Looking For Someone Written by John Hackett Originally published in the Journal of the Classic Rock Society Reproduced here by kind permission
Turning Points	I have always been fascinated by stories that hinge on one event changing people’s lives – whether Gwyneth Paltrow makes the train or not in “Sliding Doors”; or James Stewart saving the bank in “It’s a Wonderful Life”. Does it all even itself out in the end and do we all end up much the same? In 1970 my brother put the following ad in the back of “Melody Maker”:    “Guitarist/writer seeks receptive musicians determined to strive beyond existing stagnant music forms.” This was strong stuff, I thought at the time, not appreciating quite how determined he was to make his mark. It was very different in tone from the “A able accordionist” ad which, by virtue of its “A’s” always got first place in the alphabetical listing. This would then be followed by a series of ads by all manner of musicians from guitarists in Neasden who defied all the rules of Western harmony (not quite as innovative as it sounds!) to seasoned professionals who described themselves as “ex-name”. In later years I never quite got round to advertising myself as “ex-Genesis-ex”. Maybe I should have done…
	Steve got a call from a guy called Peter Gabriel who was in a band called Genesis – they had a guitarist but were looking for someone else. Steve and I trooped up the Kings Road to one of those nice old record shops where two people could stand in a booth and request the latest waxings. We asked to listen to Trespass, the second Genesis album. As soon as I heard Peter’s slightly hoarse white soul voice and those jangling twelve-string guitars, I knew this was an exciting direction. It didn’t sound like anyone else which I still think is the mark of truly original music.
King Crimson	Until then the benchmark had been King Crimson. It still takes my breath away when I recall hearing the opening bars of Schizoid Man at the Marquee Club in Wardour Street. “Everyone’s raving about them,” Dave, the singer in Steve’s band at the time, had said to me. And boy, with their stunning lighting and rapier technique, you could see why. It had been Ian McDonald’s fabulous flute playing on I Talk to the Wind  that had sent me rushing into Bill Lewington’s to buy a clapped-out Boosey & Hawkes flute for £25. Steve and I got it between us – I had sold my electric guitar and Steve said he was interested in trying the flute. He was already a formidable harmonica player and so it was not such a wild idea. I don’t remember him trying more than a few notes, whereas I struggled for three months with the high notes before I got some lessons at school from a clarinettist and then a year later from Paul Chapman, who had been to Sheffield University (another turning point!).
Audition	Looking back, I suppose it was a bit unusual that I should have taken part in Steve’s audition – but he was always very good at including me in anything musical that was going on. In fact, someone once said that if I’d played trombone he would still have had me in his band… The audition itself was a very relaxed affair. Peter and Tony Banks came to our little flat in Victoria and sat on the bed in the room Steve and I shared (with a lovely view of the railway lines) whilst Steve jangled a few chords and the two of us played flute and guitar. There was a nice slow tune Steve had written that ended up on the end of Hermit on Voyage of the Acolyte, his first solo album, that they seemed to like and Tony was interested by the added-note chords (ie not going for the obvious harmony) that Steve was using. Apparently, it was hearing the two of us together that was one of the things that caught Tony’s attention. Steve and I went to see a Genesis gig at the Lyceum with Mick Barnard on guitar. It was terrific. Then in no time at all, or so it seemed, Steve was with them, the band bought him the Gibson Les Paul he had always wanted and he left home. For the next few years I went to as many of the gigs as I could. Often they were on the bill with Lindisfarne or Van der Graaf Generator, supporting in the early days. Steve didn’t drive yet, so I would take it in turns to hitch a ride with Mike Rutherford, Tony Banks or Peter Gabriel. Friars, Aylesbury, was a favourite venue, which is probably why I ended up living there for ten years. What a privilege it was to be rubbing shoulders with some of the most talented rock musicians ever – but, of course, I didn’t realise that at the time.
	Peter used to play flute on stage in those days and had the habit of swinging it around like some samurai sword, sometimes with rather disastrous consequences for the instrument. Then the call would come through that Peter had broken his flute again and could he borrow mine? I would sit in the audience and hope to goodness, he didn’t get too carried away with my new Yamaha. Fame is a funny thing. A couple of years ago in Tokyo, Steve was signing autographs for a queue of fans – as one guy got to the front, he had what I can only describe as some kind of panic attack brought on by euphoria. He started panting like a dog on heat, couldn’t get any words out and then literally ran for the door. As for the Genesis crowd, I saw them go from being a relatively minor band to a world famous outfit – but they were always extremely down to earth and friendly. I remember Peter coming off stage after performing The Lamb; I was still reeling in a world of Rael, Slippermen and the Lamia and Peter asked me, “Did you come by train?” Ever the gentleman!
Spaghetti and Chips	The whole era had a sheen to it, an energy. The images that stick in my mind are Peter soaring into the air at Drury Lane; Steve entering the pub opposite with a Clint Eastwood hat; zooming down the Marylebone Underpass in Dave Jacobson’s (sound mixer) red MG. Then spaghetti and chips – it was all glamour. We used to buy skin-tight loon pants from a stall in Kensington Market. The lady assistant always insisted on helping me with the zip fly there. I mentioned this to my lyricist the other day and he said the exact same thing used to happen to him. I thought she was just being helpful. Going back to the fame thing, I think it was going to a party and someone saying, “Hi, John. How’s Steve?” that made me realise I had to tread a different path. So I headed off to Cambridge to look for the meaning of life in 19th Century German literature – and didn’t find it…
To read another John Hackett article, please select from the following: * 'Star Clusters' * 'Revelations' * 'The Gardener, the Clark, his Wife and the Ligger...' * 'I Know What I Don't Like (In My Wardrobe)' * '2 Pints of Saki and a Packet of Crisps...' To visit John's website, click here To visit The Classic Rock Society's website, click here ... or go back to stevehackett.com here