59

IN WHICH… I REMEMBER BRUCE LANGSMAN

In the small town of Petone, just outside of New Zealand’s fine capital, Wellington, I was brought up short when I unexpectedly came face to face with a dead friend. Petone’s thoroughfare, Jackson Street, is one of, if not the oldest still active shopping streets in the country, while NZ’s first organised horse racing took place on the beach here in 1842. Amongst Petone’s finest shops, is Lo-Cost Records. I had a huge shock when I first entered the premises – and found myself face to face with Bruce Langsman. Bruce is probably the finest guitarist you’ve never heard of. Back home shortly afterwards, I wandered into Rollin’ Records in West Wickham, a shop I’d never visited before. Again, I was confronted by my late mate – again staring at me from a wall, again on the front cover of the 1969 Pye label LP, Little Woman You’re So Sweet by Shakey Vick, the blues outfit for which he was lead guitarist.

Here he was, twice in quick succession, reminding me not to forget him in this book. A ‘very good’ copy of the Shakey Vick LP will set you back some 50 quid. It is justifiably sought after by blues-rock purists. I took my copy along to 56-year-old Bruce’s funeral in 2006.

Thin, moustachioed, extremely tall, Bruce was older brother to Rex, who was closely involved with a local football team I occasionally turned out for and who said of his brother: ‘Bruce was always very proud of his six foot six inches height since reaching it as a late teenager!’ Every time I saw and heard Bruce play guitar I thought he had as much ability as many of the stellar names of the British blues boom, who were much admired, sometimes deified. I believe Bruce really could have been a contender in the ‘Guitar Hero’ stakes, although as a non-musician myself I had no way of knowing whether I was just impressed because I knew and drank with him.

Here’s what website All Music says about Shakey Vick: ‘Formed in 1968 in Birmingham, Shakey Vick was a short-lived blues band fronted by Graham (Shakey) Vickery (vocals, harmonica). Bruce Langman (sic) (guitar), Nigel Tickler (bass) and Ned Balen (drums). Signed by Pye Records in 1969, “Little Woman You’re So Sweet” was recorded live at Birmingham’s Mothers club, a popular venue on the “underground” circuit. The raw atmosphere enlivened a set comprising largely of tested blues standards.’

Courtesy of mutual friend Dave Carroll, I had acquired a CD copy of a Shakey Vick and the Blueshawks live gig which features Bruce’s playing, and was described on Shakey’s own website himself as ‘a live recording made at the 100 Club’. Bruce’s contributions to the 1991 recordings are decent enough, but if you listen to the two tracks here recorded in 1968, you’ll notice that his playing on both ‘City Life’ and very clearly on ‘Low Down’ is more vibrant and prominent than on much of the rest of the material. I think your own ears will be telling you that Bruce’s talent was far more obvious in the late 1960s than by the time the early 1990s came around. All of us are more energetic when we are looking to make an impact on the world and maybe become resistant to risk and less adventurous as we get older. If we are also befuddling our senses with alcohol, the difference is more pronounced.

I asked Bruce’s brother, Rex, to supply some memories of his older sibling. They graphically demonstrate the ‘Bruce problem’:

When Bruce left school, he trained as a TV cameraman. That didn’t last long as he went ‘professional’ with his first group, Blues Transportation, then moved to the Cliff Charles Blues Band with Phil Collins on drums. Needing to work to earn ‘proper’ money, he became a window dresser with Moss Bros in Leicester Square. That ended when Bruce somehow put his arm through a shop’s front window. He moved on to the BBC, working for several years in the Graphics dept, often seen on Grandstand, sitting behind David Coleman. He then settled at Thames TV, taking a good redundancy payment at 41, which kept him in pubs for a few years. He never worked again. We arranged a ‘Bruce Night’ a year after his death and we keep close to the same dates in April each year, varying the venues relating to where the bands played, like a pub near the 100 Club, and the Swiss Cottage, where it all started with Shakey Vick’s Big City Blues Band’s weekly gig at the Blues Loft.

Now, we’ve adopted the Metropolitan Wetherspoons pub, near Baker Street station. Stories aplenty are wheeled out:

Dingwalls in Camden Town was a club where guests sat at a table and dined while bands played. Once, a certain drunken band member fell off the stage on to a dining table, knocking all the dinner plates flying while the guests were still eating. The manager immediately threw Bruce out of the club!

At the Crown, Twickenham, the band played on too long so the pub landlord switched off the electrical supply and came onstage to remonstrate with them. Bruce threw his guitar at him, only for word to go round that Bruce had beaten him up.

Bruce took a great interest in Chicago Blues music in his teenage years. The Yardbirds, in particular Eric Clapton, were role models. He bought albums by Muddy Waters and Howlin’ Wolf, and started teaching himself guitar. Like Clapton, he used Bert Weedon’s book Play in a Day. He progressed as a blues guitarist in local bands, eventually joining Shakey Vick, who were on the verge of a record deal with Pye, who wanted Shakey Vick’s band to record an album at a live gig, and chose Mothers club in Birmingham. The album is still sold around the world 50 years on, in discerning second-hand shops.

The band went on tour to Denmark, where Bruce lost his virginity, but gained musical experience. They continued with regular UK gigs, but Bruce’s drinking was already problematic. He and Shakey had their differences as a result, vocalist Shakey locking the drunken Bruce in the dressing room during a gig in Exeter, feeling the band would be better doing their second set without him. Inevitably, Bruce moved on, splitting with Shakey and forming The Nighthawks blues band.

‘Bruce and Rex approached me while I was drumming in an improvised jazz trio,’ recalled drummer Mel Wright, ‘asking me and band-mate Ron Skinner – vocalist and bass player – to join him in forming a Chicago-style blues group. We needed a blues harp player, and Bruce suggested Stuart Witcher, who was running a blues club at The Crown in Twickenham. We met for our first rehearsal at a pub on Brixton Hill. Individual characteristics began emerging in the band. Ron had immersed himself in the history of black American blues. His strong voice and choice of songs soon made us a reputable band on the London blues scene. Bruce equally had a great passion and empathy for blues guitarists, and his interpretation of the Hubert Sumlin, Albert King, Muddy Waters band styles became the bedrock of The Nighthawks. Our combination of blues influences set us apart from the emerging blues-rock style that was popular at that time.’

The new band landed a weekly residency at Hampstead’s Three Horseshoes, attracting Radio One DJs John Peel and ‘Whispering’ Bob Harris, who mentioned the band on air, resulting in a guest-spot on the popular Mike Raven show. They had other bookings as well, but one evening Bruce’s ongoing flaw saw him again drinking before a gig, which upset the others so much that they all left the group. Bruce somehow managed to find replacements, and a band called Nighthawk existed for a while.

‘I would rate Bruce’s guitar work as Premier League in his early 20s and 30s,’ Rex said, but with the honesty of siblings, added: ‘I’m afraid drink took over. He was very strict as a blues purist. I’m sure he had the talent to play all sorts as a session guitarist, but didn’t want to know. In his later years Bruce sold off all his vinyl records – as well as, unbeknown to me at the time, all my Beatles LPs, but there were a few blues CDs I inherited from him. Bruce was also into film scores and some classical music, as well as blues.’

Rex, occasional band drummer, produced an unissued LP for The Nighthawks in March 1970 and managed to locate the cover of the record, but was unable to find the vinyl itself. Thanks to Mel Wright, I have a CD combining its ten original tracks, with six more from a March 1971 session.

Rex also unearthed a CD of the band’s performance on the prestigious Mike Raven show on Radio 1, which, it shows on the cover, was broadcast on 4 April 1971. Mel Wright recalls, ‘We all gathered round to hear the broadcast at Stuart’s mum’s flat, before playing a gig at The Robert Peel pub in Kingston.’

‘The tracks on the Raven show were never released,’ said Rex. They are excellent, and would make a great (re)release set. The five tracks were “So Mean to Me”, “Sweet Mary”, “Mystery Train”, “She Turns Me On” and “Play House”. That means there are 21 Nighthawks’ unreleased tracks out there, from which a terrific tribute set could be compiled. I have also acquired copies of Bruce’s session work on LPs by Errol Dixon and Juke Boy Bonner LPs.

Mel recalls working with another blues legend: ‘In 1969 at a concert at Conway Hall London, hosted by Alexis Korner and radio presenter, Mike Raven, Nighthawks were reunited with blues-man Champion Jack Dupree with whom we had previously played. Jack was short, of stocky build. He stood on the piano stool to try and match Bruce’s height.’

Studio 51, the 100 Club and The Marquee were other clubs where The Nighthawks played, supporting touring blues-men, gaining experience and blues credibility. The band looked to be heading along the type of route taken by Fleetwood Mac, Chicken Shack, Savoy Brown, Ten Years After, perhaps on their way to similar stardom. Mel remembered: ‘Ron came up with a solid set of lesser known blues classics for us. Stuart’s harp playing and singing were joyful and Bruce’s guitar playing was just a magic combination of rhythm and lead, typical of his hero, Lightnin’ Slim. Stuart bought a transit van and printed “The Nighthawks” on the side. We responded to an ad in Melody Maker to record an album in a day! The studio was in Hitchin, Herts. We were joined on the March 1970 session by excellent blues pianist, John Fairweather who played with us at 100 Club gigs. Rex took over as producer of the ten tracks, and did a fine job. We hawked the album around record companies: RCA, Decca, Vertigo – unsuccessfully.’

This was the crucial moment at which Bruce and the band stood poised on the cusp of the big time.

In October 1970, billed as Nighthawks, they played at Twickenham College of Technology, supporting trendy darlings of the day, Principal Edwards’ Magic Theatre, whose records were being released on John Peel’s Dandelion label. Bruce and the others were finally moving towards breaking in to the more mainstream rock circuit.

‘We had no trouble getting gigs – beginning with our own “blues clubs” at pubs, including The Crown at Twickenham. We had a Sunday afternoon spot at Studio 51, near Cambridge Circus, a basement club run by two portly older women, which had quite a blues history – Cyril Davies, Alexis Korner, the Stones and Downliners Sect played there. The National Blues Federation began offering us gigs and arranged for us to accompany New Orleans-style pianist Errol Dixon. We fell out with Errol after he booked us for a recording session at a studio and never turned up. Without telling us, Bruce did a session for him on his album, That’s How You Got Killed Before.’

I have owned this 1970 Transatlantic label LP since its release, and on it the uncredited Bruce launches some stinging licks and great all-round playing. I think this album represents Bruce’s finest recording moments and Rex told me that even their father was astonished to hear the quality of performance: ‘I played the album to our dad, usually a jazz-buff and he was amazed at his son’s guitar playing! I wish Bruce had taken general guitar playing seriously enough to do more session work.’

Adds Mel: ‘We accompanied Champion Jack Dupree, and played with Arthur “Big Boy” Crudup the day he arrived from the USA. Bruce even tuned up Arthur’s guitar for him, and we appeared with him on BBC2’s Late Night Line Up.’ Other support gigs followed with blues legends Howlin’ Wolf, Son House and Lightnin’ Slim. ‘Later, we played gigs and recorded with Texas-based Juke Boy Bonner who was making an album in London for Liberty Records, Things Ain’t Right, while the band was also busy in its own right, gigging with the Jackie Lomax Band and Wishbone Ash.’

Music paper, Sounds gave a fine review in June 1971 of their gig at the 100 Club – ‘What a tremendous Chicago-style blues band. Their boys know how to use their instruments without flamboyant gestures – just see them wring the notes from their instruments.’

But, as so often happens, on the brink of a breakthrough, a band falters and begins to break up. Mel pinpoints the moment: ‘Stuart left. He was keen to develop his own style as Wolfie Witcher. It was a blow. I always thought that the spirit of the band was lost without Stuart; he and Bruce were close drinking buddies, sharing an inseparable sense of humour.’

Their momentum was lost, even though: ‘We found a sax player, Phil Thomas and started a Sunday night residency at The Three Horseshoes, Hampstead where we were lauded by Time Out magazine, gaining the attention of John Peel, Bob Harris, and record producer Peter Eden who booked us into Pye Studios, where we recorded an unreleased album. I think it was our best recorded work, showing off the band’s most popular gig material: “High School Confidential”, “Mama Talk to your Daughter”, “My Babe”, for example.’ Bruce’s guitar playing was exemplary – nailing his rhythmic style down. Despite the quality of their performance, Peter was unable to get a deal for the album and Mel was also unsuccessful with his contacts at Decca. I’ve failed to locate a copy of this session.

Ron left the band in 1972 and although Mel stayed for another year, he ‘lost my temper with Bruce one evening at The Three Horseshoes when he turned up drunk. I gave my notice in that evening. Bruce phoned to apologise, and ask me to stay. I stuck to my decision.’ The ascent was over. In a sad postscript, Mel and Bruce ‘met one lunchtime at a pub in Edgware. He hadn’t lost his zest for playing as he pulled out old photos of the band, urging us to get back together for a reunion gig. He was even planning to buy a new guitar. We never did play together again, as Bruce died a short while after. He was a week or so away from his 57th birthday. Although Bruce’s behaviour at gigs was unpredictable, his sense of humour was highly entertaining and I am still very moved by his guitar playing.’

Nighthawk Stuart Witcher is also happy to pay an affectionate tribute to Bruce: ‘Not many people know that as well as being Nighthawks Blues Band members, we were also members of a band called Dumpy’s Dirt Band, a forerunner to the popular Dumpy’s Rusty Nuts or DRN. A mass firing occurred in that band. Bruce and I were included. For weeks, during a residency, when the leader was doing a solo with his eyes shut, the rest of the band would all swap instruments, then back again before he opened them (Bruce’s idea). The audience loved it and were in on the joke, but one day he opened his eyes too early and caught us, and that was that. During that prank Bruce would play the drums – and very good he was too.

‘I lived in Putney. Bruce spent the night of Ronald Reagan’s presidential election there, “a presidential” being Bruce’s rhyming slang for “an erection”, which caused many an innuendo over a few pints. We watched it on the TV, demolishing a bottle of “Old Grandad” bourbon at the same time, resulting in me finding vomit on the high ceiling the next morning. The evidence pointed to the tallest person. Case closed!’

Another sickening Stuart story concerning Bruce emerged: ‘One of the Nighthawks’ vans had a sliding door, and returning from a gig in Surrey, Bruce began to feel unwell. We were doing about 80 miles per hour down a hill when the door suddenly flew open and Bruce did a projectile vomit out of it! There was puke all down the side of the dark green van. It was raining quite hard and I presumed that would wash it off, but it didn’t. The acid content in it turned the paintwork beneath a lighter shade of green and every time I approached it after that day, I was greeted by a perfect pattern of Bruce’s chunder.’

I was never in Bruce’s bands, but he was there in my social world for many years. A long-standing mutual friend of Bruce, Dave Furlong, recalled an example of his rather anarchic sense of humour:

‘He invited me and a couple of friends up to meet him for a drink at the BBC after he’d finished work. We arrived and told the receptionist who we had come to see. Bruce appeared at the Reception desk. He took one look at us, told the receptionist, “I’ve no idea who these people are” and walked off, leaving us dumbfounded!’

You can imagine the hilarity with which such tales were greeted when they were told at the time amongst Bruce’s contemporaries, most of them no strangers to the inside of a beer glass. We would concentrate on the ‘fun’ element, the ‘oh, that’s just typical Bruce’ aspect of a story which probably contained within it an unheard cry of help from a youngish man whose drinking and consequently his life, was spiralling out of control. I think we all believed it was only a matter of time before Bruce’s fretboard talent would stop us fretting about his boozy behaviour. It wasn’t, though, an era or environment in which anyone would even think of taking a friend aside and suggesting that their intake of beer was excessive enough to affect their future health and life prospects.

Listening to Bruce’s recorded legacy definitely invites thoughts that he was an unfulfilled talent. There are splendid examples of his ability when concentrating on his playing, immersing himself in the music, complementing the musicians around him, and suddenly illuminating proceedings with a short, sharp flurry of perfectly judged, empathetic notes. Yet he was also a troubled individual, whose demons often got the better of him, leading to occasions when even those of us who knew him well might deliberately turn in the other direction if walking up to a bar against which we suddenly spotted Bruce leaning unsteadily.

It would be wonderful to be able to compile an LP and/or CD of Lanky Langsman’s greatest recorded moments and get it out for those who weren’t around at the time, or who remember with nostalgia, watching and hearing him in action, to enjoy and treasure. I think there’d also be a much wider market to be tapped into.

Well known gig promoter Ron Watts brought many blues legends over to the UK to play at London’s 100 Club, Wycombe’s Nag’s Head and many more venues. In his autobiography, Hundred Watts, Ron poignantly wrote of ‘two girls from Stokenchurch’ who would come to the blues gigs: ‘One of them got married to Bruce Langsman, who played guitar for Shakey Vick and the Nighthawks. They made a nice couple and I hope they’re still together and happy.’

The book was published in 2006, the year Bruce passed away.