Two books profiling Bond composer John Barry were published in 1999. STACEY BREWER recalled at the time how the Evening Press helped him on the road to stardom.

MILLIONAIRE musician John Barry's spectacular climb to fame and fortune began with a late-afternoon phone call to the Yorkshire Evening Press.

It was March 1957.

I was the paper's staff pop music and TV writer. I also had a regular column featuring Yorkshire bands. So I was used to getting calls from local groups. This was one more - and there was no sign it was going to be different.

"My name is Barry Prendergast. I've got a band and I'd like you to hear it and give me your opinion," said the voice on the phone.

I arranged to drop in on a rehearsal at the Rialto Cinema in Fishergate, York.

I sat in the empty stalls as the band zipped through some rock 'n' roll hits of the time - Rock Around The Clock, Giddy-Up-A-Ding Dong, then Blue Moon.....

Blue Moon? That was a classic ballad. No rock band would dream of playing that. And no other rock band could have played it, the way I was hearing it.

Lush deep chords, warm cross-harmonies; almost a full orchestral sound, from only seven musicians - three guitars, two saxophones, one trumpet and drums. It was amazing.

"Who wrote that arrangement?" I inquired.

"I did," said Barry, with a smile of pleasure.

It didn't take a genius to see that he had a unique talent.

I quickly arranged a picture-call with an Evening Press photographer. And the next day, the Press carried the photograph with my story about the exciting new home-grown group.

The picture caption referred to the group leader as Barry Prendergast - his real name. But at the last minute, on the morning of publication, we changed it. We dropped his surname and used instead his two forenames - John Barry.

That was the John Barry Seven's first-ever publicity promotion, thanks to the Evening Press.

It was also the start of a close relationship with John Barry that was to take me all over the country in the next two-and-a-half years, writing Press and promotional material, as we struggled to 'launch' and establish the new group.

It was tough going. Working for the Evening Press all week, then spending weekends and days off in London, doing the rounds of show business magazines and writers; knocking out Press releases on my portable typewriter in theatre dressing rooms, from Blackpool to the Finsbury Park Empire.

I once caught a cold from Canadian singer Paul Anka (he wrote Diana and My Way) on a gig at Manchester Odeon, but that's another story...

Initially, Barry had a small 'pad' in the heart of Soho, not far from Lanseer's studios, where his first glossy Hollywood-style portraits were shot.

Later, when things got better, he had a first-floor flat at 39 Redcliffe Gardens, near Earl's Court.

A singer called Ronnie Carroll lived nearby (he later married singer Millicent Martin of That Was The Week That Was fame).

Adam Faith, who had his early recording successes backed by distinctive John Barry string arrangements, lived just around the corner.

Adam used to pop in regularly for morning toast and a cup of coffee. He preferred toasted brown bread in the days before wholemeal became fashionable.

I once teased him: "How do you know when the toast is done?"

Also as the band became better-known, Barry traded-in his grey Triumph Mayflower car. He bought a huge American automobile, a gold-coloured Chevrolet Impala.

We didn't half turn some heads the first time he drove it along Coney Street!

Sometimes we used to meet to plan publicity, in a Stonegate coffee bar on the corner where Mulberry Hall now stands.

To earn extra cash in the early days, Barry wrote orchestrations for other artistes. One Sunday afternoon, the Dallas Boys, a popular vocal group of the time, phoned from Blackpool, where they were doing a summer season.

They wanted a new arrangement of the old classic song, Ramona, which they were due to put on record.

Huddled around the backstage phone, the Dallas Boys sang unaccompanied down the line from Blackpool to Barry's London flat, so he could catch the tempo they required. Although I was in the room, I didn't speak to them, but I heard what was going on.

Ironically, more than 25 years later, I went to Harrogate's Conference Centre to interview comedian Freddie Starr for the Evening Press. His manager was Stan Dallas, one of the old Dallas Boys.

"Do you remember one Sunday afternoon, phoning John Barry in London?" I asked.

He did. And promptly burst into an impromptu chorus of Ramona...

One of the most successful publicity stories we did on the John Barry Seven, was persuading the Sunday Mirror to run a story about a £10,000 insurance policy. It was taken out against any of the musicians - all bachelors - getting married within a year.

The Sunday Mirror lawyers ran the rule over the policy and found it all in order. So the paper ran the story with a big picture of the band alongside.

What they didn't know, was that although the policy was genuine, if any of the band had got married, nobody would have got a penny.

We just didn't get around to paying the premium...


Original article published on February 4, 1999