but Woolly’s enthusiasmfor classical, liturgical and baroque music stands out, as does his melodic sensibility. ‘The Sun Will Never Shine’ is quintessential popsike, ‘Mother Dear’ marries folk structures reminiscent of Peter Sarstedt to strings that recall Grieg, ‘The Iron Maiden’’s hymnal harmonies are closer to Michel Legrand than Haight Ashbury, and the cascading, epic ‘Dark Now My Sky’ (voiced by Holroyd, but with Woolly’s chiming organ and piano to the fore) is the album’s centrepiece. Once Again (’71) finds them leaner, yet still progressive, with Wolstenholme taking lead vocals on six tracks, among them the brooding ‘Happy Old World’, the anthemic ‘Song For Dying’ and the band’s signature tune, ‘Mocking Bird’: all three vocalists have sung it on various occasions, but Woolly’s rendition remains the best known, a timeless paean to “rain, sea, surf, sand, clouds and sky”, and everything beautiful in nature.
Similar evocations such as ‘The Poet’ and ‘Moonwater’ surfaced on subsequent albums, while later compositions ‘Beyond The Grave’ and ‘Ra’ reflected his interest in mysticism. But somehow, neither Wolstenholme’s meditations, Holroyd’s soft- rock leanings or Lees’ mixture of political protest and hard-rocking innuendo (causing ’78 single ‘Loving Is Easy’ to be banned by several stations) secured BJH the same success at home as contemporaries like Genesis or Tull. They were also castigated for playing in South Africa (allegedly leading to a lifelong ban by Radio 1), and their tagging as the “poor man’sMoody Blues” even though Lees composed a song of that name which became a fan favourite, really rankled. One album later, despite Radio 2 rotation of his XII contributions ‘Harbour’ and ‘In Search For England’, the unhappy keysman departed to formMaestoso, yet, somehow, he lacked the drive to promote himself, and retired into
farming.Maybe it was self-consciousness,maybe it was because punk had happened. Or possibly, it was because of the debilitating illness known as clinical depression.
Destroying almost as many lives as cancer, yet still not taken seriously or discussed openly enough, depression is particularly common among entertainers (Stephen Fry and Peter Sellers being two prime examples) and creative people, this writer included, but I wasn’t aware until too late, that Woolly had it. After all, so many BJH songs (‘Mother Dear’, ‘Paper Wings’, ‘Song For Dying’, ‘Happy Old World’, ‘Summer Soldier’, ‘Beyond The Grave’, ‘The Streets Of San Francisco’) discuss dark topics that the lyrics are easily mis-readable as standard prog-rock subject matter: the same could easily be said about Crimson, VDGG, The Strawbs or Floyd. Therefore,
when I saw Woolly, his vocals as commanding as ever, clearly enjoying himself onstage (playing a genuine Mellotron, named Mel in honour of drummer Mel Pritchard, who had passed away in 2003), it never occurred to me how much he was suffering.
He gave no hint in conversation either: at Cambridge Rock ’09, Leafhound, for whom I roadied, shared dressing room facilities with BJH, and backstage, his cutting Northern humour was paramount, although he had reservations about festivals, particularly after the “memories of Woodstock” fiasco the same year. Headlining that night, the band were at their peak, and Woolly’s banter, berating the piss-poor organisation which put them onstage two hours late, satirising his age and finances, and dubbing The Moody Blues “the poor man’s Barclay James Harvest”, was inspired, cutting the bullshit and coming straight out with it. He also made no bones about his dissatisfaction with this magazine, particularly after it failed (grrr, internal politics) to print my review of the band’s Glasgow show, stating
Woolly, his 'tron and drummer Mel Pritchard
stage known as “anhedonia”, when one finds no joy, happiness or purpose in anything, even playing in a wonderful band. Seasonally affected disorder, sharing comorbid symptoms with depression, may also be a factor, and while BJH’s songs often paint elegiac pictures of blustery, wintry English days, we shouldn’t forget how unbearable for some those days can be. Alternatively, while suicide is tragic for friends and families for the deceased, maybe for the sufferer it is the only true release. Who can say?
While BJH’s songs paint elegiac pictures of blustery, wintry English days, we shouldn’t forget how unbearable those days can be
“I’ve still no bloody proof whether you’re a genuine journo or some nutter”. The correct answer, of course, is both…
Sadly, that was the last time I spoke to or sawhim. In November, a fellow writer informed me the bespectacled ivory-tinkler would not be joining Lees for the forthcoming dates, which was worrying in itself, for recently, deaths of sexagenarian musicians have been all-too-frequent. However they tend to be due to natural causes, and if someone’s still physically fit and well at that age, you expect them to stick around until The Reaper comes calling rather than dying by their own hand.
“If life is so hard to live, why not die?”
I mean, surely, members of teen-angst combos like Nirvana and the Manics top themselves, not old prog-rockers. And somehow because he once cut a track called ‘Suicide?’ and sang “Guess I’ll go and kill myself, so would you kindly close the blinds”, you didn’t expect him to actually do it. Not at 63. But, on 14th December 2010, Stuart John Wolstenholme closed the blinds for the final time. It’s hard to second guess what the “final straw” was, but perhaps his depression had reached that
Though BJH were never “cool” (indeed, Woolly would have despised the very notion) and often cited as the epitome of everything punk (allegedly) tried to destroy, their influence is now felt more than ever, particularly in the work of Midlake and John Grant, who wear their love of psych-inflected soft-rock on their sleeves and bear more than a passing resemblance to the band circa Octoberon, the ultimate irony therefore being that millions now take solace in music its own co-creator found scant consolation in. I’m sad he never saw my appreciation of his work in print, and that the mooted interview never happened, but I’d like to think this article would set his mind at rest.
The music industry is full of shallow gits, but Woolly was not one of them. Strangely, though he and his partner Sue (a woman also blessed with a fine, sardonic humour) lived, like me, in London, each of our meetings were in our different cities: yet wherever or whenever the occasion, he was never less than pleasurable company, and his passing has affected me greatly. If one positive thing could come from this, you’d hope it would be for Lees and Holroyd to finally bury the hatchet, as it would be a shame for the last men standing to stand alone. But we shall see. In the meantime, if a friend of yours is depressed, rather than telling them to “pull themselves together”, try talking to them about it, or maybe even just listening. It could help.
Dedicated to Sue Foulston, Mark & Vicky Powell, Keith & Monika, John Lees, Les Holroyd, all BJH members past and present, and their families.
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