignore important variations within the coverage. In assessing why ‘modern press history’ has tended not ‘to flourish in Britain’, Peter Catterall notes that, all too often, ‘[n] ewspapers are means not ends’, their stories used as illustrative examples of wider social trends, but less extensively analysed as historic artefacts in their own right.

Ultimately, this work has endeavoured to show that, while useful, the ‘moral panic’ framework for exploring press responses to popular music must be deployed alongside other considerations – in particular, recognition of the internal changes which the newspaper industry was undergoing during this time; the divergence between ‘serious’ and ‘popular’ newspapers in their responses to popular music; and, perhaps most significantly, the challenges which individual newspapers faced as they attempted to locate and assert their ‘voices’ during a time of intense competition and uncertainty. The temptations to exploit popular music, and the expressions of youth culture with which it was closely associated, for ‘shock value’, as a means of attracting attention and generating greater revenue, never completely disappeared. However, equally, with increasing recognition of the value and persistence of the various popular music styles, the press ceased to treat rock ‘n’ roll and its musical relations predominantly as sources of social disorder, and to recognize their cultural, musical and commercial potential. Some publications exhibited signs of this recognition more effectively than others, at least in the short term.

Rock ‘n’ roll music first featured prominently in British newspaper headlines in the late summer of 1956, when it was reported that juvenile ‘riots’ were occurring in London cinemas during screenings of Rock Around the Clock, a film- vehicle for American singer Bill Haley. According to one publication, in a cinema located in Paddington, ‘in- the- groove teenagers’ leapt out of their seats to dance to Haley's infectious rock ‘n’ roll music, while a youth allegedly assaulted the manager of the premises as he attempted to restore order. Meanwhile, in Dagenham, a ‘very large crowd […] creat[ed] a considerable disturbance’ in the streets following ejection from a screening of the film. As the surrounding crowd ‘rant[ed] and rav[ed]’, two young men defied police orders to leave the scene, and were eventually arrested, while, elsewhere in the capital, ‘about 120 youths’ began ‘shouting, whistling, and jumping over flower beds’ following their removal from another screening. The disturbances gradually spread beyond the Greater London area. At a cinema in Burnley, Lancashire, ‘[e] xcited young people did £150 worth of damage’, the Manchester Guardian reported; the manager tried, in vain, to restore order to his premises by temporarily halting the film screening. By the end of the evening, ‘[s]eats had been broken and torn, lamp bulbs had been […] smashed against the wall, and fire hoses turned on’. Troubles were reported in various locations, from Bootle to Welling; meanwhile, ‘youths and girls’ who jived in the aisles of the Davis Theatre, Croydon, during screenings of the film were summarily ‘ejected’ from the premises; ‘fighting’ subsequently began outside the cinema, and two youths were arrested. As the incidents became increasingly national phenomena, the press listed locations – including Blackburn, Preston, Brighton and Gateshead – in which local Watch Committees had pre- empted trouble by banning the film altogether. In South London, meanwhile, Sunday night screenings of the film were cancelled by the Gaumont cinema- chain, as ‘Sunday riots’ caused by ‘rhythm- crazy youths’ had erupted in the city during the previous week. The Rank organization similarly limited showings of the film in areas of the capital where, according to the Daily Telegraph, ‘ “the Teddy Boy” influence is strong’. Nevertheless, such measures did not eliminate reportage of further disturbances.

Introduction

The growing recognition of the importance of popular music styles to readers – and particularly to the all- important youth market – was, clearly, acknowledged by the major newspapers, and, in particular, the popular titles, by the late 1950s. This awareness was further reflected in the development of columns specifically dedicated to the music, comprising record reviews, commentary on the industry and reports on specific artistes. It is upon the evolution of such columns, particularly within the popular press, but subsequently, and increasingly, in the serious titles, that this chapter focuses. Once again, exploration of this dimension of newspaper coverage of popular music allows scholars to look beyond straightforward perceptions of condemnatory attitudes and moral outrage. It also highlights that, at least initially, and contrary to prevalent opinion, the popular press demonstrated greater initiative in bringing the music – as music – to their readers. While acknowledging the various popular music critics whose work appeared in the popular press at this time – from Judith Simons of the Express to Adrian Mitchell and Kenneth Allsop of the Mail – the chapter highlights the particularly distinctive contribution made by Patrick Doncaster, the Mirror's pop columnist throughout the 1950s and early 1960s, in this regard.

The steady increase of enthusiasm for popular music styles exhibited by the popular press arguably peaked in the early 1960s as the popularity of the Beatles soared. Significantly, it was also at this point that the serious newspapers began, steadily, to take more consistent note of contemporary musical developments. The particular importance of ‘Beatlemania’, both as a cultural phenomenon and as a pivotal moment within which the cultural validity of popular music was widely acknowledged by various sectors of the press, must therefore be acknowledged.

Popular Music Coverage in the Daily Press: The Popular Newspapers as Pioneers

Between 1956 and the emergence of the ‘beat groups’ of the early 1960s, serious papers certainly seemed less eager to respond to, or comment extensively upon, the new popular music trends, notwithstanding occasional features on prominent performers or particular concerts. Facing less concerted pressure to cultivate a populist dynamic to increase sales, they responded to and engaged with popular culture phenomena inconsistently during this time. George Melly asserted that, during the formative years of British rock ‘ n’ roll, ‘the quality papers had either no interest in pop, or, more likely, were totally unaware of it’.