I first read Joe Brown's autobiography Brown Sauce, ghostwritten by Graeme Wright, in the late eighties, and enjoyed it very much. A few days ago I found myself devouring the contents with even greater pleasure, which is not always a given with such books.
This is partly down to the form chosen: having worked on a showbiz memoir myself in the interim (Freddie Davies's Funny Bones) I'm now keenly aware of the importance of finding the right shape for the story you have to tell, and Brown Sauce works like a dream, cutting out everything extraneous and giving the reader maximum enjoyment throughout.
The book, which is subtitled The Life and Times of Joe Brown, isn't set out like your average autobiography. Essentially it's wall to wall anecdotes or snapshots, but presented in chronological order. It may be "as much about the people, the characters, I've met during my life", as Joe Brown says in the introduction, but it's still his story, going from childhood to working with "The Parnes" to the bizarre people he has come across, including such characters as the budgie man - no, not Freddie Davies but a showbiz hopeful unwisely ushered into Brown's sitting room with a suitcase full of birds and twenty mouth organs strapped together. Selective quotations would not do justice to the careful build-up of the situation; let's just say that the payoff line - "Whereupon Vicki walked through the door" - is fully earnt.
Every tale, in fact, gleams, having been polished to a dazzling shine by Mr Wright: there is nothing approximate about these retellings, and he knows how to wield a semi-colon. But, as with Michael Simkins's What's My Motivation?, for all the laughs there's a degree of sympathy here for those whose ambition has far outstripped their talent, as in the tale of the Great Mandu, which concludes with: "I shook my head and gave him the twenty-five quid".
Brown is a major figure in British rock'n'roll/pop and there are, of course, stories about Gene Vincent and Eddie Cochran, with whom Brown played - Cochran, in particular, was a big influence on the young guitarist - as well as Johnny Cash's admonishment when Joe made the mistake of jazzing up his Luther Perkins role ("Thar'll be no pickin' thar").
But he is also part showbiz, and you will find a great sketch of comedian Jimmy Wheeler (and his dad), along with sundry accounts of jobsworths, dodgy managers and agents, as well as a frank admission of the lack of success of his country rock venture Brown's Home Brew, which lost thousands: despite the enthusiasm of his friend Roger Greenaway, who encouraged him to try his hand at this new style, audiences simply would not accept a new-look Joe Brown, a situation compounded when he occasionally found himself billed, without his knowledge, as "Joe Brown and His Bruvvers."
It's been an amazing life in music and showbiz generally, which happily is still going. I saw him in London in 2010 at the Millfield Theatre in Edmonton, and he had a good line in self-deprecation: Marty may still do Teenager in Love, Joe said, but he will only sing songs in keeping with his stature - or words to that effect. At which point he went into That's What Love Will Do - a song about taking an eighteen year old "bird" to the pictures. But playing was a serious business: eyes down on the guitar, still caring about the outcome, showmanship reserved for the between-songs patter. The closing number for the first half was an entirely fitting Gallagher and Lyle song:
Stay young, keep your wheels in motion
And despite the commercial failure of Brown's Home Brew he seems to have found an effective method of retaining his interest in performing, finding a workable compromise between audience expectations and his own needs. Near the start he told the audience that they'd be doing the hits in the second half with a full band but the first half of the show would be more of an "in the parlour" presentation, the drummer tapping a box and various percussion instruments and Joe free to pick up guitars, mandolins or whatever. But even in the second half some of the hits had been tweaked, so that they were more country rock - revisions which seemed to fit naturally.
Sadly, when he came back to Edmonton in 2016 to do "Just Joe", in which he was backed by only one person, I was unaware of it and bitterly regretted missing it; I would certainly go to see him again.
If you do get the chance to see him I imagine Brown Sauce will be sold afterwards at the gig, although it can also be purchased via his official website. The price is not listed on the merchandise page but I'm told it's £15.99, and there is a landline number on the site to call as well as a postal address.
Brown Sauce really is a great read, and despite the laughs I should emphasise that this is not a collection of disconnected jokey stories, though many are indeed hilarious or have laugh-out-loud moments, such as Lionel Bart's frenzied demonstration of Jellied Eels on a piano with numbered keys ("GREAT! GREAT! Isn't it GREAT!"). Some of the chapters are longer, more serious in tone, but where a story is a quick one-two there is no attempt to expand the section unnecessarily. And freed from the need, or the pretence, of providing us with every detail on the timeline of Joe Brown's career we get all the interesting stuff with none of the padding: a Campbell's Soup of an autobiography, if you will, although that association with the pretentions of Andy Warhol doesn't seem quite right.
Anyway, until such times as Mark Lewisohn deems it his civic duty to interview everyone who ever swam into Joe Brown's purview in preparation for another three-volume doorstop I reckon Brown Sauce will do as the last word on a great performer and a man steeped in the business - and congratulations to Graeme Wright on doing such an expert job. Wish I could nab that budgie story for the Freddie book ...
Brown Sauce: The Life and Times of Joe Brown can be ordered direct from Joe Brown's official website - the merchandise page is here.
More information about Funny Bones: My Life in Comedy here.
Guide to posts about Alan Klein, writer of What a Crazy World, here.
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