Genesis publicity photo, colourised, 1971: Steve Hackett, Peter Gabriel, Tony Banks, Phil Collins, Mike Rutherford
Scott Shea continues his deep dive into Genesis’s formative years. Part two picks up in the summer of 1970, as two working-class musicians, one a child actor turned drummer, the other a self-taught guitarist with an ad in the back of Melody Maker, find their way into a group on the cusp of something extraordinary. It ends with a classic lineup finally in place, a landmark album on the shelves, and the journey to greatness underway.
The Knife’s Edge: How Two Outsiders Completed The Classic Lineup Of Genesis
by Scott Shea
Some people may not know this, but the anticlimactic “Stonehenge” concert scene in “This is Spinal Tap” was inspired by Genesis’ ambitious 1974 tour supporting the “The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway” album. Although Nigel Tufnel’s miniature descending Stonehenge monument, augmented by two dancing – umm – little people, was disastrous, Genesis’ problems were routine, including broken projectors, misfired pyrotechnics, and costume difficulties. And much like the fictional band in “This is Spinal Tap,” Genesis had a drummer problem in their early days. They went through three before striking gold with Phil Collins, although I don’t believe any spontaneously combusted, choked on someone else’s vomit, or died in a bizarre gardening accident. I don’t know if Genesis’ drummer travails inspired “This is Spinal Tap,” but Phil’s journey is fascinating, nonetheless.
Counting Out Time
On a warm 80-degree day in the first week of August 1970, 19-year-old drummer Philip David Charles Collins and his friend and bandmate, Ronnie Caryl, hopped in Ronnie’s Morris Minor and drove 50 kilometers southwest from London to Chobham, Surrey, in the English countryside. A day or two earlier, Phil had come across a classified ad in the back of the August 1st edition of Melody Maker, placed by an unnamed band seeking a drummer and a 12-string guitarist. He and Ronnie fit the bill perfectly. For the last year, they’d been grinding their gears in a manufactured pop group called Flaming Youth, which released their only album, “Ark 2,” on the Fontana label the previous October. It wasn’t just the size of the ad that jumped out at Phil, but also the fact that it was a band managed by Tony Stratton Smith. Phil was keenly aware of him, including two of the bands he’d managed, Creation and the Koobas, and that he’d just launched his own record label, Charisma. He’d also met him a couple of times, and knowing Tony’s various watering holes, he sought to get a leg up that evening by tracking him down at the Marquee and getting his ticket punched by none other than the manager himself.
“No, no, no, dear boy,” the tiddly, round-faced manager quipped. “These are fussy chaps. You’re going to have to call them.”
So, Phil did just that and spoke directly with lead singer Peter Gabriel, who set an audition date early in the week for Phil and Ronnie. It would turn out to be the trip of a lifetime for one of them.
Phil had no idea he was about to sign up for a permanent hitch on a dream of a lifetime that day, but the seeds were sown in 1967 when he decided to become a professional drummer and improved so rapidly that he quickly became one of London’s best-kept secrets. Sixteen years earlier, three-year-old Phil Collins had received a toy drum set for Christmas. His mother could tell he had a penchant for banging and keeping rhythm, so she provided an outlet for her youngest child. A couple of years later, some family friends upped the ante by fashioning him a homemade, portable kit, and, like any future professional drummer, he quickly became obsessed.
Phil didn’t have the privileged upbringing of his future Genesis bandmates, but it was extraordinary, nonetheless. Not only was he musically gifted, but he also took to acting at a young age and was so good that his first major gig was the supporting role of the Artful Dodger in the 1964 West End production of Lionel Bart’s “Oliver!”, succeeding future Monkee Davy Jones. When his principal at Chiswick County Grammar refused to accommodate his rehearsal schedule, his parents enrolled him at the Barbara Speake Stage School in London, where his mother, June, served as the school’s talent agent. Thanks in part to his timely stage stardom and his connected mother, 13-year-old Phil was also cast as one of 350 teenybopper crowd extras crammed into the Scala Theater in Central London for the filming of the Beatles’ mock live performance that closed out their 1964 film debut, “A Hard Day’s Night.” He didn’t make the final cut, but bigger things were afoot.
The thrill of being a West End stage star lasted only one season. Phil was dropped after his voice broke, but in that time he’d jumped feet first into swinging London at its mid-60s mod peak and soaked it up. Especially drawn to music, he visited the Marquee Club in Soho several times a week, where he witnessed the rise of several up-and-coming artists, including the Who, Cream, the Jimmy Page-led Yardbirds, which he watched morph into Led Zeppelin, and Yes. He was particularly drawn to the Action, an obscure North London band managed by the same people as the Who, who often opened for them at the Marquee. In no time, he became a superfan, and drummer Roger Powell was such a major influence that Phil began taking drum lessons in a fruitless attempt to learn to read music so he could play more like him.
In 1966, along with several other drama schoolmates, he formed the Real Thing, a tribute to the Motown and Stax R&B sounds of the day, but it collapsed after about a year. Around this time, Phil met Ronnie Caryl, and the two formed a musical partnership, vowing that if one got a job, he’d bring in the other. But his mother had other plans. Whereas Ronnie’s folks encouraged him in his music, Greville and June Collins still dreamed of their youngest child becoming a star of stage and screen. In the summer of 1967, Phil accepted the lead role of Mike Lucas in the Children’s Film Foundation production “Calamity the Cow,” but was written out midway through the film over his disagreements with director and writer David Eastman. Phil insisted on using a Cockney accent, much to Eastman’s annoyance. It marked the beginning of the end of Phil’s acting career. After appearing in minor film roles in “Chitty Chitty Bang Bang” and “I Start Counting,” as well as a short run in the Piccadily Theater’s production of “Oliver!” in the lesser role of Noah Claypole, he called it quits on acting and put all his energy into drumming.
Perennially searching for work and scrolling through the classified section in the back of Melody Maker, the young drummer constantly sought gigs, but it was slow and rough at first. His first was with a group called the Charge, which played the rough-and-tumble world of U.S. Air Force bases in Norfolk and Cambridgeshire to enlisted G.I.’s eager to scrap. After a short stint with them, Phil had a cup of coffee with the Cliff Charles Blues Band and the Freehold before auditioning, along with Ronnie, for two fellow unknown musicians named Brian Chatton and Gordon Smith, who were forming a band. Both won slots, and shortly afterward, Hickory, as they dubbed themselves, ventured into Regent Sound Studios to record a few demos, including a Phil Collins original entitled “Lying Crying Dying.”
In early 1969, the quartet was conscripted by John Walker, formerly of the Walker Brothers, to accompany him on a tour of England, where he was dueling it out with his ex-bandmate Scott Walker. The American trio, who weren’t brothers, had moved to England three years earlier and scored international hits with “The Sun Ain’t Gonna Shine (Anymore)” and “Make It Easy on Yourself,” but split up after a tour of Japan in early 1968. With Hickory supporting him, John hit the theater circuit in London, Liverpool, Manchester, and Blackburn, Lancashire. It was a good experience for the group and opened some doors, including a connection with singer/songwriter/producer John Goodison, who’d worked with the Walkers and was about to launch the Brotherhood of Man. He got them into the studio to record a single for CBS, which flopped.
The next music business professionals to take a lark on Hickory were the production team of Ken Howard and Alan Blaikley. The songwriting duo had been together since the early 1960s and had a couple of big hits under their belts, including the UK #1s “Have I the Right?’ for the Honeycombs and “The Legend of Xanadu” for Dave Dee, Dozy, Beaky, Mick & Tich. For Hickory, they had something more grandiose in mind, a concept album about a space journey following Earth’s destruction. It was peak, cheesy late-1960s sci-fi fare in the mold of “Barbarella” and “Planet of the Apes,” and they called it “Ark 2,” after Noah’s legendary civilization-saving vessel. The duo carefully crafted each number and were seeking a band to tell their story, and Hickory won the job. The album was recorded at De Lane Lea Studios in Soho in late July 1969, as Apollo 11 landed on the Moon. Brian Chatton and Gordon Smith handled most of the lead vocals, but each member got a crack at their own number. Phil got his first commercial lead vocal on “Space Child.”
Howard and Blaikley rechristened the group Flaming Youth after an obscure quote from a Franklin D. Roosevelt speech to the Young Democratic Club of Baltimore, Maryland, at the height of the Great Depression. “Ark 2” was released in late October by Fontana Records and received very favorable reviews. The Sunday Times waxed poetic about its theme, Melody Maker declared it the album of the month for October, praising the music and harmonies, and Disc and Music Echo called it a “very good first album.” It was a big hit in France and the Netherlands, where a promotional performance was filmed in November.
By the time it aired on the Dutch musical television program “TopPop” on May 14, 1970, Flaming Youth had burned out. The group held a series of performances shortly after the album’s release, most notably at London’s Lyceum Theater, but outlets dried up quickly. “Ark 2’s” grandiose production made live performances sound lackluster, and the group tried to augment it with covers of contemporary hits by Vanilla Fudge, Joe Cocker, and the Beatles, but those did not win over audiences. With no deep roots or dedication to Brian and Gordon, Phil and Ronnie left. They had been clamoring to play in a real group and in front of audiences, and that’s when Genesis entered the picture.
Sour Turns To Sweet
In retrospect, the turning point in Phil Collins’ life was that summer day when he auditioned for Genesis. But three months earlier, he probably would’ve thought it was another spur-of-the-moment encounter with the Beatles. Well, half of them, at least. Even though he’d left Flaming Youth, he was still in the good graces of Ken Howard and Alan Blaikley, who recognized talent when they saw it. One night, while hanging out at the private drinking club La Chasse, they were chatting with Ringo Starr’s chauffeur, Martin Lickert, who asked for percussionist recommendations for an upcoming Abbey Road session. Without thinking twice, they recommended Phil and arranged for his services. Phil was unaware of what he was doing or who he was playing for as he rode in the back of Martin’s limo. All he knew was the destination. When he arrived, he was surrounded by the intimidating, star-studded lineup of George Harrison, Ringo Starr, Phil Spector, Mal Evans, Billy Preston, and a few other notable musicians gathered for a session on George Harrison’s forthcoming solo LP, “All Things Must Pass.” The song they were working on was “Art of Dying.” Phil was given no instructions or even sheet music and had to jump right in on the congas, overthinking everything and working himself to death, only to be unceremoniously dismissed at the end of the night. When the album came out at the end of November, the session wasn’t even used. It was the second time Phil had been edited out of a Beatles’ project.
When Phil and Ronnie arrived in Chobham for their Genesis audition on that warm August day, several other hopefuls were milling about, mostly no-names like Joe Owen, Tony Swan, Tony Knight, and Nigel Baker. But there were also a few drummers who matched or exceeded Phil’s experience, including Nigel Menday of the Ivy League, Kevin Flanagan of the Downliners Sect, and Steve Chapman of Junior’s Eyes. Genesis auditioned about 15 drummers and a handful of guitarists. Phil and Ronnie knocked on the door and were greeted by Edith Gabriel, Peter’s mother, who escorted them through the house to the large backyard terrace, highlighted by a heated pool. After everyone had arrived and hauled in their instruments, they gathered in the living room, where Peter played them four tracks from their as-yet-unreleased “Trespass” album to give them a sense of what they were aiming for in guitar and drums. Phil didn’t come away very impressed with John Mayhew’s performance, but he still made mental notes.
The charming Mrs. Gabriel invited all her guests to take a dip in the pool if they so desired. Phil didn’t bring any trunks, but that didn’t stop him from taking up her offer. After all, he was in the back of the line for auditions and felt you only live once. He may never have this opportunity again. It also let him eavesdrop on his competitors’ performances, since the auditions were being held on the terrace. When it came to fills, accents, rhythms, and anything else associated with drumming, Phil was like a sponge, noticing every mistake and soaking up what he believed Genesis was looking for. As each player sat on his drum throne, they invited him to do whatever he needed to do to warm up, which meant a lot of drum solos. Phil could tell by their reactions that they weren’t keen on these. After all, Genesis was looking for “a drummer sensitive to acoustic twelve-string guitarist.”
When his turn came, Phil had his approach in mind and declined their invitation to warm up, which raised more than a few eyebrows. They were all aware of Flaming Youth, and none of them were fans, but that was quickly forgotten once they started. Tony Banks accompanied him on piano, Mike Rutherford, wearing either a smoking jacket or a dressing gown, played guitar, and Peter Gabriel sang and rattled his tambourine through parts of “Stagnation,” “Looking for Someone,” and “The Knife.” It was clear almost from the get-go that Phil was in a league of his own and fully in command of his instrument, but they didn’t let on.
“I was convinced from the first moment,” Peter Gabriel wrote in Chapter & Verse. “It’s like watching a jockey sit on his horse.”
He got a “thank you, we’ll let you know,” and he and Ronnie, who had auditioned before him, packed up the Morris Minor and headed back to London. A day or two later, Peter called Phil and offered him the gig, which Phil coolly accepted, even though his heart was doing leaps. Ronnie was not as fortunate.
Horizons
Like Phil Collins, Stephen Richard Hackett was a kid of modest means and a dropout. He grew up in the residential district of Pimlico in Central London, except for a brief time in Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada. Growing up in Swinging London at the height of the British Invasion, he followed the all-too-familiar path. He was captivated by the Beatles and the Rolling Stones, which led him to pick up his dad’s guitar and teach himself to play. A Stones fan first, it led him down the path of the blues and to British artists who performed them, such as John Mayall & the Bluesbreakers, Cream, and Fleetwood Mac. What set him apart from many of his contemporaries who’d caught guitar fever around the same time was his love for virtuoso classical guitarist Andres Segovia, particularly his 1969 album, “Andres Segovia Plays Bach.” He joined a couple of local bands, Heel Pier and Sarabande, but they weren’t anything serious. When the Jimi Hendrix Experience and King Crimson entered the picture near the end of the decade, he was drawn like a moth to a flame. He understood his musical direction when he witnessed King Crimson perform live at the Marquee on July 20, 1969, as Flaming Youth were a two-minute walk away recording their lone album, and the founding members of Genesis were in Roehampton, making their decision to turn professional.
Steve had made that decision too when he accepted an invitation to join Canterbury Glass, another in a growing list of early prog rock bands that would eventually cut an album that remained in the can until 2007. Steve is credited as the guitarist on the closing track, “Prologue,” but original member Mike Hall disputes this, saying he played on that track and that it wasn’t recorded until 1971. Steve is confirmed as the guitarist on the Heather Brothers’ 1970 LP, “Quiet World,” which was also the name of the LP and the studio concoction that recorded it. Much like “From Genesis to Revelation,” the theme was Biblical, though it focused entirely on the person of Jesus Christ and his divine nature. Upon listening to the final mix of the album, Steve was disappointed with how it turned out and asked for some remixes, but was told to buzz off. He did just that and composed a “guitarist for hire” ad for the classified section of Melody Maker, something he’d done several times before.
Back in Surrey, Genesis decided to continue as a quartet, with Tony Banks playing the guitar parts through a fuzz box on his Hohner electric piano, a trick he had learned from Rare Bird keyboardist David Kaff. After hiring Phil, the band took two weeks off, then, in the spirit of the MacPhail Christmas cottage, moved into an old building in Farnham called the Maltings and practiced, rehearsed, and composed as they had a year earlier. It was here that Phil ingratiated himself with his new bandmates not only by working with them to improve their playing and repertoire but also by conveying an easygoing, lighthearted demeanor for his ex-public-school bandmates, who often got into petty squabbles and tantrums. Tony and Peter, in particular, would storm off in a huff if they felt slighted, and Phil, like any great drummer, offered humor and levity to ease the tension.
On October 2nd, nearly two months to the day after Phil was hired, Genesis played their first concert with him at Medway Technical College in Chatham. They then made the rounds at Friars Music Clubs in Princes Risborough, Bedford, and quite regularly in Aylesbury. For at least a couple of those dates, Phil convinced his new bandmates to give Ronnie Caryl another try, but it didn’t work out, ending their pact. A recommendation came from Friars Aylesbury promoter David Stopps, who suggested guitarist Mick Barnard from a local group called the Farm. They auditioned him in late October and offered him the job on a temporary basis, most likely out of desperation, since playing the guitar parts through a fuzz box was taxing and dual 12-strings was still important to their sound.
Mick helped the group get through the remainder of the year, but it quickly became clear he wasn’t the answer. It wasn’t because of his playing but because of his lack of artistic input. An imperative of being a member of Genesis was not only to be creative but also to engage in the songwriting process. Tony, Peter, and Mike were not interested in being teachers and babysitters, as they’d found themselves doing with John Mayhew, which led to his termination. Now they were doing it again with Mick. Phil was chomping at the bit to be involved and gelled right away. Mick did not, but that didn’t stop him from pushing Peter and the others for an answer on whether he was the guy. With no one else and not completely enamored of him, they never gave him one.
In mid-December, Peter noticed a curiously worded “position wanted” ad in the back of Melody Maker that read, “IMAGINATIVE GUITARIST/writer seeks involvement with receptive musicians, determined to strive beyond existing stagnant music forms.” Even then, Peter was a wordsmith, and those last eight words grabbed him. After all, “stagnant” had become important in the Genesis lexicon, with “Stagnation” a highlight on “Trespass” and a template for the direction they were headed. The ad was signed “Steve,” followed by his phone number. When they called, 19-year-old Steve Hackett invited Peter and Tony to come see him at his parents’ house in Pimlico, where he performed three distinct styles on his 12-string and electric guitars. The first was a very pastoral style, not unlike the songs on “Trespass,” accompanied by his younger brother John on flute. The second was atonal and more of a free-form rock-and-roll style, and the third was blues.
“I think we could use the first style,” Peter said to him. “I’m not sure about the other two.”
Though Steve had no experience playing live, they were both duly impressed and invited him to play for Mike, who was laid up in bed with a stomach issue, and Phil. They couldn’t make a final decision without them. He arrived at Tony’s Earls Court basement flat a few days later with a fuzz box in tow and impressed the other two members with a creative, moody style that made him the heir apparent to Anthony Phillips. Before long, Mike, who had been initially skeptical, picked up his guitar, and the two began swapping chords. By the end of the informal audition, Steve’s five years of advertising himself in Melody Maker had paid off. He was invited to join, and in early January, Mick Barnard was summarily dismissed by Peter.
Steve played his first gig with his new band on January 14, 1971, at City University in London, and it was a total disaster. After their 5:00 pm soundcheck, Genesis had seven hours to kill before taking the stage. Phil got carried away drinking Newcastle Brown and by midnight was completely intoxicated. His playing was sloppy, to say the least, and at times he missed the skins entirely, striking nothing but air. To make matters worse, Steve had to make do with a fuzz box that wasn’t his own, which caused feedback and threw off his rhythm. The three founding members of Genesis surely must’ve wondered what they’d gotten themselves into, and tempers flared afterward, but things eventually calmed down. They had a big gig coming up at the Lyceum Theater, and a short “Six Bob” package tour with fellow Charisma labelmates Lindisfarne and Van Der Graaf Generator to warm up, which they did. The classic and final five-man lineup of Genesis was fully in place.
After The Ordeal
In August 1971, the new lineup of Genesis entered Trident Studios in London and recorded their strongest album to date, “Nursery Cryme,” an elusive sonic achievement they’d been striving for since they started this whole thing over four years earlier. It was a collection of mostly new songs, a few still incomplete, that they’d worked on since Phil joined the band. It was a new experience for the band, and they entered the sessions a little more anxious than for their previous two. “Nursery Cryme’s” magnum opus, the opening track “The Musical Box,” featured contributions from several ex-members. It was a twisted fairy tale that highlighted the band’s macabre sense of humor, a trademark of the Peter Gabriel era, that set the tone set for Genesis going forward. It tells the story of two adolescent Victorian scions, Henry and Cynthia, as they play croquet in the garden, where Cynthia lobs off Henry’s head with her mallet. His soul is cast into his musical box, which plays the nursery rhyme “Old King Cole” when opened. When Cynthia does that, Henry reappears as a sexually repressed old man still with a child’s mind who makes unseemly advances towards her. Inspired by Henry James’ 1898 Gothic horror novella “The Turn of the Screw,” it’s a song that could’ve only been conceived and brought to life during the prog rock era and has since become one of its hallmarks. The somber 12-string opening collaboration had been conceived by Mike Rutherford and Anthony Phillips and preserved in demo form under the working title “F#” in 1969. It was broadened somewhat the following year in a Genesis track called “Manipulation,” which was recorded for the ill-fated BBC Mick Jackson documentary. There wasn’t too much lead guitar work on it, but what existed had been written by Mick Barnard and was fleshed out by Steve Hackett. When it was released in November, it cracked the UK Top 40 and was completely embraced by Italian fans, whose sales pushed it to the #11 spot in “Musica e dischi,” their equivalent of Billboard.
This version of Genesis released three more studio albums and a live LP culled from two February 1973 live performances in Manchester and Leicester. This quintet of early twentysomethings developed into some of the finest rock musicians on the planet, and Peter augmented their playing by playfully narrating quirky, often blue tales between numbers on stage, which set them apart from their contemporaries. But just as things appeared to be going well, the restrictions and tensions within a band that had ridden the waves together became too much for him to bear, and in August 1975, Peter Gabriel left for good. The epilogue for Genesis Mark IV was something none of them could have guessed in January 1971. As a solo artist, Peter reinvented himself as an avant-garde new-wave visionary who, 10 years after leaving Genesis, became a pop music hit machine. But his old band didn’t miss a step without him. After auditioning over 400 potential replacements, they decided to put Phil up front, making them one of the biggest-selling artists of the next 15 years. From 1976’s “A Trick of the Tail” to 1991’s “We Can’t Dance,” they sold between 100 and 150 million records, scored dozens of Top 40 hits at home and abroad, and were featured regularly on FM radio and MTV, along with Peter. In between, Phil Collins launched an immensely successful solo career that eventually overtook his role as Genesis’ lead singer.
He even returned to acting and starred in the 1988 comedy-drama, “Buster.” Steve Hackett missed out on most of that commercial success. Feeling continually pushed out of the creative process, mostly by Tony Banks, he left Genesis in 1977. He’s cranked out nearly 30 solo albums in five decades, but none have come close to mirroring the glory of any of his former bandmates. Still, he remains a highly respected guitarist with a loyal following. And, to top it all off, Mike Rutherford’s solo project, Mike + the Mechanics, released their self-titled debut album in 1985 and hit the U.S. Top 10 three times, including the #1 hit, “The Living Years.” Tony Banks could never quite find his solo footing, but seemed content being the driving force of Genesis.
While preparing this article, I participated in a discussion about Genesis’ history on the Performance Anxiety podcast, hosted by my brother, Marc. His other guest was Jordan Zadorozy of the bands Blinker and SheLoom. When we discussed the Peter Gabriel era, he noted that the period from “Nursery Cryme” to “The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway” spanned only about 36 months and that their progress advanced at a Beatlesesque pace. As the group matured with each album, you can hear them becoming more comfortable in their own skin and further expanding the sound we now recognize as uniquely theirs. “The Lamb” serves as a superb swan song for Peter Gabriel and a launching pad for both his solo career and the future of Genesis. I cannot recommend their entire catalog enough. It’s truly one of a kind.
