Star Clusters
Written by John Hackett
Originally published in the Journal of the Classic Rock Society
Reproduced here by kind permission



Star Clusters

 “Hey, John, come here – Richie Havens is coming up the road!” shouted my mate, Rick, from his front door in Bayswater, West London. “You should say ‘Hello!’”.

It was the early eighties. Richie Havens had been doing a gig round the corner at the Porchester Hall. I had met him a few years before in LA when he sang two tracks on ‘Please Don’t Touch’ (my brother’s second solo album, just after he left Genesis). There was a chance he might remember me – it seemed a good idea to say ‘Hi’. But then I looked down …

I was wearing a leopard-skin jockstrap and that was all; except, that is, for a star cluster tied round my waist, dangling down to produce a sort of kinetic sculpture effect. Suddenly the idea of leaping out in front of this Woodstock legend shouting, “Hi, remember me?” seemed less appealing. So I didn’t. And it’s a decision I’ve never regretted.

To explain how I got to this point, I have to go back a little further. So here goes with another article which I hope doesn’t sound too “I ‘ad that Phil Collins in the back of my cab the other day”, but more “I say, what a spiffing bunch those Genesis chaps are!”
Cambridge Days I think I left my dull tale last time with me going off to Cambridge to look for the meaning of life. Needless to say, I didn’t find it. It was actually a very unhappy time – from an all-boys school to an all-male college. “Hmm” I thought “I don’t think I’m ever going to score here …”. People seemed to be topping themselves quite regularly. Apparently our French tutor (I was doing a language degree) had told a previous year that if anyone was contemplating suicide, they should make sure they put enough coins in the gas meter, as there was no point in leaving the job half done. I came home that Christmas after only one term and lay in the bath thinking, “I don’t want to go back there.” So I didn’t – I decided to be a musician instead.


I Like Who I Know As luck would have it (of course, nothing to do with having a brother in Genesis) I got a call from Mike Rutherford, who was working on a project with Anthony Philips and needed a flute player. This eventually became Ant’s album ‘The Geese and the Ghost’. By this time I was taking my playing seriously and practising ridiculous amounts – I’d heard Jean Pierre Rampal and James Galway on the South Bank and I knew just how far I was from achieving their flawless classical technique. One day I arrived at the studio and Ant handed me a flute part. As I looked at it my heart sank – patterns of 7s and 9s in extreme registers with every conceivable awkward leap, combined with masses of accidentals and changes of time signature. I knew I couldn’t play it. Ant saw the look on my face – “Don’t worry,” he said, handing me a different flute part, “it’s a joke – here’s the real one.”
Voyage of the Acolyte Steve and I had always played a lot of music together and, to be honest, I don’t think we ever talked about much else – for both of us music was everything. Although I started off playing blues guitar, I then concentrated on the flute in an attempt, I suspect, not to copy everything he did. But, of course, when in 1975 he said he was recording his first solo album, I was thrilled to be asked to help, not only with the flute parts, but also with some keyboard work and arrangements for cello and oboe.

The album was recorded at Kingsway Recorders, a literally underground studio near Holborn Tube station - occasionally we had to stop for the noise of a train rumbling in the distance. But this was the first occasion when I had spent any prolonged time in a studio. Of course, technology has moved on now, but then the sight of that huge mixing desk, like something out of a sci-fi movie, and the huge spools going round on the 24 track Studer tape recorders was awesome. Every morning Chas, the tape op, would casually clean the heads with cotton buds (“the same things you use for nippers’ ears” he told me) – but for me this daily ritual had an almost mystical significance.













It still amazes me how Steve had conceived this sound world. I had bought a basic sound-on-sound tape deck that we used to try out some of the two-part guitar solos (like the end of Ace of Wands) and we had experimented with backwards tapes (The Lovers). But then Steve announced that he needed tubular bells – and lo! they were brought forth, along with a set of vibes and an Arp synthesizer – having mucked around with a few ideas in our old room at home, suddenly here we were in an Aladdin’s Cave.

Phil Collins and Mike Rutherford came down to record the rhythm tracks. I strummed along on Ace of Wands until Phil said I was putting him off, so after that I stuck to flute and keyboards. He was already a respected session player by then, so I didn’t have a problem with that.

Robin Miller, the oboist on King Crimson’s ‘Lizard’ album, came down one evening straight from a rehearsal with the BBC Symphony Orchestra, conducted by Pierre Boulez. He showed me the oboe part of one of Boulez’s pieces they were rehearsing – it looked like the music Ant Philips had given me as a joke! Apparently Boulez conducted without a baton, using his arms like a traffic policeman and could spot a false harp harmonic at 1000 paces. Robin took me through the flute and oboe passages I had scored, pointed out where my tuning faltered – it was a great lesson.

I heard Acolyte for the first time on CD a little while ago and was struck by the many colours that blend so well – Sally Oldfield’s beautiful voice, the orchestral sounds, and, of course, the session parrot on Tower Struck Down. I am very proud of being involved with it.

John Acock, the producer, was away one day – I remember Louie Austin coming in and playing ‘Shadow of the Hierophant’ at full blast – we pushed back our chairs and knew it was a job well done. There was a whiff of something in the air (success?) …
Tough Decisions I headed off to Sheffield University for the next three years where I was considerably happier concentrating on music full time. Steve, meanwhile, was touring the world. Then a few months before my final exams he rang to ask if I would be interested in joining him in LA where he was recording ‘Please don’t touch’ – it was a difficult decision which I contemplated for a whole nanosecond before agreeing to leave grey November skies for sunny California.

Waking up on the first morning there, the first thing that struck me as odd was the guy by the pool hoovering the grass. Then a few of us went for a walk down Sunset Boulevard – a police car drew up. “OK, guys, where are you going?” they demanded. “We’re just out for a walk,” we said. “Oh, you’re English!” they said, suddenly much friendlier. “Listen, nobody walks here,” they said, getting back in their car.


Epilogue So it was in Los Angeles that I met Randy Crawford and Richie Havens in 1978. I saw Richie on telly the other day – just him, a guitar and that amazing voice. But I don’t go to fancy dress parties any more – so if he should come wandering down the Abbeydale Road, I will leap out and say, “I don’t suppose you remember me, but …”
To read another John Hackett article, please select from the following:

* 'Revelations'
* 'The Gardener, the Clark, his Wife and the Ligger...'
* 'Looking For Someone'
* 'I Know What I Don't Like (In My Wardrobe)'
* '2 Pints of Saki and a Packet of Crisps...'
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