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shows and then disappeared.

      The first place we used the new gear was at a dance at The Entrance. This was an important night for me. Finally I cracked it! I scored! Amazing Rumpo! We had a little after-show party back at the holiday flats where we were staying. This was the first of many after-show parties and we all got very pissed. Barry Lewis then put his fist through a door and the party started getting rough. I found this delightful young girl (I was only 16 myself!) who was a couple of years younger than me. Her name was Mellie and I took her into the flat next door. We stayed there all night and most of the next day. It was a wonderful experience and I never saw her again. This happens a lot — never seeing them again, that is. I don’t know what it was that made my luck change. Maybe it was the new guitar!

      Also it was decided that a change of band personnel would not go astray so Barry and I went to a dance at the Lane Cove Town Hall where Deke Drew & the Rebel Rousers were playing. I think they called themselves that because it was the only song they knew! They must have played it ten times. It was a Duane Eddy hit. Anyway, we thought the guitarist would be good if he learned bass, which he agreed to do, and we pinched the piano player as well. The guitarist-cum-bass player was PETER BAKER and the pianist was JAY BOOGIE famous for his left hand ‘nunga-nunga’ boogie runs.

      Peter made himself a copy of the American Fender bass and called it the “Off-Fender”. It must have been one of the first electric basses around. You see, at this time you could not get any American equipment in Australia. Now, with electric bass and piano, the band started to sound pretty good.

      Our sax player, Peter Marris left us at this time. His girlfriend didn’t want him to play in a rock’n’roll band because — too much competition from female fans I suspect! Marris was later replaced by Laurie Goodfellow and what a good fellow he was.

      We rehearsed in the little storeroom that belonged to the CBC Bank at North Sydney where Barry’s father was the manager. We learned a new song, an original, written by Dig’s younger brother Doug, called I Wanna Love You. Doug was a miniscule “nerd” at the time and no one realised the talent that this boy had. Dig signed a contract with the A&R (Artists & Repertoire) man of Festival Records, Mr. Ken Taylor, and with a simple little guitar riff, (Da Dah — Da Da Da Dum Splang!) which I discovered on the 12th fret, WE WERE ON OUR WAY!

      HARRIS STREET ‘59

      Number 223-229 Harris Street, Pyrmont was the address of Festival Records, the leading record label in Australia in 1959. Our first encounter with this establishment in June, 1959 was the recording of Dig’s first songs: I Wanna Love You and its flip-side or B side I’m Through, both of which were written by Dig’s little brother Doug. We carried our gear into the studio, with mixed feelings of excitement, apprehension, wonderment and a certain fear of the unknown, through the main office with a few giggles and a lot of looks from the more junior members of the female staff.

      Our intrepid band of travelling minstrels was greeted in the studio by the following personnel, who were to become our recording colleagues for about eighteen months. They were Mr. Ken Taylor — A & R (Artists & Repertoire) man, loosely translated as GOD; Mr. Hal Saunders — Musical Director, actually remembered quite fondly as a kind of “uncle” to us; and Mr. Robert Iredale — Engineer, a bespectacled rather studious person with a very cutting (and splicing!) sense of humour.

      We set up our gear where we were told to and we tuned up. Robert set up the microphones to pick up the guitar, bass and piano but none for the drums. They were too loud anyway!

      “Okay, let’s have a run through,” bellowed Robert through the talk-back. So saying, we all burst into I Wanna Love You.

      “Not with the vocal you nincompoops! That goes on later!” Whoops! Does this mean we have to play the song without Dig singing? How are we going to know where we are? We had never done this before but after a few tries we started to get used to it. After the third try another bellow came through the talk-back.

      ‘I’m getting this awful booming sound in here,’ said Robert from the other side of the glass. “You’ll have to stop using that bass drum! You can’t record bass drums. You know that!” Did we know that?! Also on the other side of the glass were Ken Taylor and Hal Saunders. Ken Taylor had a twisted smile on his face, which could not be mistaken for happiness by any means! Hal just looked worried.

      “The drums are still too loud!” said Robert. “We’ll have to put them outside the door!” By this time the office staff had left so there would be no noise from the giggling typists. Evidently this worked for Robert and became the way they recorded drums (or at least Barry’s drums) for quite a while.

      “Things don’t seem to be quite in time,” said Hal, “I think I’d better come in and conduct you.” He was probably right considering that timing wasn’t one of Barry’s strong points. So, Hal came in and conducted us. I can still see Hal now, eyes closed, hands outstretched, conducting a rock’n’roll band like a symphony orchestra! Hal liked to run in and conduct everything, we found out later, whether it was in time or not. I think Hal just liked to conduct. After a few more tries, Robert said, “Rolling” and we ‘put one down’. “Come in and have a listen,” said Robert. We were now evidently allowed into the inner sanctum of the recording studio — The Control Room.

      “Wow, it’s like a spaceship,” said Boogie. It was indeed like a spaceship to us. There was a huge two-track Ampex tape machine about the size of a washing machine, many and varied knobs and dials, and a gigantic, green speaker cabinet bigger than a refrigerator. Robert wound back the tape and we listened to ourselves for the first time.

      Most engineers of that day had the impression that all rock’n’roll records should be swimming in echo and Robert was no exception. We were indeed DROWNING in echo! To us that was fine, especially for me. Guitars were supposed to be like that. “Shit!” I said, “I sound just like Cliff Gallup (Gene Vincent’s lead guitarist)! How do you make an echo like that Robert?”

      “We have an echo chamber of course,” said Robert as if everybody knew that. I later found out that the “echo chamber” was a disused room with a mike on one side and a speaker on the other and as the sound was fed through you got a pretty good echo. Even some of the later sophisticated digital echo units cannot reproduce those old echo sounds. The only trouble with the fabulous “echo chamber” was that it was situated right next to the dunny and, every time someone flushed or farted, the sound of it would come out on tape if you were recording at the time.

      We were most impressed with our sound but there were a few little mistakes to clean up so we did a few more takes, had a few more listens and finally the instrumental backing was down. “Down” was the operative word as we were to find out later on. Now came time for Dig’s vocal to go on to the second (and only other) track. “Can we stay in the control room and watch?” asked Barry.

      “Definitely not!” said Robert. “No!” said Ken Taylor. “You might put Dig off. “Besides, I can’t work in here with all you lot getting in the way,” Robert whined. “It’s lovely to feel so wanted,” whispered Peter as we left the sacred control room.

      “There’s a good hamburger shop up past the lights,” said Uncle Hal, “Why don’t you go up and have a bite to eat, you deserve it.” We took Uncle Hal’s kind advice and not only found the hamburger shop but a pub as well. We celebrated our newfound status as “Recording Stars”.

      Upon our return to the studio we found that Dig had just finished the vocal and they were all listening to the playback. We were ushered into the sacred control room to hear the final product. Well, we couldn’t believe our ears! The beautiful instrumental backing that we had worked so hard on and were so pleased with, had almost disappeared. I didn’t want to appear too forward at this time, being our first session, but I just had to say something.

      “Robert,” I said, “what happened to the backing? Where are all those clever little things we did?”

      “No, that’s the way it should be,” said the studious one. “We can’t have you buggers drowning out the star

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