Sorry to hear that legendary bassist Herbie Flowers has died, aged 86.
I ‘knew’ him in the sense that I knew he had been credited with the famous bass line on Lou Reed’s ‘Walk On The Side’.
That might not seem much but as someone who has every Lou Reed record in his collection the name Herbie Flowers actually meant something to me.
I also ‘knew’ him as someone who worked frequently with jazz pianist Mike Hatchard who I wrote about only a couple of weeks ago when I explained how we once collaborated on a variety show at the BBC Concert Hall, 30 years ago.
‘Mike,’ I wrote, ‘has worked with some wonderful singers and musicians, including the great Herbie Flowers who famously came up with the bass line for Lou Reed’s ‘Walk On The Wild Side’, for which he was allegedly paid £12 (and no royalties).’
What I didn’t mention is that, a few weeks before that, Mike had posted on Facebook a lovely piece about his old friend and collaborator.
I hope he doesn’t mind if I re-post it here but it’s a wonderful tribute that deserves a wider audience:
A few weeks ago I called in on my old mate Herbie Flowers in Ditchling. I got quite a shock. He told me was ill, and his appearance certainly suggested that, for once, he wasn’t exaggerating; so I’m not entirely surprised now to hear he is terminally ill.
I wouldn’t normally share this sort of thing on social media but I gather that whilst he doesn’t want pity he wants people to know; so I am.
I first met Herbie at a gig in the Charing Cross Road when we (briefly) shared the same management. His bass playing was seriously impressive but I think it was probably his smile that blew me away. I’d never met anybody quite so naturally charismatic and I’m not sure I have since either.
We got to chatting and a while later I offered him a gig, at Roald Dahl’s party. It was in a big marquee in the writer’s garden. When Herb arrived I explained that I and the guitarist (Mike Eaves) were going to go around the tables playing violin and guitar as a sort of warm up. I explained that I didn’t expect a musician of his reputation to do anything so cheesy, he was excused duty and could help himself to some of the abundant Pimm’s. Looking back, I think I was naive imagining Herb would accept such absenteeism graciously. He insisted he would join in, and so we approached the first table with Malcolm Mortimore resourcefully supporting his snare drum around his neck with his tie.
‘What can we play you?’ I asked cordially. ‘Some Beatles?’ came the reply.
‘Certainly,’ I said. ‘Any in particular?’
‘Sergeant Peppers?’
‘Sergeant Peppers is an album,’ I explained. ‘Any particular bit?’
‘All of it!’
In the same way that the suggestion of not going around the tables was to Herb, this was my red rag moment. I undertook to play the whole of the iconic album in about a minute and a half, complete with the crazy crescendos of ‘A Day in the Life’ and even a nod towards the interminable play off. The Reduced Shakespeare Company would have been proud. And that was the first time I ever played with Herb, and he seemed quite proud that he’d kept up (which he had, more or less).
A few days later he phoned and offered ME a gig. And from that point on we worked together many, many times.
I could write much, much more about about my unique pal and no doubt I will in time. In the meanwhile here’s one anecdote that always springs to mind. We were asked to appear (if that’s the right word on a radio show) on the Mark Lawson Radio Four Edinburgh Festival special and Herb was inevitably asked about Walk on the Wild Side.
He told a tale I had heard many times, Lou Reed asleep on the sofa, etc. etc; this story wasn’t always entirely consistent in content but I don’t doubt it’s true enough, always culminating in ‘I got twelve quid for that’ or, ‘I got nine quid for that.’
On this occasion, to demonstrate his contribution Herb played the famous riff to the rather earnest Radio 4 audience about seven or eight times, and they were, as ever, totally mesmerised. He then turned to them and said, ‘It’s bollocks, isn’t it?’
As I said, I could write so much more. I have no doubt many people will have lots of nice things to say about Herb when he’s passed; but so much better to write them now, I would have thought.
Thanks Herb, thanks for all the laughs, all the confusion and above all all the music. Bless you, matey. And remember, it’s all bollocks, really, innit.
How lovely is that?
Fun fact: Herbie Flowers was briefly a member of T Rex and played on the band’s last album, Dandy In The Underworld, which was released shortly before Marc Bolan’s death in 1977.
Recorded just as punk was taking off, the album was nevertheless well reviewed and the title track was a minor hit.
To promote the album, Bolan took the band on tour with The Damned as the support act, which was quite brave!
Today the idea of gentle Herbie Flowers playing on the same bill as Dave Vanian, Rat Scabies and Captain Sensible still makes me laugh!
RIP.
See also: Legendary 70s bassist Herbie Flowers dies aged 86 as tributes flood in (Metro) and What Bowie, McCartney and Lou Reed all owe to Herbie Flowers (Telegraph).
Below: Mike Hatchard and Herbie Flowers, ‘Watermelon Man’, from the album The Business (1998)