In '89 I went to LA to produce some tracks that I had written for a fantastic new girl singer and ended up staying there for most of the following year. In September I got a phone call from Gavin Harrison who said 'Alan's dead'. To say that I was shocked was an understatement. I called one of his best pals as I , along with many others, had no idea he was suffering an illness. He always looked so fit. I had to fly back to the UK prior to a tour in Italy, but couldn't change the flight to take in Al's funeral.
Several months later the rumour machine was in full swing with regards to a permanent replacement for the Level's gig amongst the guitar playing community. Various players were said to be having auditions or being considered. One particular guitar playing acquaintance of mine had told me he'd been offered the job and turned it down. What I suspected at the time, and now know for sure, was that he was full of shit. If youtr reading this you know who you are. It didn't really occur to me to throw my own hat into the ring. A few people had suggested me to Mark, however and said that it might be worth sending him a tape of my playing. So I quickly cobbled one together and posted it off. Within weeks I had heard that the job had been taken.

At around the same time the legendary double bass player, Danny Thompson, was having a celebration of his 40 years in music by hosting a week of gigs at London's Borderline. Each evening consisted of guests from Dan's illustrious past. On the Tuesday night I performed a Dizrhythmia set with Gavin Harrison on drums and Lyndon Connah on Keyboards. Another guest that evening was Mike Lindup from Level 42. Danny had played on Mikes recently released solo record 'Changes'. Danny had also played for Mikes mum Nadia back in the 60's.

We all chatted and hung out with Mike after the gig. He told me that Allan Holdsworth was playing with the band but that they were still looking for an additional backing singer and keyboard player and thought that Lyndon was a pretty good bet. Which is how Lyndon got to appear with them at their marathon Hammersmith stint.

I had made an album with Tom Robinson. We had received wonderful reviews but had scant TV and Radio support. So when a TV appearance came up for a live performance of one of the tracks the record company were very exited. When I found out which program it was I was less than thrilled. 'James Whales Radio Show' was (no disrespect Mr Whale) a pretty low brow, late night, post pub closure entertainment crammed with cleavage and innuendo for the bored and pissed on Friday nights. I was not going to do it. I made that very clear. I had to be cajoled, and persuaded, indeed flattered into acquiescing. So, on a cold autumn night, I found my self driving to Leeds to perform in a makeshift studio in the midst of a conversation about gay issues with a rabid Tory bigot. I was regretting the whole thing.

A month or so later Level 42 played a record number of shows at London's Hammersmith Odeon and I went to see them twice. My old pal Lyndon playing with my childhood Hero. It was bizarre.

As the new year dawned things were looking pretty bleak for me. In the 80's I'd done quite well financially and had sought sensible advice from my then accountant as to what to do with my new found wealth. He'd suggested a trip to a financial adviser who then persuaded me to invest my cash in a share option he was handling. I didn't really understand it fully to be honest, but hey he knows what he's doing right? Wrong. A year or so later the stock Market crashed. Indeed I heard the news break on the radio as I was driving to record Tom's album. I even said out aloud to my self 'Yuppie bastards, serves them right!'. I had absolutely no idea that it had anything to do with me. When my tax bill came in I couldn't pay it. I'd lost over half of my money in the crash.

Back at the bleak, cash stretched New Year the Inland revenue were getting tetchy. They had waited for their cash and little had turned up. A few weeks later and I received a letter from the bankruptcy division. I would be receiving a court date in the post. That was it. I was about to lose everything. My house, my studio, the lot. I couldn't see a way out of any of it. To say I was pretty low would be something of an understatement.

Exactly one week later I went to the village shop to get some milk. In the short time I had gone some one had called as the little red light on my answer phone was blinking. I played it back.

'Hi Mark King here, could you give me a ring as soon as possible, it's quite urgent ta.'

Mark King? Surly this is some kind of joke. I called the number back.

'Thanks for getting back so soon. We've had some real problems with record companies in the past year, but it's all sorted now and we need a permanent guitar player to commit for a minimum of 2 years'

'Err, are you asking me if I'd like to audition?'
'No the job is yours do you want it?'

This all seemed incredibly unlikely, but here it was. An offer to play guitar for Level 42. A job the majority guitar players in the country would have given their eye teeth for landing at my feet, just because Mark had seen the performance on 'The James Whale Show' and remembered me from the suggestions of others. It also rescued me from certain ruin. Minutes after the call the phone rang again.

'It's Crockford'

I had first met Paul Crockford back in the late 70's when 64 Spoon's manager had shared an office with Paul King's 'Outlaw'orginisation. Crockford was  a thin, spotty, energetic new boy, fresh out of college with a full head of hair and an amusing line in sarcasm. Indeed he spent a great deal of time taking the piss out of the Spoons musicality preferring the current vogue for stripped down, basic, post punk styles. I clearly remember his fondness for  an album by 'The Brakes' called 'For Why you kicka my donkey' which has gone on to sell literally dozens over the years. This boy certainly had an ear for a hit when he heard one.

I had lost touch with Paul. He had become a very successful manager and so I rarely bumped into him as he now breathed in  the rarefied atmosphere of the celebrity filled social scene that he now inhabited. 

'I can't believe he's chosen you'

'Nice to speak to you too Paul after all these years'

'He has a reputation as one of the best musicians in the world you know? He could have asked anyone.'

'Thanks'

'How much did he say he's going to pay you?'

I told him.

'Jeez! I'd have offered you half and you'd have bit my arm off for it. Oh and welcome to the band'

Success had not changed him then. The insensitive humour of a complete bastard was still very much in evidence.

So that was it. One minute I was facing financial and personal disaster, next minute I'm earning a great living as guitar player in a big high profile band. Things never happen like you plan them. 

Weeks went by. I didn't speak to Mark or Mike. I just sat in my studio learning Level 42 tunes. It was very weird. I knew I was in the band because it kept saying so in various magazines and musical publications and any way I was being paid, but that was where it stopped. It was like I had made the whole thing up. I was beginning to convince myself that I was in the grip of some Walter Mitty type fantasy.

Schedules turned up with festival dates and video shoots. I still hadn't played a single note with any of them. What if they hated me and my playing? I was getting seriously paranoid. There where gaps in the schedule that actually said 'Possible additions' but when I first read it I could of sworn it said 'Possible auditions' so convinced was I that Mark had asked the wrong bloke.

I was petrified on the day of my first rehearsal. I bumped into Sam Brown outside the rehearsal room who laughed at my trembling self and gave me a reassuring hug.

Mark wanted to rehearse the tunes in their set order. I learned the guitar parts off live tapes and the original recordings so as no to be found wanting. We played the set through twice. At the end Mark said 'Well Jakko's learnt everything really well so we'll cancel a weeks rehearsal'.

Whilst I was pleased that I'd made such a good early impression I was even more freaked by the fact that after two weeks rehearsal I was expected to play in front of thousands at a festival in Switzerland.

I'd made a big mistake in telling Crockford about the Possible audition thing. This made him laugh and he brought it up where ever possible. My mullet hairdo had also resulted in Mark calling 'Billy the fish' (after the fish like goal keeper in Viz Comic). So by the time we all met at Heathrow to fly to Switzerland I had had it all chopped off.

The first gig was a blur. One minute I'm back stage getting into my new suit and the next I'm on stage  swamped in a mess of sound and light against the Swiss night sky. Then we're back in the dressing room exchanging pleasantries with, of all people, Uriah Heep. Many's the time I would play their 'Salisbury' album to my self in the dark in the angst ridden landscape that was my teenage bedroom. This started to look like a scene out of Spinal Tap. It all served to make my introduction to the topsy, turvy world of Level 42 all the more surreal.  

Level 42 Part 2, go to next page

By the beginning of the 80's I had toured endlessly with 64 spoons and travelled Europe with my childhood hero's  Dave Stewart and Pip Pyle. I had also just secured a solo deal and was writing and recording material for my first album. I was in my early twenties, so of course I figured I'd been there , done it and knew it all. I was a rather arrogant git with a glowing future before me. How ironic that all seems now.
Back then, however, I was not easily impressed. So when an old pal asked me to go to Brunel University, in the splendour of the Uxbridge suburbs, to see the main movers of the new Brit Funk scene, Level 42, I was already deeply suspicious. I'd heard a number of bands from that apparent movement and was not much impressed. They all seemed like a rickety, brittle versions of the real (and American) thing. So I stood there at the back of the hall with a sardonic 'Impress me' look on my face.

'Well what do you think?' said my pal.
'Sounds like lift music to me' was my damning response.

Even then, though, it was hard not to be impressed by the bass player.

}I remember we hung out with the guitarist afterwards who seemed nice enough if rather quite. And that was it. They went on to great popularity and world domination, as sure as I was doomed to respected cult obscurity. I would occasionally hear records and, hey, I actually liked a few of them. I even bought 'Hot Water'.

By this time even the biggest musical cynics had to admit that that bass player was pretty impressive.

In my travels with Dave Stewarts band, REM, I had got to know Alan Murphy. We would hang out occasionally and talk guitars. He would come and watch me in Dave's band and I would go and see SFX. He was a good bloke. Always friendly, always a smile on his face. He was also, pretty obviously, a very good player. In Particular I liked the things he did with Kate Bush and the way he would enthuse about her work and how she went about it. So I was well chuffed for him when I heard that he had secured the gig as guitar player with Level 42. He seemed the perfect choice with a group that was fast becoming that rarest of  beasts, a commercially successful band of respected players. We still met every now and then and he would tell me how it was all going.