All language subtitles for zelezni 1922 (4)

This programme contains
some strong language.

Ah, the rock'n'roll band.
The iconic silhouette.
That most romantic of gangs.

The whole point about a band
is the collective.

A really good group, everybody
is just as good at their job.

You're kind of all-for-one,
one-for-all, you know?

But is everyone equal
in this band of brothers?

Usually every band has a member
that gets less attention than
everybody else.

Most bands focus
on a couple of individuals.

There's always going to
be people who stand just
outside the spotlight.

The other ones, the quiet ones.

That guy who is out of
focus in the band's shot.

The guy who nobody really remembers,
but they're really useful.

He is the other one, and you
underestimate him at your peril,

because the other one is the
rock'n'roll band's secret weapon.

Say yeah

I'm a rock'n'roll star

Say yeah

I'm a rock'n'roll star

Say yeah

I'm a rock'n'roll star.

History is littered with tales
of the famous and the infamous.

But look a little closer,
and other, more enigmatic
figures begin to emerge.

Characters who shun recognition
in favour of anonymity, exerting

a subtle yet powerful influence
from behind the mask of mystery.

Who are you?

And that's true of rock'n'roll bands
too.

Alongside the sex god front man,

the star-spangled guitarist
and the powerhouse drummer,

there's the other one.

Sometimes they play bass,
sometimes keys,

sometimes you're not sure
what the hell they do at all.

But the other one is the
unsung hero, the lynchpin,

the alchemist, and the band
simply can't live without him.

So step into
the spotlight and take a bow.

It's the other one's turn to shine.

A classic inhabitant of other
one territory is the bass player.

A good bass line will be remembered
forever, but can the same they
said of those who've created them?

From what's his name
in Oasis to that bloke in Queen,

the bassist is also overlooked,
unfairly cast as
rock'n'roll's spotty little brother.

The PR problem that the bass has
got is that sometimes when you're
forming a band, you have to

give the bass to the person who's...
the worst at whatever it is,

cos it's the easiest thing to play!

The bass player always
seems the most modest.

That's because he secretly suspects

that anyone can do
boomp boomp boomp.

You don't want your bass player to
be super-talented anyway, do you?

You don't want a load of...

You just want someone going
dum dum dum dum...

That's all you need.

Hey! Hey!
You! You!

While the singer and guitarist
flounce about, our four-string
friend is most often found at the

side of the stage, holding it down
and chewing gum while studiously
avoiding the limelight.

The bass player is usually the one
that's, "What am I doing
in show business?

"Why am I here?"

They're not usually show-offs.

They stand fairly still usually
and in the dark bit.

The focus of attention isn't on you
as much as if you were shredding
an axe

or poncing around with a feathered
cape on or fronting a band.

I want to be at the front,
but not quite a front man, you know?

When I started playing the bass,
it was kind of all right,

because I could be up at front,
I could move around,
but the full attention wasn't on me.

Being a bass player is kind
of a nice middle ground.

CHEERING

Our man is often just
happy to be on the team,
keeping the show on the road -

sometimes quite literally.

Bass players are usually judged
to be the solid, dependable one.

Most bass players generally
drive the van and always
get stuck with loading the gear.

I remember we did a gig in a YMCA in
London, and when we got there, there
was no-one there for us load in.

All the others went, "Oh, come on,
we'll go to the pub for a pint."

I said, "Hang on a minute,
don't leave me here."

They went, "No, we'll be back,"
and I was going "No, no!"

And they all went,
and I was like, "Hrmmph!"
I was fuming, sat in the van.

I looked round, and there was another
guy in a van next to me and he looked
like that. He was fuming as well.

I thought, "Oh, my God."
I said, "Are you all right, mate?"

And he went, "Yeah, yeah."
And it was the bass player
from Echo & the Bunnymen.

And they'd done exactly
the same thing to him.

So if the road to bass-playing
heaven isn't going to be paved

with attention and scantily clad
groupies, then why does anybody
pick up a bass in the first place?

What does the
instrument actually do?

Miss.

Prime object of a bass is
to make everybody else sound

better than they actually are.

There's something that happens
when you stick a double bass
in your groin and play it.

It's a very sensual feeling.

Controlling the time, the feel,
the swing, everything
is coming from the bass.

Often or not, the bass player
was originally a guitar player
who wasn't going to make

the grade as a lead guitar player,

so picked up bass, because he
still wanted to be in a band.

I just wanted to be a bass player,
because I started off

playing guitar, and it took me years
to do a bit, and then James came
along, and within a week he'd learned

the whole of Exile On Main St.,
so he just obviously had the gift.

A design

For life

A design

For life.

I was a really bad guitar player.

Mediocre was the word for me.

I went to audition for Hawkwind
on guitar, and they decided that
morning not to get a guitarist,

and their bass player didn't show
up. He left his bass in the van,
so there was this gig.

I wasn't supposed to play
guitar - I'm supposed to play the
bass. I'm good at it.

I make it howl, man, you know?
I making it roar.

And roar he did.
Once Lemmy was out of the blocks,
there was no stopping him.

If you like to gamble
I tell you, I'm your man

You win some, lose some...

He's a prime example of
an ugly ducking other one
who grew into a front man -

swan with a bass round his neck.

Like Sting.

And Macca. He was no other one.

There wasn't a chance
he'd be content plunking away
on the sidelines.

But what of those dependable
souls left behind, honestly
ploughing the bass furrow?

Pull!

Keeping The Who on the straight
and narrow was The Ox, otherwise
known as Mr John Entwistle.

He was the band's anonymous
virtuoso, the quiet one,
overshadowed by his more extrovert

mates, but most importantly,
he was the band's anchor.

Entwistle, in a funny way,
did absolutely nothing.

John just worked on the art
of doing less and less

till some people thought he was
asleep, apart from his fingers.

Yeah - strong, silent type,
you know.

He didn't move on stage
and all of that. Great bass player.

He's a great example
of someone who's incredibly

quiet and diffident and yet
makes so much noise as a musician.

He's like, "Yeah, yeah, whatever
you lot want to get on with..."

Why don't you all...fade away?

Don't try and dig
what we all say.

Standing mute and grim-faced, often
in an ill-advised skeleton costume,

he would deliver a wall of
butt-clenchingly cacophonous noise
from the side of the stage.

He also did something that
had never been done before -
he played bass solos.

I remember being in school
and hearing My Generation,

and the bass solo comes in after
the first chorus, which was like,

"Wow, this is really very cool!"

You know, me trying to learn
it while, you know,
I'm 13 years old or something.

I guess it's the thing of actually
having someone standing still.

Roger's swinging the microphone,
Pete doing his windmills, Moon going

berserk, so I suppose you have
to have at least one fixed point.

He was so solid.

He was solid and stubborn and loud.

He was the anchor.

Without the solid, statuesque
bass-playing John, we all would
have flown off at the edges.

It would have been too much.

He was a real gentle giant
with a great sense of humour.

That deaf, dumb and blind kid
sure plays...

Having the ability to laugh in the
face of adversity and be the calm

at the centre of the storm
can be useful tools indeed
for any bass player.

I, and maybe other bass players,
WERE the bass player,
because they were diplomatic

enough to say, "OK, you want to be
singer, you want to be the guitarist.

"I can just play the bass."

Whether the bass player likes it
or not, he will often find himself

dabbling in a spot of
shuttle diplomacy as the band's
unofficial go-between.

I was a diplomat in Guns.

Everybody was coming at me...
"Hey, can you fix this?"

Back in 1994, there was a lot
of issues between Axl and Slash.

I had a four-line phone at my house.
Big mistake, if you were me.

I'd get one call from Axl, I'd be
talking to him and then another
call, "Hey, hold on a second."

Slash. You know,
both complaining about each other.

These are my bros, you know, so I
was put in a weird position and one
time I got a call from Axl and Slash

and the guy from the record
company all at the same time.

Don't know if I liked
that position too much.

Don't imagine Duff's role
as a band relationship counsellor
as an isolated case.

It's such a universal trait
that it even happens in spoof bands.

The archetype of the bass player
is the thoughtful, quiet one,

which certainly was what I was
horsing around with in Spinal Tap.

We're very lucky in a sense that
we've got two visionaries in
the band.

This is unbelievable.
It's not unbelievable at all!

Am I losing my fucking mind?
Can you check me on this -
am I losing my mind?

It's like fire and ice.

I feel my role in the band is to
be kind of in the middle of that,
kind of like lukewarm water.

It hits the nail on the head.
You always have these hot and cold

characters in the band, like
in our case, it's Dom and me,

that kind of clash all the time.

Then you have this kind of
lukewarm water that comes in the
middle that soothes everyone

and makes everyone
get a bit of perspective and
chill out and go for a pint.

Yeah, it's true. Everyone wants to
go for a pint with the bass player.

I think a bass player
has more of a responsibility
to hold stuff together a bit.

I was the one who made sure that
they weren't left behind

at petrol stations

and made sure that they were
comfortable, and when they were
on stage, they had what they needed.

A nanny.

Girls in white dresses
with blue satin sashes...

Bassists as nannies?

What a terrifying thought!

But sometimes bassists' innate
nurturing qualities can lead to
moments of rock'n'roll brilliance.

It was a hellish rainy night.

We were playing...Durham,
I think it was.

We got lost in the rain trying
to get there. We arrived all wet.

There was like, 30 people,
and they were all

out of their heads on Mandrax,
which was the big drug at the time.

And I thought of them
as the rubber people.

Usually we could play
for ourselves and be really
satisfied, but we sucked

and when we came off, there was that
deathly silence in the dressing room.

We hated ourselves and each other.

Like any good nanny, Andy tried
to lift the mood with a sing-song.

And everyone started jamming,
like we usually did.

And really to try and break
that horrible vibe, it was like...

All right now, baby...

All right now, baby

It's all right now

All right now, baby

It's all right now...

You know, OK. We're going to live on.
Tomorrow is a new day.

That was really the inception of it.

Nearly like a parent
kind of needling a child.

Come on, it's all right now.

The spirit of that intention
is what underlies the song.

..Are you trying to put me
in shame?

Each of the members has
to play their role.

Sometimes it's supportive
and sometimes it's...

they get a starring role.
It IS a team.

All right now
All right...

Playing a supportive,
diplomatic role often seems to be
the bassist's lot in life.

Every band needs their Kofi Annan
or even just a regular nan to help
the band musically and socially.

But can bass players ever
be the cool ones in the band?

If there'd have been no Clash,
there have been no Mani

playing the bass guitar,
because everyone who was into

that punk thing, everyone wanted to
be Paul Simonon, because he's just
the coolest dude on the planet.

London calling
to the faraway towns

Now war is declared
and battle come down

London calling...

In 1976, art student Paul Simonon
was asked to play bass in The Clash.

He brought a lot to the table.

He came up with the band name,
he designed the backdrops,
he shared his love of reggae.

All he needed
was to learn how to play.

It wasn't even Paul's bass-playing
we were first attracted to.

He looked so fantastic, we thought,
"Man, do you want to sing?"

He's in love with rock'n'roll
Whoa

He's in love with gettin' stoned
Whoa

He's in love with Janie Jones
Whoa

He don't like his boring job...

It was like,
this is not going to work.

He said, "Look, I want to learn
bass." So we got

a bass and we took all the strings
off and we painted the notes on it.

We put the strings back on, then
I'd shout out, "It's an E!"

And he'd go to the E.

For me, he's the first
bass-playing icon.

We'd been fed endless jazz-funk
Beatles-y kind of, everyone during
the George Formby kind of thing.

Paul came along
and he looked like James Dean.

He was really outrageously
good-looking

and looked unbelievably cool
playing his bass.

All across the town
All across the night

Everybody's driving
with full headlights

Black or white, turn it on
Face the new religion

Everybody's sitting round
and watching television...

London's burning
with boredom now

London's burning
Dial 999

London's burning
with boredom now

London's burning
Dial 999.

Now he's a fantastic bass player,
one of the best around.

An amazing stylist who does his
own thing totally originally.

Seeing them live,
he was the axe wielder.

He was the coolest guy in the band.

Yeah, he was on the cover
of London Calling.

It's probably one of the
coolest rock pictures ever.

Standing right up front
with the singer and guitarist,

Paul Simonon forced himself
onto equal footing alongside them.

Chipping away at the idea
of the bassist as the other
one in the band.

I fought the law...

His low-slung stance and
streetwise swagger cemented him

as a bass-playing icon and
a true champion of the underdog.

I fought the law...

He fought the laws
of rock'n'roll and won.

And for a young Mancunian bassist,
this attitude was an inspiration.

I went to see The Clash
when they played with
Siouxsie and the Banshees.

I saw Paul Simonon and I thought he
looked like was having a great time.
I thought, "Right!"

Peter Hook picked up
where Paul Simonon left off,

loosening his bass strap and
putting his very body on the line.

Then it became a competition with me
to see how low I could have it.

I'm paying the price now, because of
all my crushed vertebraes in my neck.

The chiropractor did say to me,
"This is very unusual, this...

"What do you do?"

I said, "I play guitar." He said,
"I've seen lots of guitarists,
and they're not like this."

I said, "I play it down like that."
And he went, "Ah, that's why."

He kind of
revolutionised bass playing.
They will never be another Hooky.

There was just something laconic and
cool about doing it like that rather
than being uptight and sort of...

..wrong.

But it's not all just about stance.

Hooky may have held the bass low,
but he played the notes up high.

Could there be a touch of the
frustrated lead guitarist
about some bass players?

The most awful words
that I've ever heard in music were,
"Can you play the root note?"

"No, I can't play the root note -
can you fuck off?"

I just used to play high
so I could hear myself.

Bass players...traditionally
the role is to play rhythm.

I don't think Peter Hook
particularly played rhythm -

he was more of a lead guitarist
that played lead guitar on bass.

Bernard always used to blame it
on my ego. "Your ego's colossal.

"Your ego is so huge!"

I suppose it is, in a way,
that you want to be noticed or
important, you want to stick out.

Peter Hook's got a style
unlike anybody else.

He's got a unique quality that
when you listen to a record,
you know it's him.

To me, there was something
that's quite subservient
in most bass players

that I could never do.

Holding his instrument round
his ankles

while spewing out high notes
turned Peter Hook
into a kind of indie demi-god.

But the idea of playing the bass
like the lead guitar isn't
to everyone's taste.

Cheers, thank you!

It's called bass for a reason. It
holds the bass frequency in a band.

I've often thought
with bass players,

maybe they should design basses
that...the further up the neck

they get, each fret has
a higher voltage electric shock,

so that when you get
to the 12th fret, it's lethal.

Let's take stock for a moment.

What does all this tell us about
the psychology of the bass player?

They seem to be men
in a constant state of flux,

caught somewhere between
the desire for recognition
and the safety of anonymity.

They seem to enjoy
the security of the shadows,

yet often want to break out
of other one status altogether
and take centre stage.

The same can be said of another
of rock'n'roll's great enigmas.

Often derided and misunderstood,
this next type of other one

can prove a potent weapon
in the rock'n'roll band's armoury.

Frequently even less
noticeable than the bassist,
it's the keyboard player.

You notice if a singer goes.

You notice probably
if a lead guitarist goes.

If the keyboard player changes and
a new bloke's sitting up there, you
don't notice it to the same degree.

That's right.
The keyboard player is more often
than not at a total other one.

They are the black sheep
of the family,

the band's dirty little secret,
usually confined to the side of the
stage, and that's if he's lucky!

We've got the secret in the shadows
keyboard player, but he's not as
hidden as U2's keyboard player.

People don't even know U2
have got a keyboard player.

They've got a full-on
Mozart underneath the stage
with four pianos,

and no-one knows his name,
no-one knows who he is,

no-one knows what he plays, and
he's out there working his arse off.

But it hasn't always been this way.

It started off so well
for the nimble-fingered rocker.

At the dawn of rock'n'roll,
the piano player was a megastar.

He was the main attraction.

Legends such as hip-wriggling
Little Richard and flambe-fingered

Jerry Lee Lewis were the
essence of rock'n'roll.

Great balls of fire!

Fast-forward ten years,

and the guitar had become
rock'n'roll's archetypal instrument,
consigning the keyboard player

to the margins where he seems
to have remained ever since.

I've always just seen my job in the
group, major job in the group,
to make the singer sound good.

And that's what you're trying to do.

Keyboard players in the main
tend to be less flamboyant.

You have to accept what the role is.

You are making these noises and
sounds, and people don't know

exactly what's going on, but they
know, if they're not sure
what it is, it's probably you.

A lot of bands are bringing
keyboards in, because they can cover
a multitude of sins.

Good heavens, he's using a trowel.

It's like plastering
over cracks in a wall.

You get a good quality
keyboard player, and all your shit

get's well and truly covered over
with a good layer of synth noise.

But dig a little deeper and
you'll discover that there's
much more to them than that.

The keyboard player is
usually a bit of a smart aleck,

the band's resident boffin and
probably the only member who'd stand
a chance on University Challenge.

I think it's probably
for the greater thinker.

Keyboard players
think they're clever,

because they've generally
got Grade Three Piano,

which makes them think
they're qualified.

Keyboard players are your posh kid
who can afford to have lessons,

whose Mummy could afford
to buy the equipment.

My mother and father
said, "Raymond..."

and I knew I was in trouble.
"Raymond..."

"Oh, God, what have I done now?"

"You're going to take
piano lessons."

The aspiring keyboard player
can spend his entire childhood

learning the intricate art of music,
only to be gallingly confined
to the sidelines come show time.

However,
knowing your allegro from your
arpeggio can be very useful indeed.

Got a beach-front house
that's been set up as a
rehearsal studio for The Doors.

That's where
we created Light My Fire.

"We need an introduction -
we can't just vamp on..."
PIANO PLAYS

And I thought, "OK, this is my
turn to come up with something."

I said, "All right,
everybody go outside."

John and Jim and Robby walk off
to the ocean, and I was just sitting

there working. I mean, it was my job
to come up with an introduction.

It was like 15 years
of studying the piano

just came up out of the unconscious,
so my psyche said - release!

Out came Bach.

Yes, yes, yes, yes!
Yes, I've got it!

HE PLAYS INTRO TO "LIGHT MY FIRE"

You know
that it would be untrue

You know
that I would be a liar...

That track is almost defined by
that organ intro, cos it's edgy,

it's slightly unsettling,
which The Doors of course were.

Come on, baby, light my fire

Come on, baby, light my fire

Try to set the night on...fire

All right.

The keyboard player is the band's
back-room Beethoven, then.

The rest may THINK they can play
an instrument, but in HIS mind,

he is the only real musician and,
boy, is he desperate to prove it!

It's very difficult just to stick
to playing E, A and D.

You see all these other notes -
"What does that do?" -
and you want to play them.

And you've also got ten fingers, so
if you can hit ten notes at the same
time, you'd like that as well.

Cos they can do this...

they do it.

They don't do that
when that's what's necessary.

If that's necessary,
they'll still do...

like that. They kind of ruin it.

Armed with an encyclopaedic
knowledge of musical theory

and a simmering sense of injustice,
it's no wonder that at some point
the keyboard player is likely

to hijack the band and force them
to dabble in a spot of...
classical music.

He expresses all of the
proto-symphonic

pretensions of the band, you know,

and so therefore
he's the Mozart of the group.

The Concerto For Group And
Orchestra grew out of the fact that
I'd been trained as a classical -

in inverted commas - piano player.

As the guy said when he took all his
clothes off and jumped on a cactus,

it seemed like
a good idea at the time.

I think the joke about it is that
it couldn't have been anybody but
a keyboard player who wrote it.

I mean, you can't imagine
a drummer writing a
Concerto For Group And Orchestra.

CHEERING AND APPLAUSE

Being the clever one on stage is all
very well, but when it comes to the

art of stage craft, playing keys has
always been a bit of a tough sell.

Keyboard players probably
are not very sexy.

You see, the guitar is a very sexy
instrument, it's shaped like a woman.

You can't be sexy
playing the keyboard.

It's too heavy
to lift and throw around.

I felt quite comfortable
being anchored behind

what looks like a large sideboard
at the side of the stage.

Almost as if I was prepared to
serve drinks any available moment.

Have you ever tried being
in a club playing air keyboards?

It doesn't work really, does it?
Get a bass!

Look at what happens
when they tried to break the mould.

What happened is they invented

keyboards shaped like guitars
that you could play round your neck.
Surely this was an abomination.

It WAS an abomination!
How long did it last? Six months.
It just looked wrong doing that.

The perennial problem for the
keyboard player was being trapped
behind his kingdom of keys,

like a statue
in the land of the living

without a hope in hell of competing
with the singer or guitarist.

But in the early '70s,
the tide began to turn.

The other one, stuck on the
periphery, sensed an opportunity
and so began an unlikely rise.

The poor downtrodden one, certainly
in the '60s right up to the early
'70s, was the keyboard player.

Do wah diddy diddy
Dum diddy do.

You were the laughing stock on
stage, because lead guitarist always

deafeningly loud, everybody
playing loud. It came to your solo...

..and they'd all have to go
really quiet, and you're
desperately trying to be heard.

Of course, we were saved by the
synthesizer, which created sounds
that would cut through concrete.

SYNTHESIZER BELLOWS

There's nothing better
that a keyboard player can hear

than the guitarist turning round
going, "That's ever so loud."

You go, "I know.

"Now you know what it sounds like,
now you know what it feels like."

But volume, coupled with an
impressive array of keyboards,
consoles and cocktail cabinets,

would only take him so far
up the band's food chain.

The keyboard player had to do
something it had never done before -
develop a personality.

And the right gimmick
doesn't hurt either.

The cape started in 1971.

They'd been a review, and it said
that I looked like a spider
with legs and arms going everywhere.

And I realised that they were right.
I was quite self-conscious then.

I said, I've got one leg up
my arse and the other one...
This is ridiculous.

We did a show in Hartford,
Connecticut.

It was being introduced
by the local DJ.

He had a cape on and then he turned
round, and I realised he was
really fat.

He looked like Demis Roussos.

I went, "That's the answer!"

As he walked by, I stopped him
and said, "Sell me your cape."
He said, "No."

"Sell it to us."
"No, it's not for sale."

"I've got 200 in my pocket."

I took it out and he went,
"You're on."

I put it on
and walked on with his cape on.

CHEERING

It was one of those things when
your picture ended up in the paper,

because they're only so many times
they can print somebody holding
a guitar or holding a microphone,

so suddenly they saw me in a great
glittery cape walking on..."We'll
have that picture in the paper."

In the '70s, the keyboard player
could become
a celebrity in his own right,

taking on the front man and the
lead guitarist at their own game.

But could he ever really win?

Enter Keith Emerson, a keyboard
daredevil with a flagrant disregard
for the rock band rule book.

I suppose certain...

terms like "theatrics" have been
employed in what I've done.

But it had to be interesting
for the audience to watch.

A front man would swing his
microphone around, but it's
best to stand well clear

when the other one thinks
he can do the same
with a half-ton piece of wood.

In my case, they certainly remember
me going up in the air and
spinning round on a piano.

It was fun,
but it was also dangerous.

There were many accidents.

Blown fingernails off
with pyrotechnics being used.
Broke my nose on the piano.

I jumped over the Hammond organ
once to play it the other way round

and I completely cleared it
and ended up in the orchestra pit.

The bass player and the drummer
are chundering away like this...

All they saw was an arse and a pair
of boots go over the top of the
keyboard.

When it comes to stamping
your authority on the stage,

nothing says "look at me" more
than a spot of knife throwing.

But developing his routine was not
without its teething problems when
Keith first started in the '60s.

When I was doing the...

..the organ knife-stabbing routine,
Jimi Hendrix had just bought himself
one of these Super 8 movie cameras.

I didn't see until I took the knife
out to throw it at the speakers that
he was right where I was aiming for.

So I sort of froze, and there's Jimi
with his camera going..."Come on."

And the tongue's coming out.

I thought, no.
I wasn't a very good knife thrower.

OK. Zap.

The knife glanced off and
struck the drummer in the forehead.

So, were Keith's limelight-grabbing
stunts death-defying triumphs
or just a little misguided?

That was part of the stage act.

That wasn't suddenly...
Oh, I must try and look cool here.

That was cool at the time.

The keyboard freak out is inherently
a very embarrassing thing to watch.

No, no!

It seems keyboard players
are often damned if they do
and damned if they don't.

Any attempt to become
the blade-chucking, cape-wearing,

concerto-writing centre of attention
is generally viewed with suspicion.

The great unspoken question being -

does the keyboard even belong in
the rock'n'roll band at all?

But that precarious position
is nothing

compared with the hazardous ground
occupied by some other types.

If the band is led by a self-styled
visionary on a restless mission
to concoct new musical flavours,

the other one brought in
to provide them should never get
too comfortable.

Here follows a cautionary tale.

As the '70s drew to a close,

one young punk rocker in
the Midlands decided to strike out
in a new direction.

I remember just thinking about
soul music

and people who want to dance again
and having a brass section.

I thought, wow!

Against what is happening now
that would sound great.

Kevin quickly set about turning
his new soul vision into reality,

bringing Scottish trombone player
Big Jim Patterson into the fold.

He and the brass section were to
be integral to the band's sound.

When I did my audition it was
made clear that the brass section
would be part of the band.

It was going to be as
important as the lead guitar,

as important as the bass, drums.

In a band you will see
the brass section and
they are stuck at the back.

But to be stuck in the front,
visually, is quite interesting.

I used to make a joke to one of
the guys early on -

front man, back man.

He would laugh, it was funny,
but it's kind of true too.

It quickly became
apparent Kevin's leadership and
musical vision was bang on.

Geno went to number one in the
charts, and Big Jim was loving it.

But change was on the horizon.

One of the great advantages of being
an other one is not having the
responsibilities of high office.

But if one day the boss decides
on a new musical direction,
everything can change very quickly.

Just like I thought in 1978,
where I'd thought guitar,
bass and drums is finished.

I thought, OK, people
are fed up with brass,

so I started to think about strings.

Hungry for a change of style,
Kevin set about recruiting
a string section.

When Helen O'Hara came on the scene
she didn't feel immediately welcome.

Yes, there was tension,

but I wasn't really aware
of why there was tension,

because I obviously knew nothing
of the band's past and the politics,

and the fact that Kevin
was wanting to try strings.

I think the horns were
feeling quite resentful.

Come on, Eileen

Oh, I swear
What he means

At this moment

You mean everything...

Some of the brass,
certainly one, thought,

"Blimey, that's it, it's all over,
strings are coming in, brass is out,"

but it wasn't like that, we were
always going to use brass as well.

But unfortunately for Big Jim,

strings quickly seemed
to take centre stage,

leaving the brass section playing
second fiddle.

Obviously, that was the beginning
of the end for me, unfortunately.

Comparing it to being in
a really successful football team

when you are the first name
on the list

and suddenly you start
to get substituted

in the 80th minute,
then the 70th minute.

Then the next thing you know,
you're on the subs bench.

Then the next thing you are not
even on the bus to the away games.

You realise it's time to leave.

I think once Kevin had decided that,

yes, three fiddles was the way
he wanted it to sound,

that was when the brass section,
or some of the brass section,

decided they didn't
want to be in the group any more.

Don't come any closer...

It was a very, very sad day.

I sat in the cafe opposite
the rehearsal room

and I was crying...in public.

I knew what was going to happen,
I knew what I was going to do.

I went into rehearsal

and I just said,
"I'm sorry, but I'm leaving."

I just walked out again,

and that was it.
It was as simple as that, really.

Probably the saddest day
of my life, I would say.

Because Dexys,

it wasn't just a group.

It was more than that,
it was a way of life.

It was part of me.

So, it was...

not a good day.

Life as an other one
is no stroll in the park.

Their destiny is so often in
the hands of those around them.

That's not to say that none of
them are masters of their own fate.

Every now and again, an other one
is spawned who outgrows

the parameters
of the band altogether

achieving almost god-like status.

The biggest other one
is obviously Brian Eno,

who really was an other one.

He still is an other one.

Brian Eno started life
as an uber other one,
making funny noises for Roxy Music.

He was such an other one to begin
with that nobody really knew
what he was doing at all.

Roxy Music supported us at one of
their first ever shows.

I remember Eno being there,
because he was operating the PA.

I didn't quite know what his
contribution was at that stage.

What Brian Eno brought

was an even further level of
unpredictability.

Odd bleeps and weird noises

helped to lift it slightly out

of what you might have just
expected from a rock band.

Twiddling knobs and being a clever
so-and-so was all very well.

But like many an other one
before him, Eno fancied a bit more
attention than he was getting.

With the kind of madness
that overtook Roxy,

we all decided to dress up
and to just go on and perform.

I think that Brian Eno
got very caught up in that.

Looking something like a Christmas
tree and seemingly sporting
two simultaneous hairstyles,

Eno became an on stage presence that
the audience could no longer ignore.

There's Bryan Ferry,

but who's that strange guy
with the long hair

and the spangly clothes
and the make-up?

Brian Eno and Bryan Ferry used
to apparently fight,

because Eno got
a bigger cheer when he walked on.

That might be why
they had to go their other ways.

The other one was
getting a lot of it.

Tired of the tango

Fed up with fandango

Dance on moonbeams

Slide on rainbows

In furs or blue jeans

You know what I mean...

The tension between the two
Brians finally came to a head,

and Eno left Roxy Music, but this
would prove to be a turning point.

He soon discovered he didn't
really need a band anyway.

Eno walked off the stage and
straight into the recording studio,

where he quickly became a sonic guru
for any act who'd grown a little
bored of their own sound.

Eno, with artist after artist,

with Talking Heads,
with David Bowie, U2,

lately with Coldplay,

has inserted himself as a kind of
surrogate other one.

He is the ultimate catalyst.

We can be us

Just for one day...

I always feel like with Brian Eno
that he's really just toying
with the music.

If he hadn't been doing it,

nuclear physics would have
been equally an option.

Instead of just using
the synthesizer,

I use the whole studio
as an appendage to the instrument.

After almost 40 years,
Eno, the musical magician,

is still hard at it sprinkling his
fairy dust and casting his spells.

Eno managed all this without
really having mastered any
particular instrument.

So how vital is the ability
to play properly

when you're an other one anyway?

It certainly didn't seem to matter
that much during the punk era.

The whole Pistols thing
was very weird, because

the most musical of the band was
Glen Matlock at the beginning.

If you listen to the early Pistols'
stuff the bass-playing was amazing.

The first three singles, you know,
Anarchy...God Save The Queen.

They're not just my baselines,
they're pretty much my guitar riffs.

Pretty Vacant was my song.

We're so pretty

Oh, so pretty.

Oddly enough, in the Pistols,
musical aptitude

and an appreciation of the rock
greats was a bit of a hindrance.

They sacked him, because
he liked The Beatles, allegedly.

It seems the Sex Pistols
weren't really after a bassist,

they were seeking
a different animal entirely.

Sid kind of made the Sex Pistols
look a much better band.

I don't want to be harsh
to Glen Matlock,

but he was very much
from the old school pub-rock

and he was jolly
and he didn't look right.

Sid came along and just made
the Pistols into probably
the most complete band ever for me.

Sid came in
because he was John Leyden's mate,

and it was more
about style over substance, really.

To put it simply, Sid Vicious
couldn't play the bass at all.

Sensing this could be a problem
he took bass lessons with one
of his closest drinking buddies.

He didn't last long.
A couple of days.

The second day was
a waste of time, really.

The first day was
a waste of time, really -

he had no aptitude for it at all.

God save the Queen

She ain't no human being...

With Glen gone, the Pistols were
now less of a force musically.

But that was somehow
no longer the point.

Sid Vicious grows out of the whole
punk ethic of you don't have to play.

He was the embodiment of that.

There's no future

No future

No future for you

God save the Queen...

Being a musician wasn't
Sid's focus or aim.

I don't ever talk
about Sid as a musician.

There's certainly something about
the idea that you don't have to be

able to play that started with punk
that you could contribute something
valuable just by being yourself.

I've lived a life that's full...

By simply being himself, Sid
achieved huge fame and notoriety,

but he quickly dropped into
the depths of a heroin abyss

from which he would never escape.

Much more than this

I did it my way.

Sid brought the Sex Pistols
something less tangible but far more
potent than mere technical ability.

With bucket loads of attitude,
but no musical talent,
he was punk incarnate.

Regrets
I've had a few

But then again
To few to mention.

So, if he could achieve all that
without being able to play very
well,

then why not do away with
the pretence altogether?

Some other ones have evolved
this notion further

to provide the band
with something far more free,

talismanic, shamanistic even.

I think with some bands, it's very
important to have the kind of shaman.

The person who embodies the spirit of
the band who's going to get out there

and get the crowd worked up
and who are signifying

that the party has begun.

This ancient form of other one
has a mysterious lineage.

In the early '70s,

began to manifest itself
in the rock'n'roll band.

She was freaky and 6 ft 2...

a true statuesque vision.

In 1971, a young petrol pump
attendant called Stacia Blake

went to a Hawkwind gig and felt
the irresistible call of the music.

I just asked if I could get up
and dance and they said yes,

so I took my clothes off
and I danced.

At that time, most of the audience
didn't bother wearing clothes,

so it wasn't a big deal.

If you've ever really
danced yourself until

the sweat's rolling off you,
it's just such an amazing feeling.

It's a feeling of freedom.

Stacia's embodiment of the free
spirit of an overwhelming site

for many youngsters in the crowd.

The young Vic Reeves
being no exception.

I saw Hawkwind in the '70s and
she came on and did her naked dancing

and then she went and got changed
at the side of the stage

and a little booth and everyone
rushed to watch her

put her clothes back on.

I used to see people in
the audience and I could see

that they were responding to me
and that's a beautiful feeling.

But by no means is this form
of other ones the preserve
of hippy bands.

Let's fast-forward half a decade
and put some clothes on.

Baggy trousers.

Naughty boys in nasty schools

Headmasters breaking all
the rules.

Madness.
You listen to a Madness record.

Suggs sings it. The band play it.

What's Chas Smash doing?

If he's not playing an instrument,
what is he doing?

Well, originally, I was just dancing.
I was just doing mental dancing

to the tunes, because I was
out there, I was in the zone.

Chas Smash, the all-dancing
occasionally hollering shaman figure

in Madness started out in
more orthodox other one territory.

I was the bass player
and then I realised I wasn't
a very good bass player.

But, anyway, I was brought back
to introduce the band.

Did the "Hey, you" thing.

Hey, you don't watch that,
watch this,

this is
the heavy, heavy monster sound.

If you've come in off the streets

and you are beginning
to feel the heat...

Quickly discarding the bass,
Chas found a unique role in madness.

Shouting. Which along with his
onstage antics would push the band.

I remember early on Lee and Carl
used to dance in the mirror

and get some moves going.
We rehearsed in my place.

I was learning from them. With
brushes in front of a big mirror.

This move. It was a karate move,

and the old braces move
from skinhead dancing

and moving the head like a Trojan.

But what was the point in
all this flailing of limbs?

What did he do that
no-one else could?

The wider you spread your arms the
wider the audience can spread theirs.

The higher you jump,
the higher they can.

You're allowing them
the space to express.

Welcome to the house of fun
Now I've come of age

Welcome to the house of fun.

Having Carl on stage, we used to
say the physical representation
of what we were doing. For sure.

It seems Chas Smash served a vital
purpose in the early days of
Madness,

helping shatter the boundary
between punter and performer.

Chas is now Carl.
He's still in Madness. Song-writing,
singing, playing this and that.

As much everyone as other one.

They're the ultimate audience member
who has managed to get on stage
and somehow joined the band.

Those people are a link between
the consumers and their creators.

They're the kind of conduit.

This embodiment of the heart and
spirit and very soul of the band

can be traced through
the likes of Stacia, Chas Smash,

The Pogues' Spider Stacy
and even Sid Vicious.

And is a unique form of other one.

But the shamanistic spirit perhaps
manifested itself most perfectly
in the city of Manchester

at the dawn
of the ecstasy-fuelled '90s.

At the scene's drug-driven apex was
a wide-eyed free spirit named Bez.

Bez in Happy Mondays.

He's not the bass player,
he's not playing the keyboards even -

he's wobbling around
fishbowl-eyed with some maracas.

The ultimate other one is obviously
Bez, who you look at and, well,
what does he do? He just dances.

Sometimes he holds maracas.

He brings an extra dimension

and he very much is the embodiment
of spirit of the music and the band.

Mr Bez, a mate who used to jump up
on stage shaking maracas,

who eventually
became bigger than the band.

He was Tigger on angel dust.

Totally original.

You could drop him out
of an aeroplane, and he'd
land on a marshmallow.

He's real. Too real.

Too real, indeed, but where
does Bez's journey begin?

What a guy, man.
Like many other people in Manchester,
the back story to him is incredible.

I think Bez actually lived
in a cave in Morocco once

with an Oxford University don.

They'd just dropped out and followed
the hippy trail to Morocco.

Leaving his Moroccan cave behind,
Bez returned to Manchester

where he would soon discover
his true calling.

I'd just got back from travelling,

and a group of my friends were
saying you've got to meet Shaun.

So, obviously, I went along
one night to watch him play.

We'd done all these microdots.

The next minute Shaun was going
to me, "I'm tripping my head off.

"If you don't walk
on stage with me..."

He wanted a bit of back-up,
because he was that of his head.

So, I dived on stage with a maraca,

and that's how I became
a member of the Happy Mondays.

Having stumbled onto the stage,
Bez danced his way to their
centre of fans' hearts and minds.

But why did she become so important?

Getting Bez on the stage, being one
of the boys, shaking maracas,
just wandering up and down.

Visually, to us, it was great.

Because he did it so well,
it was no-one quite knew

if he was someone who had just
managed to get on the stage.

Everyone looks at me thinking,
"Wow, man, I can do that!"
And that's what made me

popular,
cos it took actually no skill, just
a whole lot of enjoyment to do.

An accidental hero with no musical
talent, Bez became the nostril
through which the audience

channelled their amphetamined
energy - leaving even
the front man trailing

in his wake, he was the
people's priest, throwing shapes
in the Church of Dance.

I always am amazed as well
cos of what I've got away with,

cos I can't actually dance,
I can't actually sing, but somehow
I've managed to get away with it,

making a career out of it
20 odd years later, which you
would never have dreamt of.

There you have it. Even the misfit
with no discernible musical
ability can conquer the world.

And isn't that the very glory
of rock'n'roll?

That the boy least likely to, the
other one, can rise to the very top.

So what have we discovered
about these elusive other ones?

There seem to be
two distinct types.

Those who have risen from the
shadows and stepped into the light,

such as Bez, Brian Eno,
Sid Vicious.

Then there are the OTHER other
ones - rock'n'roll's true enigmas.

Utterly forgettable
yet totally irreplaceable.

And perhaps, at the end of the day,
a degree of anonymity
is no bad thing.

I'm amazed when people say their
desire is to be famous

as they walk down the street
and people recognise them.
It's a nightmare.

I wouldn't wish it on anybody.
I'm very glad to be anonymous,
really.

If you have a big enough,
healthy enough ego

to deal with been completely
ignored,

then I think it's the ideal position
to enjoy in a band.

In a way, that is
the best role to have.

You need to have a kind of childlike
approach to it, where you just enjoy

the ride for as long as it lasts and
then once it's over, it's over, fine.

Being able to live a normal life
is a wonderful thing.

I've been around enough people
who've had to be surrounded

by entourages
just for their own protection.

It's not a great way to live.
I can go out my house and walk
down the street and get treated

like a normal human being.
I'd hate all that adulation.

If that's the price of not been
recognised as much as a guitarist or
a singer, I'm happy to pay that.

Well, I'm a lucky man...

So that's the band - singer,
guitarist, drummer, other one.

Next time, don't forget
to look out for the other one.

You might not notice them
at first glance, but without them,

the gang isn't the gang,
and the band just isn't complete.

Now it's over to you.

A shortlist of the ten greatest
bass players ever

as chosen by a panel of music
experts awaits at our website...

We need you to pick your favourite
four-stringer of all time,

and all will be revealed
in a special live show next month.

Next week, we're putting the pieces
of the jigsaw back together

to explore the intricate
workings of the unit, the whole,
the band itself.

In a 12-step plan, we chart
the collective journey

that rock'n'roll bands take from
small-town gang to world domination.

From all-for-one to dog-eat-dog.

People do equate bands to gangs,
and I think that's because
bands ARE gangs.

It's like a gentleman's glee club...
on wheels.

It's like one of these awful...

awful things that are in danger
of imploding any minute.

It's like a mobile Big Brother house.

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