Once Upon a Record: A Very Musical Autobiography

ONCE UPON A RECORD

A VERY MUSICAL AUTOBIOGRAPHY

Geoffrey K Weule

This is an IndieMosh book

brought to you by MoshPit Publishing

an imprint of Mosher’s Business Support Pty Ltd

PO BOX 147

Hazelbrook NSW 2779

indiemosh.com.au

Copyright 2017 © Geoffrey K Weule

All rights reserved

Licence Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favourite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted by any person or entity, in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, scanning or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the author and publisher.

Disclaimer

Although the author has made every effort to ensure that the information in this book was correct at press time, the author and publisher do not assume and hereby disclaim any liability to any party for any loss, damage, or disruption caused by errors or omissions, whether such errors or omissions result from negligence, accident, or any other cause.

Table of Images

1: The RSCM choristers of St Matthew’s Church, Albury, 1952

2: Mid States Radio, Pivot Arcade store

3: The Farewell Recital

4: Promotional photo for Tija Savickis Opera School

5: HMV, 363 Oxford Street

6: HMV, Lower Ground floor, Pop Department

7: HMV, Mezzanine floor, with Geoffrey on the left

8: Rimingtons store front

9: Popular 1960s band, Zoot

10: A happy marriage!

11: Time to celebrate!

12: The Jackson Five visit Australia

13: Slim Dusty with Geoffrey

14: Cliff Richard visits Australia

15: Hammond Organ’s Demonstrator, Chris Anderson

16: Geoffrey with Ron Caves at the 1979 Music Fair in Tokyo

17: Enjoying Pittwater, Sydney

18: Bringing ‘Fish Tank Tele’ to life

19: Launch of the new ‘Sport-a-Cize’ on Direct Video

20: Letter from Joan Sutherland

21: Reverend Father Douglas Lloyd Schofield

22: Marking exam papers

23: The ‘Bonza Record’ team

Foreword

For most of us it is difficult to imagine a world without music. For those who have crossed his path, to contemplate a musical world without Geoff Weule would be impossible. His story, in many ways, is not so much the story of music, although he has been known to gurgle a few tunes centre stage, but a far more interesting story – what goes on behind the curtain.

I first met Geoff at the end of the nineteen-sixties when I recorded two albums with EMI in the now fabled 301 Castlereagh Street, Sydney, headquarters. I had begun my journey in Australian music and had an idea to record an album, along with some mates, of Australian songs from our maritime tradition and another with a group I managed, The Wild Colonial Boys. In those days the record industry was run by competent enthusiasts, the era of uncreative, calculator-wielding accountant record label management was still a decade off, and I was impressed with the EMI staff enthusiasm, especially shown by Terry Howard, Kevin Ritchie, Eric Dunn and a young fellow, Geoff Wylie (I’ll let Geoff explain the name change later). I did a few other recordings with EMI and eventually set up my own label, Larrikin, little thinking Geoff and I were dancing in a loop. The thing I remember most about Geoff in those early days was his knowledge of record retailing. As the old saying goes ‘he could talk under water’ and I was full of questions. My parents had a gift shop on Willoughby Road, Willoughby, and I clearly remember going to the Hoffnung Emporium in Clarence Street, where, amongst a myriad of other products, it sold HMV records. I picked Geoff's brain about the early retailers like S. Hoffnung & Co, Palings, Nicholson’s and Rowe Street Records. I was fascinated and Geoff was ever eager to talk about this neglected part of our musical history.

The music industry is a strange beast in a dog eat dog world. Working in it, especially in the record company side, is a lesson in survival. It feeds on change and fashion. Technology, artists, management and even design changes rapidly, often without reason. Hands up anyone who bought a quadrophonic player, an eight-track cartridge cassette, and a minidisc player. Oops!

Reading Geoff’s autobiography will reveal many changes in the music industry. His stories about early retail, especially at the revered HMV store in London, are a far cry from the iTunes ‘store’ of today. Record music publishing and video companies have changed too. Gone has the excitement of wide-ranging musical catalogue, impressive LP and CD booklets, direct involvement with artist development and, sadly, much of the excitement of taking music to the masses. As Geoff suggests in this book, we now live in a musical world dominated by business where money talks but rarely sings.

There’s lots of gossip and name-dropping in the book and, of course, this makes for a tasty read. When Geoff first suggested he was going to write an autobiography, I admit I groaned a little thinking, ‘is there enough meat on the bone?’. I hereby eat my words. The book is a delight to read.

Geoff has a conversational style, which brings his stories, his characters and history alive, and above all, it has a warmth that makes you feel comfortable. He brings the reader into his world.

I mentioned earlier that Geoff and I were doing a dance. I doubt if either of us ever imagined we would eventually end up working together. When he joined Larrikin Entertainment my head was near bursting. I was a historian, folklore collector, writer and performer who just happened to have developed not one business, but three: Folkways Music, Larrikin Records and a distribution company. On top of all that a mate, a fellow record distributor, Ali Knoll, died and his widow, Judy had asked me to take over their company Avan-Guard Music. I was drowning in success. I’m still not sure how Geoff entered the scenario but I was sure glad to free myself of some of the trappings of business. He must have ticked all the boxes for he knew the nuts and bolts of record manufacture, he’d established Axis Records and knew about marketing and budgeting; he’d worked with all levels of staffing, he knew the right people (and wrong people) in the industry and, a fool like me, he had established his own record label. Together we pushed the Larrikin group into overdrive. After a dream nightmare run (not sure how else to describe the madness of those hectic years) I sold the business to Festival Records. I also sold myself, Geoff and key staffers as part of the deal. Reading Geoff's account brings a lot of the story back to mind.

So here you have a book with stories about the world behind the world of music. It goes up and down and sideways just like the crazy musical world it represents.

Warren Fahey AM

September 2016

Introduction

Back in 1964, just as I was heading off to start a new life in the UK, Bob Dylan was singing, ‘The Times They Are A-Changin’.

We hear it being said so often: ‘We live in ever changing times’. Anyone born during, and since the Second World War, has seen and experienced change, the likes of which had previously been unknown.

Apart from science, possibly the greatest impact on mankind has been provided by the music, entertainment, and communication industries, and most of these changes have happened in my lifetime.

As I write this brief introduction, I read where ‘music streaming’ revenue in Australia grew a staggering 90.5% in 2016, and now makes up 38.5% of the overall market revenue, making it the dominant format for the very first time.

According to Caitlin Welsh writing in The Music Network, 29th March, 2017, ‘music streaming’ has grown by over $100 million in value since 2014, and was worth $135.5 million in 2016.

The Australian Record Industry Association CEO, Dan Rosen, said, To think that the dominant form of our revenue is now derived from a category that did not exist five years ago demonstrates the innovative nature of the Australian music business.

It is interesting to also note that when I commenced fulltime teaching in 2002, only one or two of my students possessed a mobile phone. Facebook, Twitter, LinkedIn, Instagram, and YouTube, as well as many other forms of social networking, had not been introduced. However, by the time I retired in 2010, all hell had broken loose. In Late June 2017, Facebook announced that 2 billion people – more than a quarter of the world’s population – are now active users. Over 250 million people use Instagram every day with 600 million active users. The number of mobile phone users, in Australia, is expected to rise to almost 20 million in 2017.

I was first prompted to write this book during my teaching days, and received lots of encouragement from several of my students. I am pleased that I listened to their words of encouragement. I hope my experiences will give a factual insight into the happenings behind the scenes in the world of music and film.

Here then is a brief history of one very small segment of an industry that today, is nothing like it was, and possibly never will be again.

Hence: Once upon a record!

As for the music itself, the changes brought about by the introduction of the Internet, have been dramatic, however, I hasten to add that not all changes have been bad. Social Media itself has opened up to the world new ways of introducing new artists, both pop and classical, thereby allowing extensive exposure to the general public. Theatrical productions have also benefited from the mass media and many productions that may have struggled in times past have enjoyed great success.

One big disappointment for me is that I have concerns about the lack of good professional voice production. It is obvious to me that many of today’s vocalists are not being properly trained. So many artists lack the technique and correct vocal foundations that will see them develop into having longtime successful musical careers. Mediocrity seems to be the order of the day, and that does concern me greatly.

However, I am somewhat consoled by the fact that there will always be music, regardless of the manner in which it is conveyed and performed. Can we expect further changes? You bet your ‘sweet bippy’ we can. The fat lady has not yet sung!

You will note that I have preceded each chapter in the book, with the name of the music that was on the charts, at the time events in the chapter occurred. By doing this I hope I have enhanced your view of my experiences.

Perhaps you have picked this book up, opened it, and wondered who the hell is this guy? If you do have the opportunity to read this book, I hope you will get to know me just a little bit better, and share in my journey. It has been my good fortune to work and play in the wonderful world of music and film for almost 60 years, and I know that I am much happier for the experience.

Now off you go, and like me, whistle a happy tune!

Geoff Weule JP

Chapter 1

Hitting some early high notes!

Number One:

Beer Barrel Polka (Roll Out the Barrel)

– The Andrews Sisters, April 1940

The music business is a cruel and shallow money trench, a long plastic hallway where thieves and pimps run free, and good men die like dogs. There's also a negative side.

— Hunter S. Thompson

Music has been the major influence in my life and it has been the motivating factor in so many decisions I have made and to my career path generally. I guess you could say, I’m a music man!

I had the gift of singing from a very early age and my parents encouraged me. My earliest recollection of performing in public was a Sunday school concert in the Melbourne suburb of Sunshine when I was 8 years old. I sang, ‘Ship Ahoy – All the Nice Girls Love a Sailor’. How I ended up performing that particular song remains a mystery, perhaps it was a sign of things to come! Ship ahoy! Ship Ahoy!

I was a ‘war baby’, born on Saturday the 6th April 1940. The German troops had embarked for the Norwegian invasion. I believe I was named after Air Vice Marshall, Sir Geoffrey Luis Worthington CB, CBE, Royal Air Force; whose name was appearing regularly in the press as a result of his war air exploits in the United Kingdom. My Grandmother’s maiden name was also Worthington. The only other ‘Geoffrey’ in the family was a cousin on my mother’s side of the family, Geoffrey Reeve. Flight-Lieutenant Geoffrey Norman Reeve DFC was killed in Melbourne on a training flight in September 1943 after having just returned from active duty in carrying out bombing raids over Germany and Italy, as well as occupied Europe. My mother always called me ‘Jack’. I have no idea why and oddly enough I never felt the need to ever question her as to why I was Jack, except when I was naughty, then it was Geoff-REY! My sister Glenice, to this day, calls me ‘Will’ and my Dad always called me ‘Son’. My nickname to many of my close friends is ‘Doc’. I prefer Geoff to Geoffrey.

Being born in 1940, the Second World War was well underway and my father was working at H.V. McKay, later to become H.V. McKay Massey-Harris. My Dad was the Foreman/Supervisor in the Duplicate Spares Department. His job was classified as ‘essential services’ and as such he was not permitted to enlist and fight for his country.

My uncles, Reg and Roy, both enlisted and were requested by the Army to modify their German surnames in fear of being captured, so their names became hyphenated to We-ule and became known as ‘Yule’. After the war their comrades continued to call them Yule and so it has remained. Uncle Reg’s family spell their name ‘Weule’ but pronounce it ‘Yule’ whereas my Dad’s youngest brother, Clem changed his name by deed poll to ‘Yule’ and my Uncle Roy changed the spelling completely to ‘Wylie’. Confused? So are we!

My Parents, Nelson Orman Weule and Eileen Avis Weule, both had middle names that appeared to have lost a letter and it was always a fun thing to mention, the fact that ‘Orman’ perhaps should have been ‘Norman’ and ‘Avis’ should have been ‘Mavis’. But ‘Mavis Rent A Car’ just doesn’t sound quite right.

Just for the record, in 1977 several members of the Australian ‘Weule’ Family decided once and for all to change the spelling of the name to how it had become to be pronounced, WYLIE! My father wanted to change and suggested that I did as well, I gave in to his wishes and so for the next 17 years I took the name ‘Wylie’. In October 1994 I decided that perhaps we had done the wrong thing and so I converted back to the original spelling. Over the 17 years since we changed the spelling we had clearly established the German roots of the family and my father’s youngest sister, Betty Bailey, had compiled the Weule Family Tree and in 1999 produced a 297 page book; Weule Families in Australia 1863–1999 – with the subtitle; ‘The Legacy of the Man From Vejle 1626’. It’s a great read and copies of the book can be found in all State Libraries, as well as the National Library in Canberra. The German pronunciation of the name is ‘Voyla’.

My Parents were musically trained, albeit my Dad only had elementary lessons in violin and harmonica but he could play both with great aplomb. My mum on the other hand played the piano; having taken her studies a lot further, she was quite accomplished. They both played in the Sunshine Harvester Works Orchestra. As a baby I was taken along to the Wednesday night rehearsals and gurgled my way through all of the tunes of the day that a ‘Big Band’ was expected to play. Mum told me much later that I hardly ever cried and would just lie there listening to the music appearing to enjoy every minute of it. It is possibly why, even to this day, I still like ‘Big Band’ music and therein lies a story that I will tell you about much later.

Most weekends we visited my two sets of grandparents, my mother’s father, Ernest Arthur Eddy, and his second wife Lorrel, who we called Auntie Lol. (My Grandmother, Margaret Eddy nee Worthington, had died aged 59, three years before I was born). I loved both Grandpa and my Auntie Lol very much and when my Grandpa died, I was only eight. I was deeply saddened. I am pleased to say that my Auntie Lol remarried and we enjoyed many happy years together long after my mum’s early death in 1966. My mum’s folks lived in Nelson Street, Coburg and my dad’s folks, Louisa and Harry Weule, lived not that far away in Brunswick. So it was possible for us to visit both sets of grandparents, on the same day. Usually we went to Brunswick last and had dinner there and after our evening meal there was much music making, especially around the player piano, which I was allowed to play only if I had been a good boy. I have often wondered why I didn’t get to play it much!

When the ‘olds’ were out doing what the ‘Weules’ do best, little Geoffrey would wind up the gramophone and play 78s to his heart’s content. My favourite was Sir Henry Bishop’s ‘Lo, Hear the Gentle Lark’ sung by Amelita Galli-Curci. I played it so many times that I learnt to sing along with it and knew it off by heart. It became my ‘party-piece’, despite the fact that it had some very high notes and was in the range of a Coloratura Soprano (C4 – Eb6), but nothing stopped me. I could even hold on to the final note longer than Galli-Curci. I also loved ‘Boots’ by Peter Dawson but it was far too low for me to sing along with, however, years later, not a problem. My Auntie Betty together with my Uncle Clem had a great collection of 78s. Uncle Clem played guitar and loved Country and Western music and my Auntie Betty was into Hawaiian dancing and had heaps of Hawaiian music that I still enjoy hearing, although my vast record collection today contains almost no Hawaiian recordings. I guess I don’t have many C & W recordings either come to think of it. Perhaps I heard too much too soon.

My mother had naturally curly light brunette hair that always looked beautiful and only needed to be cut and shaped every now and again; the envy of most women. However at one stage she developed a scalp problem that necessitated her to see one of Melbourne’s top hair specialists, Stephanie Deste, in Collins Street. Stephanie Deste was one of Melbourne’s great personalities. Stephanie had an international acting career and she was an Australian radio star – but she was perhaps most famous for her beauty salons. Her taste for butterfly glasses apparently inspired Dame Edna Everage's eyewear.

I accompanied my mother to her appointment. I was asked to sit and be a good boy when mum went in for her treatment. I looked around and saw all of these women sitting there, ‘an audience, waiting their turn’, possibly among them several of Melbourne’s high society ladies, it was after all Stephanie Deste’s salon. I thought they looked terribly bored, so I decided to cheer them up. I got up and started to sing firstly, ‘Christopher Robin’ and then I broke into my ‘rods’ routine that I had learned for the Sunday school concert. I had no rods to use but that didn’t faze me. I got a tremendous round of applause from my audience. My mother was horrified. ‘Jack’ was NOT the good boy! It was interesting that many years later, not long before she died, aged 95, Stephanie Deste mentioned this incident in a radio interview recounting her time and experiences as Melbourne’s leading beauty salon operator. I was famous!

Mum and Dad decided to make a move to Albury in New South Wales so that my Dad could join his brother-in-law, Alec Anderson, in his trucking business, A.L. Anderson & Co; a decision that proved to be the right one for all of us.

At first, I was not too keen on the move. I had no friends in Albury, except my Albury cousins. They were great, but I did miss Melbourne and my little circle of friends. However, things began to change for me rather rapidly. I commenced school in January 1951 at the Albury Primary School. Mr Jim Cairns, my teacher, discovered that the new arrival from Melbourne could sing. We had to sing at times in class and without warning I was brought out and asked to show all of the other students how to sing ‘properly’. How embarrassing – but secretly, I loved every minute of it.

It wasn’t long before I was asked to join the Albury chapter of the famous Royal School of Church Music (RSCM) choir at St. Matthews Anglican Church. The choirmaster was Francis Joseph Betts and his wife Beryl, was a well-known singing teacher who had competed in the Mobil Aria some years’ prior. Francis Betts was the Music Master at the Albury Grammar School and his job as Organist and Choirmaster at St. Matthews was a part-time position. The choir was very large; around 20 boys and they had a full complement of adult sopranos, altos, tenors and basses. The standard of the choir was such that they had qualified to become a full member of the Royal School of Church Music in London; the first time a choir outside a major capital cathedral city was asked to do so. Francis Betts was an excellent musician and we received the full benefit of his musical talents.

I loved the choir and I was in my element, then disaster struck. I was riding my pushbike to St. Matthews, where I was to sing at a wedding, when I was involved in an accident. A car hit a taxi, spun the taxi around, hit my bike and the next thing I was in hospital, unconscious. I had very severe head lacerations, two greenstick fractures to my shoulders and severe bruising to most of my body.

Nobody knew who I was in hospital. I had no identification on me. Jim Wenham, the Mortician at the Albury Base Hospital (father of my best friend) had heard about this 'boy' who had been involved in an accident and popped by to see if he knew who it was. Luckily for me he did and my parents were duly informed. Jim's son, Neville, my friend and also a choir member, was able to inform the choir of what had happened and why I hadn’t shown up for the wedding. The piece of music that the bride had selected, in which I was to sing the descant, had to be changed because none of the other boys could hit the ‘high notes’. As full-time choristers we were paid. I loved singing the descants and solos as I received extra money. I was quite a mess for some time and missed a lot of school, not to mention the pocket money.

Back on my feet after many weeks convalescing at home I soon took up where I had left off and in 1952 I was appointed Head Chorister and given the great honour of wearing the magnificent Head Chorister’s Silver Medal in Church. It was one of my proudest moments to walk in the procession down the entire length of St Matthews with all of the other boys in double file and me in single file bringing up the rear just in front of Archdeacon Hill. Oh boy! Ship Ahoy!

1: The RSCM choristers of St Matthew’s Church, Albury, 1952

Geoffrey seen in the back row, second in from the right.

Photo: Border Morning Mail, Albury

In 1953 we celebrated the Queen’s Coronation and as an R.S.C.M choir we were requested to duplicate and perform some of the music that was to be sung by the R.S.C.M choir in Westminster Abbey. I was in my element as I got to sing Handel’s ‘Zadock the Priest’; what a tour de force that piece is. I was in heaven and when the mighty St Matthews organ swung into full force, the power and surge was a moment I can still remember and I let rip, hitting those amazing high notes like there was no tomorrow. Mum and Dad were apparently in tears. As a boy soprano (treble) my range had in fact been extended to that of a coloratura soprano so hitting the high notes as in ‘Lo, Hear the Gentle Lark’, was not a problem for me. The higher the better!

It was not too long after that wonderful experience that my voice broke so I had to leave the choir and my weekly pay packet; plus missing out on the lucrative wedding engagements. Mrs Betts very kindly took me on as a student and gave me free singing lessons. I had gone from the sublime to the ridiculous. I went from singing Coloratura Soprano to ‘Basso Profundo’. What an amazing thing puberty is! Mrs Betts had the audacity to put me into the Men’s Open Bass Solo at the Albury Eisteddfod. I sang ‘The Carpet’; a dirge of a song if ever there was one. I was 13…and I won!

The local ‘high flying’ singing teacher around town, Madame Tija Savickis, had heard me sing at the Eisteddfod and suggested that I should take lessons from her. I told her that I was already having lessons with Mrs Betts. She then mentioned that I was welcome to join her Opera School and go into some of their productions. I spoke to Mrs Betts about this and she told me that she was not enjoying good health and possibly it was time for me to move on, so Madame Savickis got her way with me, not only as a member of her Opera School but also as a student, thus began a remarkable relationship. Madame Savickis studied singing in Germany, prior to the Second World War, under the famous singing teacher, Professor Maria von Winterfeld, at the Freiburg University of Music.

Latvian born, Madame Tija Savickis was by birth a Baroness; her father was Baron von Joizevskis. She married a very eminent Latvian doctor, Dr Donatas Savickis. They immigrated to Australia in 1950 under a Cultural Exchange program. Dr Savickis had been a surgeon and entered a medical practice in Russia immediately after the war. He was extremely well qualified. When he went to register to practice in Australia he was told that his qualifications were not recognised here and that he would have to go back to Medical School to qualify. He was shattered, as he believed his specialist qualifications were greater than the doctors under whom he would have to study. He could not bring himself to suffer the humiliation, so he opted to become a Homeopathic Practitioner, having studied this subject as a second study at Riga University. His services and fame quickly spread and patients came from all over Australia to consult with him.

Dr Savickis was an amazing man and Australia was certainly the poorer for not having recognised his surgical skills and qualifications. I enjoyed his company and often after my singing lessons I would go down to his surgery and over a