“Kraftwerk barricaded themselves in the dressing room. Our reviews were great and theirs weren’t, so we were asked to leave the tour”: Prog paradigm-changers Greenslade were warned two keyboardists and no guitarist would fail. They didn’t listen
When the late Dave Greenslade left Colosseum, he had a handful of unfinished songs which launched a short but inspiring run at the dawn of the synth era
Greenslade’s 70s heyday might have been short – but in 2018 Prog told the story behind this “thinking man’s band” from their controversial decision to disregard guitars, through unlikely tourmates to hopes for the future which faded with the death of Dave Greenslade in June 2026.
“I’ll tell you what is really staggering – it’s 47 years since the first Greenslade album and now they’re all being re-released,” says Dave Greenslade. “After all this time, we’ll be an overnight success!”
The band were only around for a short time – from autumn 1972 until their last gig at Barbarella’s, Birmingham, in December 1975. They recorded for a major label, Warner Brothers, and Spyglass Guest (1974) reached No. 34 in the UK album charts. It followed the group’s 1973 debut, Greenslade, and Bedside Manners Are Extra, also 1973, while 1975’s Time And Tide came last.
“I’m very proud of these compositions,” says Greenslade. “I’m lucky to have had a chance to form a band with those guys. We made a great combination. And it was a most unusual band at the time – no guitar and two keyboard players.”
He’d played keys in Colosseum, who broke up in 1971, leaving him with a number of unrecorded pieces. Looking to form a new band he recruited Colosseum bassist Tony Reeves, who got in touch with keys player and vocalist Dave Lawson, who’d been in Samurai and Web. Lawson in turn contacted drummer Andy McCulloch, who’d played in Fields and King Crimson.
One can hear some similarities in the music of Greenslade – particularly their debut album – and Colosseum’s side-long Valentyne Suite, which was largely written by the keyboard player; but overall it’s quite different in feel. So had Greenslade any plans as to the sort of music he was going to make with his new group?
“It wasn’t a conscious thing; it was just a development,” he replies. “I never thought, ‘Come on, lads, let’s form a prog rock band!’ It never crossed my mind. So very quickly the four of us got together and started rehearsing and writing – I was writing a lot of stuff. We had great fun, and we got signed up to management.”
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The fact that Greenslade had no guitarist and two keyboard players gave them a certain hip cachet at the time; but to some, such a line-up appeared to be ill-advised. “When I told my chums and musical colleagues that I was going to form a band without a guitar – I didn’t have anything against guitars, I just had this idea in my head of two keyboard players using an array of instruments – everyone said, ‘It’ll never work, Dave.’ Well, they were wrong.”
Clem Clempson, formerly of Colosseum and later in Humble Pie, did play guitar on two tracks on Spyglass Guest, but apart from that it was all keys. Lawson remembers how, from the outset, their choice of instrumentation contributed to the group’s particular sound and approach. “We didn’t give the guitars a thought at the time,” he says.
“We just jammed with two keyboards and it seemed to work. With a guitar you’ve got a weapon in your hand – you wind it up and it’s very powerful. It’s extremely dynamic, whereas an electronic keyboard isn’t, really. You can wind clavinets up because they’ve got pickups in them, and you’ve got synthesisers which are powerful, but not in the same way as a guitar.
“It was a mixed bag. I was bringing some Samurai and Web things to the party and Dave had the music he’d been writing when he was in Colosseum. Bar some numbers he wrote in their entirety, he would have chord sequences and I’d come up with a melody line and lyrics, and we’d knock it into shape from there.”
Greenslade feels that Bedside Manners Are Extra is perhaps his favourite of the band’s albums, but agrees that their self-titled debut – “Virgin Greenslade,” as he puts it – has a particular freshness about it. “There’s a very interesting selection of material on the first album; I’ve never really heard any other band play like that at all,” he says.
Although we didn’t look like one, we were actually a live band. We enjoyed playing live more than being in the studio
Dave Greenslade
But although some of the music is rhythmically and melodically complex, from the outset the group’s considerable technical ability always served the material; as demonstrated on the twists and turns of the instrumental An English Western.
And while McCulloch isn’t mentioned as often as his more famous peers, his speed, deftness and impeccable timing made him one of the most gifted rock drummers of his generation. “It’s a question of having an affinity with the guys you’re working with,” Greenslade says. “Musically, we just slotted in like a jigsaw puzzle with the right pieces.
“Although we didn’t look like one, we were actually a live band,” he continues. “We enjoyed playing live more than being in the studio. We would rehearse the material, do a perfectly good recording and then we went on the road, and in six months... wow! We’d developed those pieces again.”
But was the absence of an onstage frontman a problem? “That’s the thing: we did have someone out at the front,” Greenslade replies. “The most unlikely person – the bass player, Tony Reeves. He was more than a bass player; if you listen to his lines they were almost like lead guitar work. We let him have his head in that direction, because he was very good at it.
“Each of us were playing at least three keyboards. It must have been a nightmare for the road crew – six keyboards in a band – and they weren’t small and portable in those days. Bloody great Hammonds and Mellotrons. I played the Hammond quite a bit, and a Fender Rhodes. Then I bought an RMI, an American electric piano and an ARP synth. Dave had a lovely ARP, and we wrote for all these voices.”
“It was a kind of thinking man’s band,” says Lawson. “We used to get quite a large following of gearheads, because synthesis was in its infancy; and I was slightly unusual because I chose an ARP. After the gig all these guys would be queuing up for autographs in loon pants and tie-dye t-shirts, with not a mini-skirted fan among them, except perhaps a Scotsman.”
It must have been a nightmare for the road crew – six keyboards in a band – and they were bloody great Hammonds and Mellotrons
Dave Greenslade
But when the band strayed away from this core audience, enthusiasm was not guaranteed. Lawson recalls one time when they appeared live on a TV programme. “The audience, mainly teenage girls, had to be bribed with T-shirts and all sorts of things to even clap, because Slade were on the bill as well. So it was quite confusing.”
Lawson reckons that Greenslade were, image-wise, “a bit of a low-profile band.” But by 1975, Bambi (the wife of music critic Robin Denselow) was making clothes for them. Lawson wore a fetching number with diamanté trim, McCulloch had lived a while in Japan and dressed with a Japanese theme, while incumbent bass player Martin Briley was kitted out in a skeleton suit. “Dave had a polka dot thing – he could have doubled in Billy Smart’s circus. It was the closest we got to Genesis,” Lawson quips.
Their keyboards attracted some unwanted attention from a particular type of gearhead, when in a typically-odd 70s billing, Greenslade toured in the States with Kraftwerk. “In those days the sounds were made rather than just pressing a button,” Lawson explains. “On an ARP Odyssey, if you can imagine a surface with loads of little faders on it, all those faders are ‘in tune,’ if you like, so you’re in tune when you play the thing.
“When I got onstage, one of Kraftwerk’s crew – or Kraftwerk – had pulled every single fader down to zero. My solo must have been the weirdest thing, because I was trying to tune it at the same time as play. I mentioned it to our roadie, an ex-marine we called Lurch – huge, about six foot seven. Lurch wanted to have a word with Wolfgang Flür, and Kraftwerk barricaded themselves in the dressing room. Our reviews were great and Kraftwerk’s weren’t very special – put it that way – so we were asked to leave the tour.”
On Spyglass Guest it might have seemed that the two Daves were going their separate ways, as they recorded some of their compositions in isolation – although they both played on them live. But it was partly out of necessity ,as album deadlines were always looming, so any time off the road involved writing new material.
Our management didn’t understand our music, They didn’t have a clue or the faith to carry it forward
Dave Greenslade
“I’d have my Fender Rhodes suitcase at home and a 7-inches-per-second Revox tape recorder,” Lawson explains. “When I got to Doldrums, I recorded it and thought, ‘Well, there’s not a lot wrong with this recording.’ I wasn’t going to do it again in the studio. It wasn’t a cop out – I’d got it where I wanted it.”
After they released Time And Tide in 1975, the life of the band was rather cruelly cut short. They were with a management company who also looked after artists like Rod Stewart, and things weren’t working out.
“We were always treated as something else because they didn’t understand our music anyway,” Lawson recalls. “It sounds arrogant, but they didn’t have a clue or the faith to carry it forward.
“When I took the decision to leave the band, the van was on its last legs, we didn’t have a car to take the band around in, the infrastructure was crumbling and I couldn’t see that we had a future.”
Greenslade is loath to go into detail, but he notes that the two parties were bound together by a contract and so the only other option was to buy themselves out, which would have been beyond their means.
He was approached by the producers of the BBC TV series Gangsters, which ran for three years in the 70s, and he’s continued writing soundtrack music, alongside an intermittent solo recording career which began in 1979 with The Pentateuch Of The Cosmogony – a kind of multimedia concept album with illustrations by fantasy artist Patrick Woodroffe.
While still in Greenslade, Lawson had been approached to do session work, initially for Stackridge’s album Mr Mick. He become “the synth guy you go to” in film music. He’s heard playing synth horn in the famous Star Wars cantina scene, and has worked on a number of other high-profile films like Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein and The Dark Crystal, and the BBC TV series The Blue Planet.
I wish the four of us now could go and do it all again
Dave Greenslade
A version of Greenslade reformed in 2000 and made an album, Large Afternoon; but in the opinion of the man who gave the group its name, it didn’t have the magic of the original line-up. So is there any chance of more from the group, in some shape or form, live or on record?
“I wish the four of us now could go and do it all again,” says Greenslade. Health issues mitigate against them playing live, but Lawson confirms he has some material left over from the 70s and that Greenslade played him some demos of material from the Pentateuch era that could be worked on.
“It would be nice to do something, but the practicalities of it all... it’s a possibility,” says Lawson after a pause. “It hasn’t been shelved for definite. The material’s certainly there.”
Mike Barnes is the author of Captain Beefheart - The Biography (Omnibus Press, 2011) and A New Day Yesterday: UK Progressive Rock & the 1970s (2020). He was a regular contributor to Select magazine and his work regularly appears in Prog, Mojo and Wire. He also plays the drums.
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