added to the extraordinarily clear memories of the nefarious duo for dialogue and colouring, have provided us with a blow-by-blow description of a fascinating lifestyle carried on during a transitional period of Australian history. Nothing is hidden from our view. The pair present the salacious adolescent sexuality on both sides of the stage, the bumbling ignorance of most of the “power brokers” of the day, and the outrageously unsophisticated behaviour of undeserved “overnight sensations” who found themselves in the right place at the right time. Yet, although there is vast evidence of the plagiarism and opportunism of the time, there is equal evidence of an endearing cunning, an instinct for survival and a latent talent which have all contributed to the internationally acclaimed “Oz Rock” of which we are so conspicuously proud today.
It is not possible to fully appreciate the array of Australian music of the nineties without having some idea of how the cottage industry evolved into a global force. Up until the publication of this book, that has been an exceedingly difficult task. As far as I am concerned, this is as valid a slice of our history as the accounts of bush settlers and ground-breaking sportsmen. Anybody who has ever hummed a tune should read it!
— Glenn A. Baker, 1990
PREFACE
JON & LEON: There is nothing special about Jon Hayton and Leon Isackson. We were never big famous rock stars. We were just a couple of ordinary Australian kids who became teenagers at the same time that rock’n’roll appeared on the Australian music scene. In fact, our main claim to fame is the fact that we were THERE in the beginning.
We often discussed the possibility of writing a book about this period of our lives, using Leon’s personal diaries for a reference. The memory sometimes needs a little nudge here and there and we found the accuracy of the diaries invaluable. After all, we wanted the book to have the same credibility. Everything had to be as accurate as possible.
Although this book is written in autobiographical form, it is not meant to be a confessional of two sinful rock’n’rollers nor is it meant to be a concise history of Australian rock’n’roll as such. It is more of an observation by two musicians who found themselves in the thick of it. Our rule has been: if that’s the way it happened, then — that’s the way it happened!
The characters in this book are all true — some famous, some not so famous and some who had a fleeting taste of fame and never quite got over it. It’s not just our story either; it’s everybody’s story and the only reason that Jon and Leon remain the central characters is not because we were the “heroes” but because the story is told as seen through our eyes.
While sorting out this information in chronological order between 1956 and 1966 in a semi-documentary form, we found that a strong story line was emerging before our very eyes. We both experienced the eerie feeling that our hands were merely tools of some ghost-writers, who appeared to be writing the text for us. We hope “they” like the finished product!
As two individuals, of course, our personal reactions to these events will be very different. It depends on who’s telling the story. However, the things we do have in common are, that we were both born in 1942 and we both shared a passion for rock’n’roll. We also shared quite a few beers, hotel rooms, a number of girls and many other experiences that we would like to share with you as we show you what it was really like BEHIND THE ROCK.
PART ONE
1 JONNIE BE GOOD
JON: As I begin to write this story, I get flashes, little pictures, of incidents long past. Browsing through Leon’s personal diary, nicknamed the “Crazy Book”; I see towns, halls, pubs and clubs. I see cars, aircraft, apartments and yes, GIRLS! “And I can see you too! Ready Mister Music?” (for those of you who remember Romper Room and the Magic Mirror).
Names leap out at me from the pages of the diary: Bandstand, 6 O’Clock Rock, Festival Records, Sydney Stadium, Melbourne Town Hall and the memorable mouldy Marlene! Names and faces of many musicians, singers, promoters, screaming fans. All the fascinating people from the wonderful, fickle, rewarding, heartbreaking but always interesting Music Business. Never a dull moment. Being dragged out of a rock’n’roll dance by two burly coppers; now, that was a good one! Keith Walshe and the Teen Time clan. Many tours of sunny Queensland and friendly Western Australia. The antics of friends like Johnny O’Keefe and many others, clawing their way through a unique time in the birth of Australian rock ’n’roll.
I remember too the uneasy transition from one band to another, the music of a new era such as The Beatles, The Twist, Surf Music and the general sights and sounds of the early sixties. The name Vung Tau Airbase. Mortar fire. The battle of Dang Dung. Spending all night on the toilet in Saigon! These memories keep flooding back.
Later on in life, long after this story ends, I can recall walking down the darkened corridors of Royal North Shore Hospital on my way to visit my old friend Digby, knowing in my heart that I would never see his smiling face again. But I should start from the beginning.
The cool green waters of Sydney Harbour slid beneath the ferry as it nosed into Kurraba Point wharf. It was one of those great, sunny, winter days. Not too hot, not too cold but just right. Everything was right with the world. I was fifteen and it was 1957. Rock’n’roll came to Australia at the beginning of that year in the form of Bill Haley & the Comets at the Sydney Stadium. My mother and I were on our way to my godmother’s mansion at Kurraba Point.
Her name was Lorna Crowle and a more gracious lady you could not wish to meet. Her home was an amazing place, a three storey oval-fronted house right at the wharf. Inside, there was the most elegant collection of objets d’art you could ever hope to see. One showcase had a bracelet rumoured to have once belonged to Queen Victoria. There were also some very interesting musical instruments: a full-sized Wurlitzer organ, a nine-foot Steinway grand piano and a very expensive Italian piano accordion. But the least expensive and most interesting item to me was an old beat-up acoustic Hawaiian steel guitar, which I used to “pose off” with, pretending to be Bill Haley or Elvis or Eddie Cochran. It was during one of these posing off sessions that my godmother said: “My God Gwen (my mother, Gwendoline Hayton, nee Woods), doesn’t he look a natural with that thing? I think I’ll buy him one. Would you like one, dear?” Is the Pope a duck and can a Catholic swim? So saying, my dear godmother, whom I remember very fondly, bought me my first guitar.
It was a Levin round-hole acoustic which cost £19, purchased from J. Stanley Johnston’s which was then the hang-out for all budding musos in their lunch-hours. Also, I signed up for a series of lessons from Fred Butler (the guy who sold me the axe, man!). He lived and gave lessons at Taylor Square, right above Kinselas. Fred taught me the basics of the guitar — how to read chords and dots. I was never really good at dots but who really needed it for rock’n’roll? I am very thankful though for some of the things that Fred taught me and still use them today.
Fred wanted me to play classical guitar, which he played beautifully, but my first love was rock’n’roll and pop music in general. One night I came for my lesson with a Chuck Berry record (Schoolday) and asked Fred to teach it to me. He said: “You don’t want to play that rock’n’roll shit, boy! Learn those classics, play those Combo Orchestra arrangements, learn to read, tote that barge, lift that bale, blah, blah, yacketty-yack!!!”
Well that was when Fred and I parted company and I began to learn my beloved rock’n’roll songs by ear from records.
I was nearly discouraged from playing the guitar altogether by looking at all those silly
