Focus Concert Review 1973

Tony Stewart NME

ALTHOUGH OUR entry into the European Economic Community is being saluted with umpteen art forms and rock concerts in the capital, perhaps the greatest — and certainly the most significant — was the unofficial celebration at Manchester’s Hardrock on Sunday night. With the magnificent Focus.

True, the concert was not part of the Fanfare For Europe, but it should have been. Because, if musicians of Focus’ calibre are to grace Great Britain, then to hell with Rule Britannia and lay a Heineken on me any day of the week.

On the opening night of their third British tour Focus were at a peak of sparkling musical brilliance. Some of the concert was disturbing, and a little disappointing (those criticisms will come later). Even so, by ‘ell, lads, you did yourselves right proud.

First savour the scene: the Hardrock, Greatstone Road, Stretford.

It’s some way out of the City Centre, a 60 pence cab ride from the station. Yet the Mancunion cats know how to find it. Two human caterpillars sway into an arrow-head aimed at the front doors. An unbelievable sight, which demanded frequent exclamations of “Bluddy ‘ell fire” from the stragglers who’ve realised it’s going to be a long, cold wait. And maybe a hassle to get in.

How right they were. The Polydor Artiste Liaison Officer, a nice guy in spite of the pomposity of his title, reckoned over a thousand people were sent home.

Inside: phew, it’s hot. Manchester Music Lovers aren’t “hip”, nor do they display the arrogance of their London counter-parts. I mean, they even hustle George Best in the boozers now. A Night Out to them, means pints of Northern Ale and Carling Black Label with plenty of froth on top. A plate of chips, maybe even a hamburger.

Always in the true tradition. “Chips without vinegar — never”, a guy tells his lady as he clambers over a table to get the Sarsons.

The early comers — or those lucky to have tickets — play pinball on the machines in the entrance hall. In the half light, ultra-violet strobes pick out white clothing and young fillies pull back cardigans to show off their gleaming new bras. Which they must have bought fresh for the occasion.

But as soon as Harvey Andrews hits the stage, a roar goes up and the budding Tommies and the lasses put their boobs away and barge through into the concert hall. At least they’ve got their prerogatives right.

Dear Harvey, he’s so good. Got himself a beautiful guitar and a batch of delightful tunes and an excellent voice to sing ’em with. There’s no messing with the man and, quite rightly, many people are already lifting him up on to Ralph McTell’s level. Yes, and I detect a touch of the traditionals in there.

But who were we there for? Focus. The supreme masters in contemporary rock. This guy was only saying the other day it’s where Emerson, Lake and Palmer should have been before they hit the egotistical ritual. Not that I agree, but he has a point.

Comparitives are useful, but sometimes confusing. Focus, I reiterate, are unique. Few bands have made such an impact in so short a space of time and can be heralded as musically profound.

On Sunday afternoon they’d rehearsed and Hans – their engineer – had achieved a remarkable sound balance. Just before the concert the Rock dj was saying how good it should be. That guy’s got taste. When all these super-stars have been up and bopping in Manchester — you know, like Bowie and Roxy — and still the dj gets excited before a Focus gig, it tells you more than any written piece could — ever. Steve Stills and Mannassas didn’t even fill the place.

Yde de Jong, the massive manager who’s always smiling (and why shouldn’t he?) hustles the four out into the side wings. Then a deafening cry rings out from the packed house as they make the stage. Lots of people squatting, others rich enough or crafty enough to get seats. But once Focus start tuning up — all part of the show — you couldn’t have squeezed a mouse into the place.

Cautiously the gentle melody of “Focus III” starts to filter out of the PA from Thijs van Leer’s organ. Suddenly Jan Akkerman, standing quite still and looking his usual moody self, an epitome of a rock ‘n’ roll superstar, cuts in with his guitar line. The band starts up and the beauty of the piece bowls you over.

My God, I’ve dreamed of a night like this since I came back from touring with the band in Holland.

It’s a total emotional experience. Looking very much like Van Dyke’s Laughing Cavalier, Burt Ruiter is bent over his bass, diligently springing out the notes. His style is reminiscent of the technique used on the up-right, something like the old jazz greats. And he’s got so many good ideas that make his job more than just holding down a basic thread.

He with drummer Pierre van de Linden make up the most imaginative rhythm section heard for a long time. Linden hugs his kit, making each drum work separately, and rarely is he content to lay back and merely keep the timing. They say he’s the greatest in Holland; I say he’s just the plain greatest.

If it were not for those two, and the intricate undercurrent they fearlessly provide, Akkerman and van Leer wouldn’t be able to get off so often. During “Anonymous”, with the “stolen” classical introduction, the whole of the audience are clapping along. Stage right, a handful of acrobatic youngsters clambered onto the speakers to get a better view. Three heavies pushed through and helped them down. Dose guys is okay.

We got the Focus themes: “House Of The King” with Thijs huffing and puffing on the flute; part of “Eruption”; the hard-biting “Hocus Pocus”, — with the yodelling — and “Sylvia”. Akkerman who maintained his form throughout the evening, shuddering out the metallic chords which always dance around the recognised sequence. And the roasting organ comes in with the theme.

This is my sole beef: why did they find it necessary to give us their established pieces? Surely more on “Focus 3” was possible? The conclusion one can easily reach is they were playing it too near to the cuff. Alright, what they did was great, even phenomenal. But we want more new things.

Which is not to imply the concert fell short. No, never. There’s no misconception of so-called “entertainment”, and pretty-rinsed mops with Christmas fairy decorations are absent. Stick your silly glitter and sparkle onto your full-frontal nude photos and get into Focus.

Finally I ask, what is the best way to measure the success of a concert? Well, watch for one of the venue’s Directors and if he’s rubbing his hands, opening his own bottle of whisky and smiling, then it’s a good `un. The ever-young Mike O’Shea (be kind or we’ll reveal your age again) was overwhelmed and he’s having them back again, and then again. And probably again.

Now to blow my own trumpet: wasn’t it just last week I was telling you all how well they were going to do in ’73? Can I chalk the score up now?

Interview 4

Another Tony Stewart Interview in NME but from May 12 1973

Midnight was our cue to quit the Swiss restaurant and return, like five Cinderellas, to our hotels. It wasn`t a case of trembling at the thought of changing into kitchen maids, but more of over-indulgence and weariness. The meal was over and the booze flowing; record company executives swapped yarns; managers made merry; Focus and Stone The Crows lent back and rubbed well-fed bellies at the banquet held in their honour. Our Mercedes Pullman drew up in the Montreux drizzle, and Focus’s Jan Akkerman, his lady, two others and myself climbed in. The chauffeur doffed his cap, clicked the engine into a whisper and warned us not to flick fag-ash on his pile carpet, while Akkerman continued with a vicious attack on America. He growled: “America? Bah. I was glad to go home. You know, they’ve got no culture”. Akkerman is not a gentleman to understate. But during the 10-minute drive he crystalised his thoughts on the so-called American way-of-life, and reluctantly decided that it’s a necessary evil. The next morning bass player Bert Ruiter told me the same thing: “Everyday for five weeks we just played, stayed in hotels and slept on planes. It’s not my way of living, but we have to do it”. As yet there are no signs that the experience has benefitted their music. And maybe it never will. As we passed the time in the splendid lobby of the Hotel Suisse, Bert stated: “No country could make us better than we are. Maybe it’s strange, but we’re into each other for the music.” This, good people, is the Focus reaction to success, at a time when “Hocus Pocus”, “Moving Waves” and “Focus 3” are hitting the American charts (achieving that on their first tour is nothing short of bloody incredible). “Do you understand it?” Akkerman asks. “I don’t. Like `Hocus Pocus` is just a send-up; nobody can change that. It’s just a send-up of those rock groups…

Focus’s return to Europe was not as triumphant as it could have been. At Montreux the band encountered innumerable hassles with their equipment. It resulted in them walking off stage, later returning to do a set that was purely for the audience — because by this time the telly crew had knocked off.

Then in the Dutch daily papers it was falsly reported that Focus has broken up. To top that, says Ruiter, quite a few people believed it.

Nearer to us, they opened their British tour at London’s Rainbow last Friday. And frankly it was a disappointment. They were too loud with no middle range, the music seemed untogether, and it was only during “Eruption” that they settled down.

Neither did everything go well in Holland. Akkerman says candidly that he “blew some gigs”. One eyewitness – we’ll reveal no names and tell no lies — reckons the guitarist was a mite unpopular. The audience called him “houndelul”. Translated, this refers to part of a dog’s anatomy…

This is success.

“Houndelul, spits Akkerman, “I hope it’s the last time I play there.

“We loved to play in Holland,” he continues. “We didn’t feel high or low, we just wanted to play. But if people say things like that I don’t care anymore. We’d better stop. Because it wasn’t my fault I was so late.

“Mv cat had a kitten.” he explains. “I came back from Montreux on an early plane. When I got home it had been born on the floor, so I was just in time.”

Actually, I remarked, I’d been told one of his ducks had broken a leg.

“Oh no, Akkerman retorted. “The other cat had broken a leg. I’m concerned about that. I don’t care about…”

He hesitates, and then recalls the gig in question. “There were something like 15,000 people involved. But still, I said to myself, I’d take a few hours less sleep. But the people don’t care about that, and just call me names.

“And I played well, very well. To me it’s a challenge if they start booing,” he continues with a hint of mischief. “I think, oh, I'll make you shut up.’

“But I don’t have these feelings here. In Britain the audiences are very straight. If they don’t dig it, forget it — they don’t bother. But that crowd of 15,000 started booing, and it was as if they were going back to their childhood. I have enough booing on my farm with all the cows. It’s the same thing.”

After Montreux I met Akkerman at the Post House Hotel, Haverstock Hill, London, and once again we got back to the subject of America.

“It’s not that the people aren’t friendly,” he explains, “but they’re so extrovert. I am too in a way – but when it comes from all sides it yells at me, and you have a feeling it keeps you down. Like if you make one mistake, they’ll kill you. That’s fear. In New York especially — it’s so depressing.”

Cracking the American market is a big feather in Focus’s cap when you consider they were only a support band to acts like the Beach Boys, Zappa and Santana. Thus, most of the time, their set was considerably shorter than usual.

In Montreux Bert had described the difficulties quite vividly.

“Sometimes it was like a boxing game. There were so many aggressive people, and when we played we had to hit them. After that we had time to play a little of what we wanted — but it was usually the hard stuff, like ‘Anonymous’.”

Akkerman elaborated on the best policy to adopt:

“I think you must forget all about making the right music for America, and just do your stuff, then leave at once. That’s what we did, and it turned out to be successful. But the next time we’ll play for two hours and longer.

We played a short version of ‘Focus III` then ‘Anonymous’. After that we did ‘Tommy’, the single, and then “Hocus Pocus”. By that time everybody was crazy and yelling for more. “America,” he adds, “is still into rock ‘n’ roll really. Oh, they want boojie, woojie. Edgar Winter, you know, is a beautiful musician, but he plays this all the time…” And Jan hums a cliched boogie riff. He continues: “They better hire Micky Mouse if they want that, but not me”. This aspect made Focus a slight downer for American audiences on first hearing. Having heard the single “Hocus Pocus” they thought the band were another gang of rock ‘n’ rollers. “That’s what they said,” says Akkerman, “and it was audiences on first hearing. Having heard the single `Hocus Pocus’ they thought the band were another gang hard to get going. But they really got into it – faaaar out,” he mimicks.

“If I should read one of those young kids’ diary’s I’m sure on every page it’d read, ‘far out’. Really.

“Our music swings, but it’s not rock ‘n’ roll; it swings, but it’s not jazz.

“But there’s hope for America,” he decides, especially when a group like Yes do a very good job over there. They’re probably one of the only white groups who’re really interesting.

“Rock ‘n roll, which is white blues, makes no sense. Alex Korner did a good job for the blues — but now the blues has had it. You know it’s still here, but for me it’s had it. I was playing it when I was ten… and they’re still living in that.

“And the only group who dare to make music without that are Yes. It’s the only answer to the black music and rock ‘n’ roll.”

Akkerman believes that the initial difficulty for the Americans trying to understand Focus’s music is that Americans have no real culture. However, he does concede that in 200 years time the blues could be termed “classical”.

America’s culture is mainly from the Continent,” he says. “Because most Americans are Europeans. They’re English, Balkans, Italians…”

But culture or no, Focus have been accepted and are now big business in America. There’s no two ways about it. And with recognition come some rather sad human behaviour patterns. Groupies.

“It’s so strange in America. Ten times a day some chick calls you up, and sometimes my girlfriend Lamie may take the calls.

“They say, ‘yeah, can I speak to Jan? I’m a girlfriend of his from LA’. And Lamie says, ‘he doesn’t know you, forget it.`”

Raising an imaginary receiver Akkerman adopts a mock American accent. “Hey shit man. I get that ten times a day. Myself, I’m not such a romeo.”

But on a more serious note, he continues: “But anyway, we’ve found our recognition now, and that seems to go with money. At least we’ve earned it; we worked for it. But I don’t know how many people are earning a lot of money off us just by doing nothing. And that’s always frustrating.

“Sometimes I feel I can’t go on anymore, and that’s bad. Because business people, and so many like them, make their game out of it. Business is already more important than the group itself. We just continue playing.”

Fame also means there’s petty, senseless bitching from some other bands Focus appear with… sneaky little roadies screwing up a gig by twisting a few mixer controls the wrong way.

And there’s an equally abominable game played by buck-drunk business moguls, called blood sucking. Or, to put another way, releasing product years-old and pretty dire.

On the first matter, Akkerman tells of a US gig they played supporting a well-known American rock band, who, to save them embarrassment, I have not named anywhere in this article.

“We had their PA system,” Jan recalls. “We were on stage five minutes and everything was whistling and we had 10,000 people screaming and yelling at us. So I said, ‘come on guys forget it, I don’t want to play any more’.

“So the other band went on. Within two minutes of them going on stage everything was beautiful — perfect. Before, the organ only had half power because they took some bulbs out. It seemed to me they had switches marked, ‘distortion, distortion, distortion’. Then some with ‘sabotage — off/on’. And it was actually that way.”

You should also have noticed the recent release of an Akkerman solo album, “Profile”, here in England. Now I welcome it, because it’s a good set. On the other hand, Jan complains about its initial release on artistic grounds, maintaining he was not considered.

He says: “I did the A side and some of the lute pieces one-and-a-half years ago. They just wanted a product, but I didn’t realise that at the time. And they took those pieces and put them together, and then they had a product. Here’s the Jan Akkerman solo album.”

You don’t agree with that?

“No. Would you? The A side is all right, it’s autobiographical… but at least they should have given me time to change some of the things. Even if I don’t have a contract with them, to me it seems a matter of ethics.

“The B side is going to be completely re-done for America in LA or Hawaii. And it’ll just be the lute with a classical orchestra. And on the very long part of side A there’ll be tablas and I’m going to fill in some harmonics and add some new ideas. The music itself is O.K.”

By comparison, “Profile” is not such inconsiderate record company action compared with the story of a certain Dutch import album. By the now-famous Akkerman, it’s called “Guitar For Sale,” and is just nine years old.

Jan recommends: “It’s better if you don’t buy it at all.

“When I was still at school, every Sunday I went into the studio and did some takes. And that’s the solo album.”

Come on, why buy it when you should be saving your pennies for the next Focus album? Already they’ve nearly completed another piece which they say is similar to “Eruption”, and which will be recorded after the British dates.

“Then,” Akkerman elaborates, “we’ll put the thing together and do something with the new material and also with new equipment. Yesterday we had a new PA, but we’re going to have some new things on stage.

“For instance I’m going to electrify the lute in a very special way… so it sounds natural. But as clear and as loud as my normal guitar.

“And Thijs might have a mellotron and that’ll add something to the sound.”

Reflecting, he adds: “We’re just beginning now. We’re exhausted in many ways, but we’re going to have a six weeks vacation. By that time, I`ll be jumping at the ceiling so I can play.”

Interview 3

Tony Stewart talks to Jan Akkerman

In a small office at the Manchester Hardrock, reeking of stale beer and dirty ashtrays, Jan Akkerman is struggling to light a cigarette. Outside, where half an hour earlier Focus had closed the final date of their British tour, the Hardrock discotheque was in operation.

Hesitant dancers are making for the office, young guys hustling their way in, arms thrusting paper and pens at the guitarist. Akkerman is detached and a little moody as he scribbles illegible black lines, which will be undoubtedly, be pasted on a bedroom wall next to the "Moving Waves" sleeve.

One guy wants to shake his hand. "You", he tells Akkerman, "must be the best guitarist I have set eyes on." A wry smile curls the guitarist's lips.

"Where in Holland will you be playing next week 'cause I'll be over there?" inquires a 17-year-old, meticulously folding a signed cigarette box. "Ask him" retorts Akkerman, indicating the manager. "He knows all about it."

Peter Banks once nominated Jan Akkerman as his choice in the NME Guitarist's Poll and I sniggered, unaware of how good he was. But now, as Focus score four British chart positions (two albums and two singles) and the memory of two big crowd drawing tours remain fixed in the mind, few people in Britain will be unacquainted with Focus and the man who picks out beautiful lines on a black Gibson Les Paul.

But even though the rest of the band is over the moon about the British tour, Akkerman plays it cool. "I played several times good, but most of the time rotten. Just because we were working too hard. Four weeks in a row every day, with one day off."

Yet in Holland, I point out, Focus does three-hour sets. Akkerman nods in agreement. "But that's just three, four or five times a week. At least the other two days in the week we have off, and you need that desperately to come to your senses again and rebuild whatever needs rebuilding."

Whether Akkerman admits it or not, the challenge of such arduous roadwork gets him high. He is a proud and determined man who, like Thijs van Leer, sneers at glam rock and all its connotations.

His interest is purely for the music, and another challenge in that field is his current preoccupation with the lute.

"To me, with 13 strings, it's the most difficult instrument," he comments, before going on to talk about 16 century music he loves. "It's music in its most primitive form but, to me, it's the most honest music."

"There are also a lot of commercial tunes in other people's stuff, strong melodies. Julian Bream, for example. Everybody knows I love him, the way he plays, his approach to the lute and guitar. I especially like his lute playing."

"It's just incredible what he does. Get any pop guitarist and put a lute into their hands and they can't do anything with it. Because the guitar is easy compared to that instrument."

Akkerman is a rarity, if not unique, in that his style is not derivative of the blues, jazz, or pop - even though they are all influences. He is one guitarist who has his own style completely. In years to come Akkerman's technique will be copied by a new generation in the same way that Clapton's is now.

When I put that to him the hard mask of confidence drops to show a glint of incredulity in the eyes. "In Holland they are doing that already, but I think the only comparison with Clapton is that I also have the warmth in my playing like he has. That's all."

"Technically, I'm far better than him, musically we are probably at the same level. But still I make my own music, and he is a blues guitarist. There's a difference. And I don't say it's worse or better. Clapton's the God of guitar players. He doesn't need that from me, but he's one of the few guys who I would say are good guitarists."

Elaborating on his stimulus for creativity the guitarist says it comes only from his own ingenuity, his head. "I stopped looking at other guitarists round about 18 or 19. I knew what was going on in the world with the Beatles and things like that. Suddenly I said to myself 'shut up'. I don't want to listen to anything except good music. Just practice my own thing."

It is just this attitude of mind which has enabled Jan Akkerman to emerge from a European country previously disregarded here and in America as our poor musical relations and be acclaimed as a great. There are many fine players waiting to come through in his wake, says Akkerman, although he feels many of them are on the wrong track.

"They're still hanging themselves up watching the outside world. If they'd do their own thing they'd win, but they don't. That's the fatal mistake they make. There are beautiful musicians coming out of the Concertorium and going into pop music, and they're going to play Burt Bacharach stuff in a pop way."

In spite of his reputation Akkerman's 'Profile' solo album, which has only seen Dutch record counters, didn't sell well back home. Which is stranger still when Akkerman agrees that he's regarded as the Dutch guitar God.

"I am a name, I am a legend. But the problem in Holland is that they want the Sweet (a British glam rock/pop band) and stuff like that. I agree that doesn't stop me making my own music, outside or inside Focus, which is what that solo album is all about."

"Actually I should give you an explanation of that album. I lived in Amsterdam, and had a very hard time being run out of that group and this group, and I didn't eat and things. And that's what is exactly on the first side of that album. Then the other side is the classical thing, which I love very much."

The style of the set is different to Focus, more abstract and technical. Akkerman insists: "That's actually my part in Focus. I don't care if people are raving or not. This is me. See? Expressive."

"When you listen carefully to it, you see clouds, you see water, you see grass grow. It's answering a question: am I happy that way?"

His conclusion is that he is. And he's content with his contribution to Focus' music: "Otherwise I wouldn't do it. I'd stop writing at this moment if I didn't like it, even if it was going well. Brainbox (his previous band) was going very well financially. There is a certain mentality you've got to have: all or nothing."

To him Focus is an inspirational source for music and playing. Despite performing the same stage numbers for 18 months, it's refreshing and rejuvenating each night. On this basic Akkerman will explain concisely what the group is aiming at.

"It's just like an aeroplane which needs something to take off from," he says. "After that, we take off and go on. That's how we use the tunes. Every night is different. It is actually like building a new word or a new language out of the words you know.
If people have heard us four or five nights, it's all right, because they will still hear new things."

This article was originally written by Tony Stewart and appeared in the NME on 24/02/1973