LITMIR.BIZ

       3 The Dopal Show Will Appear in Person as Themselves

      1966

      The Bonzos became more polished and their parodies of characterless pop and jazz more accurate. They turned their attention to the smarmy excesses of perma-tanned showbiz stars who affected mid-Atlantic drawls and exuded insincerity from every heavily made-up pore. In pricking the bubble of the self-important, Vivian had the perfect partner in his friend Larry Smith. The two improvised high camp satires of the starry elite, nowhere better than on ‘Look at Me I’m Wonderful’, from the Keynsham album of 1969. It featured Larry as the archetypal entertainer, beautifying himself for his big show.

      Rapping on the dressing-room door, a stagehand alerts Larry Smith, busy applying his makeup. Time for the star to go on stage and face his public. Larry needs no encouragement. If anybody is going to upstage Vivian Stanshall and the band it will be the very gorgeous Mr Smith. ‘Look at Me I’m Wonderful’ reflected the exuberant personalities of its writer and its performer. Larry and Vivian became friends early on in their college days. They shared the same sense of humour and a similar need for attention. Larry brought charm and a touch of class to the band when he joined at Vivian’s request.

      Larry Smith (born 1944) was a lively tap dancer – earning himself the nickname ‘Legs’ – a driving drummer and enthusiastic tuba player. He could also sing, but his main role was to smile sweetly at the audience, strike coquettish poses and break the ice at parties. He was a perfect foil for Vivian, both on and off stage. They wound people up with their saucy double act, some thinking they were gay, when both had a roving eye for the ladies. It amused them to let people think otherwise. They visited pubs and picked each other up, arriving separately and standing at either end of the bar, waving coyly. Vivian would beckon over the barman and say, ‘Excuse me, would you ask that nice-looking gentleman if I could buy him a drink?’ They were slung out of more than one pub for their efforts.

      Larry was the band’s number-one fan at their Kensington Hotel gigs for months before Vivian invited him to join in 1963. ‘I am writing this on stage, dodging kisses while roses are being sprinkled at my feet,’ he wrote. ‘We are making eight pounds a week each. You can stay with me and you can learn the tuba.’ Instead, Larry went to America in 1964, when he still had a year at college to go. He thought then he would be an advertising executive. He was offered a job at an agency in New York, which he initially intended to take up when he left college. On his return, Larry shared lodgings in Islington with Vivian.

      ‘We would take about three hours to get ready to go out,’ says Larry. ‘Viv would be poncing himself up as Oscar Wilde and I’d be poncing myself up as Scott Fitzgerald. We both wore spats, collars, waistcoats and studs. Then we’d go out. We ran the gauntlet of abusive lorry drivers and building workers as we walked down the street.’ The two would often mince down to the Turkish Baths, then in Kingsway, and pamper themselves.

      ‘We developed a great empathy,’ says Larry. ‘Absolutely. There were times when Viv and I were on stage in the band doing these duets which were wonderful. We were very tight and emotionally involved and we knew what each other was thinking, so it was lots of fun.’ Whenever the two did fall out, it was over who was getting more attention.

      Tuba player Ray Lewitt joined the long line of ex-Bonzos early in 1966 and Vivian finally got Larry in. He was not much good on the tuba, but was a fantastic tap dancer. When Vernon sang ‘You’re the Cream in My Coffee’, he added the line ‘When I see Larry dancing…’ at which point ‘Legs’ would appear sporting a magnificent pair of fake boobs. He took to wearing American football shoulder pads and carried a Charlie Chaplin cane. His wild routines were a highlight of many Bonzo numbers, notably the splendid ‘Hello Mabel’. Busking with Vivian in Holborn tube station on the Central Line, he developed his act. ‘That was because the echoing sound was fantastic,’ says Larry. ‘The marble floors were fabulous for tapping. I would tap dance for the punters as they came home at night in the rush hour. Viv took the hat round and then we’d go off for a drink.’

      The Bonzos did not believe they would make a professional living out of the band. Careers came first. Vivian and Larry were offered jobs heading a design company in Italy. Their new start rather clashed with another keen interest: drinking. Vivian very quickly showed the effects: a relatively small amount was enough to change his patterns of speech and he could put away huge quantities when he wanted. The two friends behaved disgracefully at a party given for new London employees and could hardly stagger back to the Islington flat. Larry just about opened the door as Vivian had by this time passed out. Some of the other party-goers literally dragged him upstairs by his arm and accidentally dislocated it. Vivian later discovered that when he executed some funky move on stage with the microphone, his shoulder on occasion came out of its socket. This unnerving ability to dislocate limbs was one of the few things he shared with the other members of his family. Both his father and brother Mark could do it, although neither of them could dislodge so many bits and so spectacularly as Vivian. Grisly surgery proved to be the only effective treatment eventually, in which the arm was cut off and reattached.

      That night in Islington also led directly to the swift retraction of the job offer. Instead of design in Milan, Vivian and Larry looked to the Bonzos for future employment. The band looked more inviting as each member realized he did not wish to continue as an artist. Vivian wanted to stay at college. Roger Spear and Neil lent him some paintings for his postgraduate show, which he passed, receiving a grant for a further year. It was a smart trick: ‘He was a first-division rascal,’ laughs Neil. ‘He could rascal for the nation at Olympic level. Like a lot of people who are basically ruthless, he had a sentimental streak. But once he was up and running nothing could get in his way. He was probably too ambitious.’

      To take the band to a professional level, they needed a manager. Reg Tracey was the first of a series who had the thankless task of trying to keep them in order. They met him over Easter 1966 at the Tiger’s Head pub in Catford, signing during their first club tour in the summer. True to form, they were all very drunk when pens were put to paper. Reg made much of the fact that he was the brother-in-law of Kenny Ball, a top British jazz trumpeter and bandleader. Poor old Reg. The Bonzos were tight-knit, as together as any gang Vivian could have wished to be a part of back in Southend. Outsiders had to work hard and Reg’s chances weren’t helped by his voice. A take-off of his unbearably dull tones can be heard on Keynsham’s ‘The Bride Stripped Bare by “Bachelors’”. ‘So the boys got together and formed a band,’ drones the voice, ‘fate played the straight man and since then they’ve never looked back.’¹ The way Reg spoke was so entertaining for the band that it was a major factor (apart from the booze) in ensuring he became the Bonzo’s manager. He had contacts with the influential Bailey Brothers club circuit and organized a tour for the band

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