Graham Fellows became a one-hit wonder in 1978 with punk spoof track Jilted John, and later created comedy character John Shuttleworth. In 2018 he discussed his passion for prog, sharing strong opinions on some of the biggest names in the genre.
I have all of this to blame on my proggy school friend, Nicholas Abbott. We were 13, living in Sheffield, and he was richer and more sophisticated than me. He sat me down to listen to Tarkus by ELP and I was struck by the cover. I listened, quite bemused.
Musically, my background had been hymns – I loved singing hymns in junior school – so I was influenced by John Wesley, the pop chart, The Sound Of Music and Oklahomal, which were regulars on my dad’s hi-fi. Tarkus sounded very adult and rather cold, but I knew I was having to leave the world of The Monkees and Sweet behind me for a new horizon.
Article continues belowWhen I saw the cover of Close To The Edge by Yes, then heard the opening track, with the birdsong and that strange chord fading in, I found a more interesting prog rock band for me. Greg Lake was a bit of a cabaret singer. Jon Anderson, whatever you think of his lyrics, bloody meant it, and his vocal meshed so beautifully with the instrumentation.
Yessongs is my favourite of their records – it’s fascinating to learn that Alan White had just three days to learn the songs. Steve Howe’s guitar work on And You And I is unbelievable. I’ve used this for one of my character’s exit music. In this moment, God made contact with Yes and something wonderful happened.
From Yes I got into Rick Wakeman’s The Six Wives Of Henry XIII. A copy was lent to me by my other proggy friend, Peter Beecroft, and I played it to death. But I foolishly left it on top of the television and it got very hot and just sort of melted. I had to buy him a new copy and keep the warped one.
Anne Boleyn and Catherine Parr are my favourites – Rick has the ability to write tunes that will make you weep. When he started appearing on TV, on things like Never Mind The Buzzcocks, I thought, “He doesn’t talk like that!” I thought he’d be a bit fey, but he’s a geezer!
I bought Hocus Pocus, assuming Focus were a comedy rock band. I think their critical perception has suffered a little by them being Dutch and having no vocals but yodelling. I bought a Dutch version of Moving Waves teamed with In And Out Of Focus. Apart from Sylvia – a track I would happily die to –the actual track Focus is astonishing and just so beautiful.
Thijs van Leer is an incredible songwriter; the chord changes are phenomenal. As you get older, you appreciate Focus more. I’m going to see them the next time they tour.
I became aware of The Enid when I was a punk and people used to make fun of them. As a kid, I’d played melodica and a bit of piano, but it was only when I got to college at the age of 18 and wrote Jilted John that I learned to play guitar – and that’s what shows in the song. I signed to EMI and was given lots of free vinyl. In The Region Of The Summer Stars was in the bundle.
I played it a lot. I’d compare The Enid to Yes, but there were no lyrics and that shaped their sound. However, it’s very listenable and admiring of classical music, with some great playing on it.
I was enjoying that at the height of my punk period, along with early Pink Floyd. I was 18 and a drama student in Manchester and the city was a modest, humble place back then, before the Madchester scene and the self-consciously aggressive city it would become. Suddenly tracks like Interstellar Overdrive came into vogue. The opening minute of that is like Sex Pistols!
Syd Barrett’s life story almost dwarfs the music
I’d listened to The Dark Side Of The Moon but it was too mainstream and I didn’t buy into it. When you listen to Syd Barrett play, you’re listening for the signs of madness. His life story almost dwarfs the music. The Piper At The Gates Of Dawn has some punk attitude.
I also listened to The Doors around this time. Apocalypse Now came out in 1979 and The End was on the soundtrack. That rekindled quite a bit of interest in The Doors and it became very cool to listen to them. Light My Fire is quite an accomplished song for a young man to write. I listen to them and I’m baffled by the apparent simplicity of what they’re playing and marvelling at the way it meshes.
The solo in Light My Fire is what makes the track so special. It’s very good and inordinately long – five minutes of solo! You shouldn’t do that in the middle of a pop song, but it works brilliantly.
The Doors make me think of John Coltrane. I only discovered him about five years ago, when I was a bit pissed at a friend’s house, and he had My Favorite Things on in the background. I became mesmerised by this apparent tape loop of McCoy Tyner repeatedly playing these enchanting piano chords. It seemed so daring to be doing something so minimalist and repetitive back in ’61. I had to stop the conversation and listen.
It’s a piece of music I can play over and over and get more from it each time. I do my daily pilates to it. Coltrane also provides a brilliant example of how to make your mark on a track by not being on it. He’s off it for about five minutes and you’re wondering when he’ll come back in. When he does, it’s amazing.
Turn! Turn! Turn! cost £30,000 to record. Knowing that detail, you listen more closely
I like The Beatles at the start of their progginess. Rubber Soul is relaxed, together and psychedelic. It’s the first album where they stop singing about boy meets girl, and it’s quite introspective. They were listening to The Byrds, who were also listening to them. I came to them a little bit late, when I was 20.
A lot of punks were into Dylan. When I realised The Byrds had covered Mr Tambourine Man, I bought both collected hit singles albums. Their masterpieces are Eight Miles High and Turn! Turn! Turn! – which cost £30,000 to record. Knowing that detail, you listen to the production more closely; the multi-layering seems so effortless but took a lot of thought and arrangement.
In the later 80s I moved to London from Manchester, and signed a songwriting deal with Warner Music. I was a serious balladeer for a time, then I created John Shuttleworth, who took over my life for 25 years. Shelleyan Orphan were labelmates and I was given their album Helleborine. I fell in love with Caroline Crawley’s voice.
There’s a link, I feel, between them and Yes. It’s orchestral arrangements on a pre-Raphaelite folk rock record, and the lyrics remind me a little of Jon Anderson – they don’t make much sense but they sound beautiful with the music. My mum had just died and my dog had just died and I was escaping from a destructive relationship. I used to sit in my flat in Muswell Hill and listen to this and get beautifully sad.
Around this time I decided to give up music and help the community. I became a milkman in Wood Green. I was useless, though – I kept dropping the bottles – so I was soon back to what I do best.
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