The last few years of Vivian Stanshall's life were a roller coaster of incredible highs and debilitaling lows that left him unable to function. "Until I went to a clinic in Weston-Super-Mare in 1986, and was told for Ihe first time what was happening to my body, and found I could go for longer and longer periods without a drug, I could not juxtapose and synthesise thoughts," he told Mojo magazine Even after his sojourn in Weston, his health never stabilised, with the result that supernova bursts of remarkable lucidity and creativity were followed by long spells where he was literally lost in space. Yet despite his crippling addiction to alcohol, Stanshall somehow kept writing, recording and performing.
In early 1991, Stanshall appeared as bright as a button and twice as dapper. Firing on all cylinders, he began planning the first incarnation of his Rawlinson Dog Ends show to be staged at The Bloomsbury Theatre. "Prior to the Bloomsbury performance I
hadn't been on stage for nine years, just over. The last time was a one man show in Dury Lane, in 1981 - just after Sir Henry came out," he said. Although he'd been out of the spotlight for the best part of a decade, this wasn't a come back because he'd never really been away. "I've never had a fallow period," he said "I've simply had frustrating periods where I've been so damn sick I couldn't do anything. I've been producing stuff from the Abyss and it's cost me.' His addiction cost him physically and mentally, but despite these obstacles the show marked a burst of creativity that led to a nationwide tour and autobiographical musical suite, Crank, performed for BBC2's The Late Show.
For the week long residency at The Bloomsbury Theatre, Stanshall was backed by a stellar band that included Jack Bruce, Rodney Slater, Roger Ruskin¬-Spear, Pete Brown and Ollie Halsey. All the musicians agreed to a flat fee of £50 a night, except Jack Bruce, who, Pete Moss claims, did it for expenses. "On the first night he whacked Vivian with a bill for £200 for the local Hilton or whatever, and Vivian went bonzo, if you'll excuse the pun.'
Bruce quit after the first performance, not because Stanshall wouldn't pay up, but because he couldn't cope with Stanshall's chaotic working methods. "All of my behaviour and judgements of recent years have been governed by my massive intake of tranquillisers," explained Stanshall. In this fragile state, he'd over stretched himself and couldn't cope. His plan was to improvise everything which might have worked had he not booked a band 10 back him. "It [Ihe show) was a bill of a source, because I extemporised wildly," he told The Independent. "In effect I was saying come along, give me six quid, but I've no idea what's going to happen."
Bruce's departure turned out to be a blessing in disguise. What the show needed was structure, something Stanshall was incapable of delivering and which nobody in the band dared suggest to the intimidating Fuhrer of Muswell Hill. Stanshall's reputation and the show were saved when his long¬time friend and musical collaborator, Pete Moss, took control. Moss organized a running order, that he insisted Stanshall adhere to, proper arrangements for the musicians and organised an intensive rehearsal before the next performance.
By the end of the week, Stanshall was relaxed, confident and raring to perform more shows. A three¬ week residency was booked for June at The King's Head Theatre. According to Susie Honeyman, it had a different atmosphere altogether from the Bloomsbury residency. "It was small and intimate, with just Rod, John and eilher me or Neil lnnes (I had a Mekons tour which clashed with the run) and Vivian enchanted us all, audience and players, every night.' She wasn't the only one to notice the reverential atmosphere that greeted the ensemble each night. "Initially, it all seemed frightening," recalled Stanshall. "The audience were so quiet, but we soon realised they were listening to everything we were saying.'
Rawlinson Dog Ends stuck with the format Stanshall had perfected for The John Peel Show, but extended it to over two hours. 11 was a triumph because, for once, Stanshall was free of stimulants and focused. Nothing, it seemed, could faze the newly confident ginger geezer. Even when beset with unforeseen technical troubles, Stanshall turned Ihe situation to his advantage and made light of it. One night when the hired PA refused to function properly, he simply abandoned the microphone and strolled among the audience singing at Ihe top of his voice - to everyone's delight.
Mark Cooper, a producer at BBC Television, had attended one of Stanshall's Bloomsbury shows and thought the format perfect for television. Stanshall was both excited and anxious about the impending television appearance, his first major work for television since the Bonzos appeared on Colour Me Pop in the late ·60s. but Cooper was confident they could pull it off. "It was such a complete piece and I did find him really scary," says Cooper. "I don't think I had worked with an artist quite so closely before."
Crank was filmed in two parts, the musical segments being filmed first. followed by Stanshall"s monologues on the day of broadcast. "It took a long time to record, especially getting all the camera angles right, but it was a worthwhile venture," Stanshall recalled. Songs from his Teddy Boys Don! Knft album and the Rawlinson Dog Ends show were woven through an autobiographical narrative. Crank was a lasting testament to the regard in which he was held and his remarkable creative flair. If he'd only been able to tame the Dionysian spirit within, without drowning it in booze, who knows what he might have achieved.
Crank was broadcast in November. A month later Stanshall was back on the road for his first national tour in 21 years. The show had come a long way from its first chaotic performance at The Bloomsbury Theatre. Never one to stop tinkering and writing new material, Stanshall re-modelled the Sir Henf1j narrative and added a second half that focused on songs from his impressive canon.
A low-key affair, the tour was booked into small art centres and theatres. It was not a financial success. "This tour is already projected on paper to lose £2,000, which shows how much I adore my public," he joked. "I just hope there are lots of people out there to squeeze into the venues." Unfortunately. not every date did sell out. The Barnfield in Exeter was only half full (shame on you. Exeter), but Stanshall was happy to know he'd connected with his audience. "I think the audience were chuffed to see me having a go. I would like to think that I gave them a bit of stuff of some value - I don't want to harp on that nor would I wish to - Poor Old Sod," he told Heckler magazine.
A critical success, the show was hailed 'a captivating blaze of surrealism". It was, however, Stanshall's last hurrah. In the years that followed, there were occasional flashes of brilliance, but they grew fewer and dimmer. An inspired television advert for a well known brewer, a reunion single with his old mates the Bonzos. and a documentary for Radio 4 confirmed that, when not possessed by Bacchus, he was capable of gloriously incandescent work.
A few years after his last surge of creativity, Stanshall was dead. In a bizarre twist of fate that he WOUld, no doubt, have found immensely intriguing, Stanshall died 100 years to the day after the death of the original Sir Henry Rawlinson. He may have departed this mortal coil 14 years ago, but his spirit and work endures. When The Bonzo Dog Band reformed for a brief reunion tour in 2006, Stanshallleft a gaping hole that had to be filled. It took no less than three major talents of stage and screen to fill his shoes. They were. after all. formidable shoes to fill.
Two albums by Vivian Stanshall have been released by Snapper Music.
Dog Howl In Tune is available here from AMAZON
Rawlinson End is available from AMAZON
First published in Shindig issue 14.
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