Farewell, Earthling Phil

 

Around 1971, our dad got made redundant. He’d moved from a steady but undemanding clerical job at the GEC to wallpaper manufacturer Colorall, in a sales position. The job didn’t last long – maybe he didn’t shift enough rolls – but by the spring of 1971 he was out of work again. Fortunately, he had a second career, as a semi-professional drummer, in which capacity he’d been working the dance band and supper club scene in the Midlands for over thirty years. With the day job gone, he fell back on music as his sole source of income. Around this time, he’d been a ‘dep’ (temporary replacement) drummer for Midland bandleader Graham Dalley, whose residency at The Barn nightspot in Solihull provided a semi-regular source of work. Dalley was a multi-instrumentalist – his LP ‘At the Barn’ credits him with piano, vibraphone, trumpet and electric harp. He was also, if the sleeve is anything to go by, a joker with an irreverent sense of humour. Five years earlier, he’d annoyed the BBC with his Parlophone single Landing of the Daleks, a shameless Joe Meek influenced cash-in, that was promoted using the commercially available Scorpion Automotives Dalek Playsuit (the band probably owned more copies of the suit than anyone else). For the purposes of the recording, Dalley’s Barn line-up christened themselves The Earthlings, and it was organist Ray Pritchard who caused the kerfuffle when he added a morse code signal – ‘SOS Daleks have landed’ – to the recording. Auntie was having none of this, and banned the single from airplay on the grounds that the interpolated SOS signal might confuse shipping. More likely it was a case of sour grapes at anyone trying to make money from one of their own commercial properties. Unfortunately, our dad isn’t on that record, as he wouldn’t hook up with Dalley for another few years. But his guitarist – the subject of this article – was.

Phil Nelson was a consummate jazz guitarist, who’d been active on the Midlands circuit for some time. When our dad joined up with the Dalley ensemble they became friends, sharing the same warm philosophical outlook on life. Tragically, Graham Dalley died suddenly in 1970, leaving the Barn ensemble without a bandleader and the band in search of a new residency. Naughty SOS man Pritchard teamed up with Phil and our dad to form a trio, who quickly secured a residency at the Pontins Wall Park holiday camp in Brixham, Devon. During that spring and summer, they lived in digs in Paignton and Brixham, a student-style existence that was occasionally shared by Phil’s wife Jenny and their large poodle Fred (‘You’ve heard of Manfred Mann?’ Phil said; ‘Well, this is Dog Fred Dog’).

There was plenty of room in the accommodation, enough for our mum, my brother and myself to visit on holiday twice during that summer. We got to know Phil quite well: he had a passion for aircraft and science fiction – the digs was littered with pulp paperbacks and copies of Aero Modeller magazine, some of which passed into my hands and are still in my possession. He never mentioned his ‘Earthling’ credentials, which is a shame, as it’s exactly the kind of thing that would have impressed us as kids – especially since the Daleks were about to make a return to Dr. Who. We saw the trio perform at the holiday camp on at least one occasion. I remember wishing to myself that they would play the James Bond theme when they did precisely that. Phil was the first person I ever saw in real life playing a ‘proper’ guitar: in this case, a Gibson Super 400, the same huge single-cutaway jazz guitar beloved of early rock and rollers. Our dad later reported that Phil had painted it blue and turned it into a wall ornament, but I rather hope this wasn’t the case – an unmolested Super 400 would today be worth around £20,000.

The summer season proved to be a one-off, and from the autumn onwards, the trio returned to home turf, gigging around the Midlands. Phil and Jenny visited our house on several occasions: I remember them being impressed by some of my felt-pen drawings of cartoon characters, which were always fetched out when we had visitors. A couple of years later, Phil attempted to teach me the guitar. Our dad had bought me an electric guitar for my 12^th birthday, on the agreement that I would take lessons. Phil even advised us on the best instrument available from Birmingham's music shops on a budget of £30. The fact that I am not today a jazz guitarist is entirely my failing, not Phil’s. He did his level best and taught me scales and basic positions: but I was more interested in learning how to play the solo from 10CC’s Rubber Bullets (I had the sheet music, but the solo wasn’t included). After a few months of this tuition, we gave it up as a bad job. Aside from occasional visits to our house, I didn’t see Phil again, and the trio gradually drifted apart.

Decades later, I hooked up with him on facebook, where he still displayed the same warm sense of fun that had appealed to us back in the 70s. Of all my facebook friends, Phil was the most likely to comment on a post, sometimes humorously, but often with a thoughtful, philosophical insight. He never had anything to sell, or sought to promote himself in any way. He was more likely to share a photo of one of his dogs – all of whom were identical clones of the original ‘Dog Fred Dog’. It is to my eternal regret that this rekindled virtual friendship never went beyond the computer, but even in that limited capacity, I was glad to have him as a friend, and facebook won’t be the same without his ‘likes’ and comments. He was a warm and funny man, very much like our dad in outlook. He is survived by his wife Jenny and son and daugher Clark and Philippa.

You can hear Phil and friends warn earth of the imminent Landing of the Daleks here (and note the first two comments from Phil himself):

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sFHJonHQbiM

Press clipping promoting the 'controversial' single. Phil is weilding a Framus 12-string guitar.