The Venue
The Royal Albert Hall is possibly my favourite London music venue. Over the decades I’ve witnessed dozens of memorable shows there, maybe 50 or more at a rough estimate. My first concert at the iconic 5,000-seater was the ostentatiously titled “The Sonnets of Donovan” in January 1967, which I wrote about here. After that initial visit I fell madly in love with the Grade I listed building in all its decadent Italianate splendour and since I was living just across the other side of Hyde Park in Notting Hill Gate for much of the 70s I’d show up for virtually anything of a rock or folk nature without too much persuasion.
In March 1968 I saw another Donovan
concert there. This was only days after he returned from his legendary
sojourn to India where he studied meditation under the Maharishi alongside the
Beatles and, naturally, the evening had a suitably cosmic vibe as a
result. For this show Don was supported by a virtually unknown acoustic
duo named Tyrannosaurus Rex comprising Marc Bolan and Steve Peregrin
Took. The cavernous Albert Hall was absolutely no place for their wonky
nylon string guitar and bongo music, and I remember thinking that would
probably be the last we’d hear of them.
In later years I bought (or was sometimes given, if I was lucky) tickets for a wildly eclectic range of artists. I saw everyone from Ralph McTell to the Mahavishnu Orchestra, Pentangle to John Mayall, Tom Paxton to Georgie Fame, Steeleye Span to Ginger Baker’s Airforce, Peter Green’s Fleetwood Mac to the Dubliners and a whole lot more, most of which are forever lost in the mists of time (or, more accurately, in the recesses of an old man’s fading memory).
I don’t know if it’s still the case, but back in the 60s and 70s it was possible to buy cheap standing-only tickets in the Albert Hall Gallery for a fraction of the price of a decent seat in the stalls. This was a balcony which ran almost the entire circumference of the hall but located way up high, almost level with the 85 giant fibreglass acoustic diffusers (known to one and all as “mushrooms”) which hang from the great glass and wrought-iron dome some 135 feet (41m) above the stage. The “mushrooms” were installed in the late 60s to try to combat the dreadful echo which had marred concerts at the venue since it was built. Almost from the moment the Hall was opened in 1871 it was often jokingly said to be "the only place where a British composer could be sure of hearing his work twice.”
For around five shillings (25p) in the early 70s you could stand in the Gallery watching the performance from a considerable height and often a very long way from the action. It wasn’t the best vantage point, but at least it was cheap. At the other extreme my girlfriend and I once found ourselves alone in a private box for a January 1971 Pentangle concert. I forget how we blagged that one (it was possibly a Transatlantic records junket, come to think of it) but I do recall that food and drinks were served to us during the show - luxury!
But of all those Royal Albert Hall concerts, there is one I remember more vividly than almost any other. That was the night of February 2, 1971, when Leon Russell and his band kicked off their 14 date UK tour in London.
A Career Overview
In the 50s and 60s Leon Russell was an in-demand Los Angeles session player and songwriter, working with Jan & Dean, the Byrds, the Beach Boys, Frank Sinatra, Glen Campbell, Doris Day, Herb Alpert and countless others. He also played piano on many Phil Spector productions, including the Wall-of-Sound recordings by the Ronettes, the Crystals, and Darlene Love.
Over in Britain we knew very little of this at the time, however. In fact, it’s probably true to say that most Europeans first became aware of the name Leon Russell in 1969 when Eric Clapton began extoling the virtues of Delaney and Bonnie, the blue-eyed soul duo he had hooked up with in America during the Blind Faith tour. Russell produced and played on the early Delaney and Bonnie albums and many of the musicians in their band were subsequently spirited away to work with Clapton’s Derek & the Dominos, Joe Cocker’s Mad Dogs & Englishmen, George Harrison’s All Things Must Pass album and even the Rolling Stones, much to D&B’s chagrin. Leon himself also featured heavily on Clapton's 1970 self-titled debut album, playing piano on almost every track.
By the end of the decade Russell was as hot as he would probably ever get. He had become the personification of the go-to rock guy, with a hand in several important projects, including his own impossibly hip record label. Together with British producer Denny Cordell he launched Shelter records in 1969 signing, among others, Freddie King, J.J.Cale, Tom Petty, the Grease Band (US only) and issuing the sole album by the mysterious Willis Allan Ramsey. The Shelter label initially used an inverted Superman logo, until DC Comics issued a lawsuit, forcing a change to the artwork.
Also in 1969 Russell took the reins of Joe Cocker’s career, producing Joe’s self-titled second album at the A&M studios in Hollywood. He then stepped into the role of band leader, arranger and driving force behind the legendary, if ultimately shambolic, Mad Dogs & Englishmen tour and the ensuing film and double album of the same name. Leon later received criticism for upstaging Cocker and using the event to boost his own profile. But I think it’s fair to say that Joe’s career peaked with Mad Dogs & Englishmen and despite the occasional hit and burst of popularity in later years, he never really achieved such heights of fame or creativity again.
Released in April 1970, Leon’s own self-titled debut solo album was enthusiastically received by the critics, if not the record buyers, initially. Recorded partly at Olympic studios in London with guest appearances by Ringo, Eric Clapton, George Harrison, Bill Wyman, Steve Winwood, Charlie Watts and a host of other A-list rockers, it has since become recognised as a true masterpiece, despite failing to chart in Britain and reaching only #60 in America.
All songs on the Leon Russell album, except for “Old Masters” (a cover of Dylan’s “Masters of War” sung to the tune of “The Star-Spangled Banner”), were penned by Russell and several became enduring classics. Key tracks “A Song For You” and “Hummingbird” were later covered by everyone from Ray Charles and Andy Williams, to the Carpenters and B.B. King. Written for Leon’s erstwhile girlfriend Rita Coolidge, the universally loved “Delta Lady” was initially bequeathed to Joe Cocker who turned it into a massive hit a year before Russell released it himself.
There was also a track titled, confusingly, “Give Peace A Chance”. But although it may have been intended as a tribute, it had little to do with the John & Yoko song, even though the two were recorded only months apart. Credited to Russell and Bonnie Bramlett, it consisted of nothing more than the title repeatedly sung over a rollicking, double-tracked piano backing. Similarly, “Roll Away The Stone” pre-dated the 1973 Mott The Hoople top 10 hit of the same name by a couple of years, although the hard driving beat and pounding piano figure is spookily similar to another Mott hit “All The Way From Memphis”, also from 1973. Someone should have had a quiet word with Ian Hunter about that, I feel. Equally, "I Put A Spell On You" had no connection to the 1956 Screamin' Jay Hawkins classic.
The Spotify statistics for the Leon Russell album make interesting reading. At the time of writing the exquisite opening track “A Song For You” has been streamed almost 12.5 million times, which is ten times greater than the next most popular cut, the equally magnificent “Hummingbird” which sits at just 1.2 million. Everything else on the album is showing between 200,000 and 800,000 plays, including “Delta Lady”. As our American cousins might say: go figure.
In March 1971 Leon worked with Bob Dylan, recording "When I Paint My Masterpiece" and the single “Watching The River Flow.” Naturally, his trademark piano was prominent throughout both tracks. Later in the year he almost stole the show at George Harrison’s Concert For Bangladesh where he backed George and Bob Dylan on bass and also played his own set.
Russell’s career arguably peaked with the 1972 album Carney which reached #2 in the Billboard charts and also spawned the hit single “Tightrope”. The albums kept coming on a regular basis throughout the 70s and 80s but, following an unexpected move into country music, the law of diminishing returns kicked in, with each new release selling fewer than the one before.
In 2010 Elton John announced plans to record an album with Russell. Leon had mentored Elton during some early Los Angeles club dates and they played a joint Fillmore East show in November 1970 when Reg was still virtually unknown in America. He later acknowledged Leon as “my biggest influence as a piano player, a singer and a songwriter.” Decades later Elton returned the favour by pulling Russell, by then broke and in poor health, out of retirement to tour and record the album The Union which sold well, reaching the top 10 in many countries around the world.
This final burst of activity came just in time and Leon Russell died on November 13, 2016, aged 74.
*Two years previously Russell had recorded an album as the Asylum Choir with Marc Benno and studio musicians.
The Support Bands
Support acts at the Albert Hall concert In February 1971 were Status Quo, Juicy Lucy, and the Grease Band. The compere was Gerry Lockran, his name cruelly misspelled “Jerry” in the concert programme and posters. Gerry was a fine folk blues acoustic guitarist with three albums to his name by 1970 but on this occasion he was there just to make the introductions and add some witty patter between the bands. Lockran shared the same manager as Joe Cocker, the Grease Band, Faces, Chris Stainton and Juicy Lucy, which probably explains how he landed the Leon Russell gig. Some music papers wrote that Freddie King was booked for the UK tour, but it didn't happen.
Sitting firmly at the bottom of the bill were Status Quo. In early 1971 they were in the process of re-inventing themselves from the pop psych band of “Pictures Of Matchstick Men” fame to the denim-clad boogie outfit we would soon know and love. The Melody Maker review of their set was less than generous, however, stating: "Opening the evening Status Quo were loud, noisy and generally awful". Harsh words indeed, but Quo would have the last laugh. Later in 1971 the classic line-up of Francis Rossi (then still calling himself Mike), Rick Parfitt, Alan Lancaster and John Coghlan signed to the new, go-ahead Vertigo label where they enjoyed a run of 13 straight UK top ten albums over 20 years, starting with Piledriver in 1972. With 118 million worldwide album sales to date, Quo ended up as the biggest act on the bill by a very long way.
Juicy Lucy was another band signed to Vertigo. In fact, their 1969 debut “Who Do You Love” was the very first single release on the label, proudly bearing the catalogue number V1. They were formed from the ashes of Californian outfit The Misunderstood who had re-located to London in 1966 on the recommendation of John Peel. By the time their Juicy Lucy debut album appeared, however, there was only one original Misunderstood member left in the band. This was lap steel guitarist Glenn Ross Campbell, who probably spent his entire professional life being mistaken for the “Wichita Lineman” hitmaker himself. Also onboard in 1971 were guitarist Mick Moody (later to join Whitesnake) and the big-voiced Paul Williams as front man.
On paper, at least, the Grease Band were possibly the most interesting support act. Starting out as Joe Cocker’s backing band, they played a remarkable set together at the 1969 Woodstock Festival before parting ways as the Mad Dogs & Englishmen tour took shape.
The line-up of Henry McCullough, Bruce Rowland, Alan Spenner and Neil Hubbard had all played on the original 1970 recording of the Jesus Christ Superstar LP before striking out on their own. But with no Grease Band records in the stores at that point they were an unknown quantity to the Albert Hall audience and their brand of soft country rock sounded tentative and under rehearsed. It would be some months before their debut album The Grease Band appeared on the Harvest label in the UK (it was released on the Shelter label in America) and I believe the RAH gig was their debut show after they split with Joe Cocker.
Despite their impressive pedigree, the Grease Band were not a commercial success, and there would be a lengthy four-year gap before they reconvened to record Amazing Grease, their second and final album in 1975. The individual band members had not been idle in the interim, however. Henry McCullough spent 1973 in Paul McCartney’s Wings, Bruce Rowland turned up in Ronnie Lane’s Slim Chance and Fairport Convention, while Alan Spenner and Neil Hubbard both surfaced in blue-eyed soul outfit Kokomo.
The Grease Band were offered a session fee or royalty points for their work on Jesus Christ Superstar. In a poorly judged career move they chose a one-off session fee. Meanwhile, the JCS LP went on to top the US Billboard charts and sell close to 8 million copies worldwide. Bad luck, guys.
The Master of Space and Time
And so, to the main attraction. Leon Russell’s eagerly anticipated debut UK concert was the hottest ticket in town and the Albert Hall was the only place to be seen in London on that Tuesday night in February with many celebs in attendance, including Elton John and Eric Clapton.
Possibly because there had been so many support bands it was past 10pm by the time Leon took the stage. Gerry Lockran walked to the microphone and, with perhaps a smidgen of hyperbole, announced “Here he is, the world’s greatest rock & roll star”. Such was the air of expectation in the Hall we were absolutely prepared to believe it, at least for the next hour or so.
I don’t know how we managed it, but we ended up with front row seats, which is always a welcome bonus at any show and greatly improves the concert-going experience. Now, I’ve been to some loud gigs over the years, AC/DC and Metallica among them, but perhaps because we were sitting directly in front of the PA bass bins, this one was absolutely bloody deafening. It was the kind of show that leaves you with industrial strength tinnitus for days afterwards.
Many have tried but (with due apologies to Slash, Marc Bolan, Tom Petty and the rest), in my opinion no one in rock has ever carried off the top hat look better than Leon Russell. Judging by the contemporary photos, he appeared to own countless varieties of tall headgear with a top hat for every occasion. One hat in particular was a gift from Gram Parsons via Keith Richards. It was originally worn by Al Jolson in the movie The Jazz Singer.
During the 1970 Mad Dogs & Englishmen Tour many band members were given a suitably cryptic and/or cosmic nickname. Leon was dubbed the "Master of Space and Time" and, dressed completely in white and sporting a spectacular sequined topper, the name suited him perfectly as he strolled nonchalantly to the front of the RAH stage amid tumultuous applause. With his near waist length salt-and-pepper hair and matching beard, he cut a distinctive, not to say magnificent, figure. Sitting at a grand piano he noodled on a slow blues for a while before the first recognisable tune emerged. It was Bob Dylan’s “Girl From The North Country.” Originally dating back to 1963 and Bob’s Freewheelin’ album, the song was currently enjoying a new lease of life thanks to the somewhat ramshackle Dylan/Johnny Cash duet on 1969’s Nashville Skyline. Leon had performed the song with Joe Cocker on the Mad Dogs & Englishmen album, and it was one of several Dylan songs in his repertoire. Russell’s distinctive vocals were an acquired taste for some and he often struggled to reach the high notes, but I loved his voice back then and I still love it today.
As a lifelong student of rare and beautiful guitars my eye was immediately drawn to Don Preston’s instrument. I must confess that my heart skipped a beat when I saw it was a 1958 Gibson Explorer. That may not mean much to the uninitiated, but even in 1971 this was an outrageously rare and extremely desirable guitar. See below for a longer discourse on Preston’s guitar and the Gibson Explorer generally.
The set comprised five songs from the Leon Russell album, plus four from the then-unreleased follow-up Leon Russell and the Shelter People. Naturally the closer was “Delta Lady” which seemed to last an eternity, with a greatly extended mantra-like outro, during which Leon switched from piano to guitar. The encore was an untidy romp through “Roll Over Beethoven” which may have indicated a shortage of material.
The Set List:
Girl From the North Country
Stranger in a Strange Land
Alcatraz
Prince of Peace
Roll Away the Stone
Shoot Out on the Plantation
Hummingbird
A Hard Rain's A-Gonna Fall
Sweet Home Oklahoma
Delta Lady
Roll Over Beethoven
The Leon Russell Band
(And Their Mad Dogs & Englishmen Nicknames)
The Gentle Giant: Not to be confused with the Frank Zappa & the Mothers of Invention keyboard player of the same name, guitarist Don Preston had worked with Ritchie Valens, the Righteous Brothers and Gene Vincent before teaming up with Joe Cocker and Leon Russell. Six months after the 1971 UK tour Preston joined Leon at George Harrison’s Concert For Bangladesh and his famous Gibson Explorer was pictured for all to see in the album booklet, onstage alongside George and Eric Clapton.
The Mad Professor: Bassist Carl Radle came from Delaney & Bonnie’s band directly into Clapton’s Derek & the Dominos where he appeared on the Layla album and the subsequent live releases. A brief excursion into Joe Cocker’s Mad Dogs & Englishmen tour and album followed before he hooked up with Clapton again for seven straight albums through the 70s. Carl sadly died of kidney failure brought on by drink and drugs in 1980. He was aged just 37.
Stellar Gypsy: Backing singer Claudia Lennear started out as one of Ike & Tina Turner’s Ikettes, before taking the familiar route of Delaney & Bonnie, Mad Dogs & Englishmen and the Concert For Bangladesh. Claudia is thought to have been the real-life inspiration for several songs, including the Stones’ “Brown Sugar” (1971*), David Bowie’s “Lady Grinning Soul” (1973), Leon’s "She Smiles Like a River" (1971) and "Sweet Rhode Island Red" (1974) by Ike and Tina Turner. She also appeared on the 1971 Humble Pie album, Rock On. To absolutely no one's surprise, her 1973 solo album was titled Phew!
*(Marsha Hunt has also claimed to be the inspiration for "Brown Sugar").
Another former Ikette, Kathi McDonald replaced Janis Joplin in Big Brother & the Holding Company before working with the Rolling Stones on Exile On Main Street. She can be heard on their 1972 single “Tumbling Dice”. Kathi also backed Delaney & Bonnie and Joe Cocker, before touring with Freddie King and Rita Coolidge. In later years she worked extensively with Long John Baldry until his death in 2005. Kathi passed away in 2012.
Direct From the Taj Mahal: In his early years Chuck Blackwell was the house drummer for the TV show Shindig. He played drums for the Everly Brothers, Little Richard and Jerry Lee Lewis, and recorded extensively with Taj Mahal, Freddie King and Leon Russell. Needless to say, he was yet another graduate of the Mad Dogs & Englishmen tour.
Guitar Man: Don Preston’s Intrepid Explorer
(Warning: contains information of a technical nature)
Among people who care about such things, one of the most memorable aspects of Leon Russell’s early 70s concerts was the sight of Don Preston’s staggeringly rare Gibson Explorer guitar. Here’s the story of that amazing instrument.
In the mid-50s the Gibson guitar company was losing market share to their upstart rivals over at Fender. With their brightly coloured, curvaceous solid electric models such as the Stratocaster and Telecaster, the young Californian company had begun to make Gibson look old fashioned and out of touch. In an attempt to catch up, Gibson president Ted McCarty commissioned three radical new models which they called the “modernistic” series. These were the Flying V, the Explorer and the Moderne. The Moderne was stillborn and didn't get off the drawing board until decades later (and only then as a retrospective model), but in 1958 the Flying V and Explorer went into limited production. They were constructed from a type of exotic wood known as Korina, which is the trade name for African Limba wood similar to mahogany. Limba is naturally light in colour and Gibson apparently chose it because blonde or white guitars were popular at the time.
Now, this was the late 50s and players just weren’t ready for these strangely shaped instruments that looked like they might have arrived from outer space. They were a total sales disaster at the time and Gibson shipped only around 80 Flying Vs and fewer than 50 Explorers during 1958/59 (including a handful of both models in 1963 made from leftover parts) before production stopped. The guitars were simply too weird and futuristic, and no one wanted them.
Tastes change, however, and as the mid-60s came around the new rock groups started to pick up on these funny-looking instruments. One of the first exponents was Dave Davies from the Kinks. In 1965 he ended up with a Gibson Flying V quite by accident as an emergency replacement for his trusty Guild guitar which was stolen during a flight to America. Dave owned his Flying V from 1965 to 1992 and it has changed hands several times since then, most recently in 2019. In December 2020 Guitar magazine published this excellent feature and interview with the guitar’s new owner.
Other high-profile players such as Lonnie Mack, Albert King and Keith Richards were also seen using original Flying Vs and this prompted Gibson to reissue the guitar in 1968, albeit in limited numbers with somewhat different specifications to the 50s version.
But what of the Explorer? If the original Flying Vs are rare and valuable, then the 1958/59 Explorers, with less than 10 examples thought to survive today, are doubly so. The current Vintage Guitar Price Guide (2022 edition) values a top condition original guitar at US$735,000, which is around twice the price of a 1959 sunburst Gibson Les Paul Standard, itself usually considered the Holy Grail of solid electric guitars. Simply no one had an Explorer back in the 60s/early 70s and you just never saw them onstage. Which brings us neatly to Don Preston.
It’s not clear how Preston originally came by his Gibson Explorer (or even if he still owns it), but in the early 70s it seemed to show up everywhere. After the thrill of seeing the guitar close-up at the Albert Hall show, it next appeared in glorious widescreen technicolour in the 1972 movie The Concert For Bangladesh. The 3/LP box set contained a deluxe colour booklet showing pictures of Don’s guitar in action alongside George’s Fender Stratocaster and Clapton’s Gibson Byrdland.
During the Bangladesh concert rehearsals Eric Clapton, ever the insatiable guitar collector, reportedly tried to buy Don Preston’s Explorer from him. Don refused to sell, but a year or so later Clapton found another one for sale at a New York store. This example was unusual in having a shortened upper back horn (ie. the pointy bit at the back), and Eric was told it was a prototype. That turned out to be untrue and, in fact, the previous owner had simply sawn a large piece off, presumably to make the ungainly Explorer easier to handle. Slowhand had been conned. Having paid six figures for the instrument (that’s 1973 era dollars, too) Clapton was understandably less than pleased and tried to return the guitar, without success.
Nevertheless, Eric used this ill-fated Explorer throughout the mid-70s. It can be heard on his EC Was Here live album and it’s pictured on the back cover of There’s One in Every Crowd (both released in 1975). According to Tony Bacon’s excellent book Flying V, Explorer, Firebird: An Odd-Shaped History of Gibson’s Weird Electric Guitars (pub. Backbeat Books 2011) Clapton gave the mutilated guitar to erstwhile Wailers member Junior Marvin in 1977, who sold it during the 80s. Eric’s disfigured Explorer finally ended up in Japan with guitar collector Kunio Kushida, who also owns Duane Allman’s Gibson Les Paul Junior. Eric purchased yet another original 1958 Explorer (unmolested, this time) in 1983 which was eventually auctioned in aid of his Crossroads charity in 1999. The hammer fell at US$120,000 but the guitar would probably sell for far more today.
The first Explorer reissues appeared in 1974 when the Hamer company of Illinois started making copies of the Gibson in limited numbers. Rick Nielson of Cheap Trick was an early adopter of the Hamer Explorers, which they called the “Standard Model”. Nielson eventually ended up as possibly the only man on the planet to own TWO original Gibson Explorers, along with countless Hamer copies. Gibson themselves followed suit in 1975 with more accurate reissues and by the late 70s the Explorer had finally found its niche, adopted as the default heavy metal pointy guitar with several companies producing their own versions in myriad colours and designs. 64 years after this odd-shaped instrument was declared an abject sales turkey, the Gibson Explorer is now among the most popular and widely used electric guitars in the heavy rock world.
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In the 1958 Gibson catalogue the Explorer and Flying V sold for US$275 each (without case). Today, in 2022, you’d pay close to US$1 million for the pair. |
Aftermath: There’s A Riot Going On!
1971 was a busy time at the Royal Albert Hall, in more ways than one. On February 1, just 24 hours before the Leon Russell concert, Deep Purple had played there supported by Ashton, Gardner & Dyke. A week later, on February 8, Frank Zappa and the Mothers were booked to perform extracts from the film 200 Motels with the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra. To everyone’s surprise the Zappa concert was cancelled only hours before showtime after the RAH trustees claimed the song lyrics were “obscene”.
I had tickets for that 200 Motels concert and in those pre-internet days we had no way of knowing what had happened until we showed up on the night to find hundreds of dejected fans milling around outside the venue. It would have been my first Zappa concert, so the cancellation was doubly disappointing. Frank sued the RAH and the legal proceedings dragged on for years. Even though it seemed an open and shut case, Zappa eventually lost his claim in April 1975 at which point, in typically sardonic FZ style, he vowed never to return to Britain unless he received an apology from The Queen. Spoiler alert: Frank didn’t get his apology from Her Maj, but he did return to Blighty, many times.
If 1971 had started badly for Zappa, the year ended far, far worse for him. On December 4 during a Mothers’ concert at the Montreux Casino in Switzerland “some stupid with a flare gun” (as Deep Purple later reported in "Smoke On The Water") fired into the ceiling, causing a blaze which destroyed the historic building, taking all of the band’s equipment with it. Then, six days later Frank was attacked and pushed off the stage at the Rainbow Theatre in London by an audience member, leaving him with life-changing injuries. The attack put Zappa out of action and left him in a wheelchair for almost a year, although he eventually made an almost full recovery.
The Zappa saga marked the beginning of the end of the Albert Hall’s uneasy relationship with rock music. Things came to a head in July 1971 when fans caused £1,467 (equivalent to more than £22,000 today) of damage to the venue during a concert by Mott The Hoople. A second Mott show scheduled for the next day was cancelled and the following statement was issued:
“Some members of the audience in Second Tier boxes became so enthusiastic and jumped and stamped around so much that the ceilings in two boxes in the Grand Tier below fell in. It is for reasons like this that we here do not like concerts at which the audience stamps and dances.”
Marion Herrod, Letting Agent and Secretary, Royal Albert Hall 9 July 1971
According to the Hall’s own website, only one of the 23 rock and pop shows held in 1971 passed without disorder, vandalism, rioting, injury or destruction to the venue. Vilified bands included Deep Purple, Yes, Gordon Lightfoot(!?), James Brown and the Byrds. But it was Mott the Hoople’s show which prompted the decision to impose a temporary ban on all rock and pop concerts at the Hall, beginning March 1972.
The official RAH press release read, in part:
“The Council of the Royal Albert Hall has reluctantly decided, after most careful consideration, that it can no longer make the Hall available for “pop” and “rock” concerts.
This decision is in no way intended as a condemnation of the music itself but it has been forced on the Council as a result of the behaviour of substantial numbers among the audiences attracted to such concerts”
The Who were one of the first high-profile casualties of the rock ban. They had planned to present an all-star performance of their rock opera Tommy on December 9, 1972, with guests including Rod Stewart, Steve Winwood, Richie Havens, Ringo Starr and Richard Harris, but the show was deemed “unsavory” by the Royal Albert Hall.
The situation turned out to be short-lived, thankfully. Before long the ban was repealed, common sense prevailed, and rock and pop returned to the Hall by the end of 1973. Normal service was soon resumed and today (pandemic notwithstanding) rock concerts make up a huge proportion of the RAH’s income, accounting for a large slice of the 350 annual events in the main auditorium.
