Brian Auger: To Oblivion and Beyond

Brian Auger is recognized as one of the most charismatic organists on the planet. For six decades he has stayed current through projects that were in sync with, and often ahead of, the times, thanks to a firm vision and well-chosen artistic partnerships. Through a career that has seen him play with the likes of Tony Williams, John McLaughlin, Julie Driscoll, Long John Baldry, Rod Stewart, Gary Boyle, Eric Burdon and Zucchero, to name a few, Auger has developed a trademark sound rooted in rock music and soul-jazz, in the tradition of the great American organists of the fifties and sixties, most notably Jimmy Smith.

We reached out to him at his California home to talk about his celebrated career and the recent collaboration with the label Soul Bank Music, who are unearthing the gems that have been sitting in his vault for decades, starting with Auger Incorporated.

All About Jazz: Your new release, Auger Incorporated, kicks off your collaboration with the company that will promote your entire catalogue moving forward. Can you tell us more about that?

BA: I was approached by one of my best friends who manages !K7, a music company which has six different labels, including Soul Bank, run by my dear friend Greg Boraman. They've really done a great job on the tapes, the packaging... I couldn't ask for more. Well, I could, but I didn't... [laughing].

AAJ: Are they planning to release more titles soon?

BA: I would hope so. I'm still writing, you know. I was writing this morning, and so I hope to continue. I have some people that I really trust, especially at Soul Bank. Greg Boraman, who is also an organ player, probably knows more about my music than I do. I'm hoping at some point that the pandemic is going to stop so I could do some live concerts again. I hope I get a chance to play live.

AAJ: The new album starts with your renditions of "The Preacher" by Horace Silver and "Poinciana," the Nat Simon composition usually associated with Ahmad Jamal. These recordings date back to 1962 or 1963, right?

BA: It's possible. I have spent so many years on the road and in the recording studio that I can't remember every detail.

AAJ: In these two early tracks you are playing piano. Did you take piano lessons growing up?

BA: No, I am self-taught. I was born in 1939, I'm still a young man, of course [laughing]. My father had a pianola, a mechanical piano which played through rolls of perforated paper. It pulled the paper across a grid which corresponded with the notes of the piano. My dad had collected up an amazing cupboard full of these rolls of music, including operas or stuff like Beethoven's "Moonlight Sonata."

AAJ: Your parents were music aficionados, not musicians... .

BA: Indeed, they were not musicians. However once my dad stunned me... when he worked out how to play his favourite tune, "Bye Bye Blackbird," on the piano. As for myself, I used to hold on to the underneath of the keyboard and stand on the pedals and move these things like a crazy cyclist and the notes would play on the piano. Rossini's "William Tell Overture" was one of my favorites [starts singing the theme].

AAJ: So you discovered everything by yourself?

BA: Yeah. I turned on the pianola, pedaled, hung on, watched the notes play and I played with it. That's how I discovered the keyboard. My house was bombed during the war. I was never went to piano lessons because it was too dangerous to walk around. I was evacuated to a place just south of Leeds, and fortunately these people were very kind and took me and my sister in. The universe must have been following me around at that time, because, as it turned out, they had a piano! When I heard something I liked on the radio I would try and play it on the piano. This went on for a couple of years. Then I went back to London. I went into the front living room and there was my piano. I used to call it "my piano" and I thought "I'm definitely home."

AAJ: Do you remember your first professional gig?

BA: It was probably in a club called the Flamingo. In the center of London. I was called by tenor saxophonist Jimmy Skidmore, who, by the way, is the father of saxophonist Alan Skidmore, a dear friend of mine.

AAJ: Are you still playing the piano?

BA: I still love the piano because it's a whole different instrument from the electronic stuff. A different experience for me.

AAJ: As far as I can see, you were more in the Red Garland, Wynton Kelly and Horace Silver vein, then Bill Evans.'

BA: I have small hands so I can barely reach a 9th. I love Bill Evans' changes but that wasn't a style that I was particularly drawn to. I liked all the piano players that were in Miles Davis' groups. I also really liked British pianist Victor Feldman, who used to play with Cannonball Adderley.

AAJ: He moved to the US...

BA: He was a child prodigy. At the age of five, his mum and dad had his act on the vaudeville circuit, and he played drums. Later he started to play the vibraphone. But his piano playing for me was just, oh man, unbelievable!

AAJ: How did you start playing the organ?

BA: Well, first I heard some Jimmy Smith stuff. I was walking through Shepherd's Bush market, where I lived at that time, and I heard this sound... I couldn't believe it! It was so hip and so powerful. It was "Back at the Chicken Shack." I went in the store and asked "What is this?" They showed me the cover. I said: "Ok, wrap that up. I'm taking it home."

AAJ: And then what happened?

BA: There was a guy who ran the Flamingo Club, Rik Gunnell. We became great friends and he asked me: "Why aren't you playing organ?" Because all of the bands he managed had an organ. I said: "How dare you? I'm a jazz pianist." And he said: "Yeah, but you should get an organ. I will get tons of work for you and you'd be a natural." I said: "No, no, no, I'll never do that."

About three months later, Georgie Fame—one of the musicians managed by Rik—went on a short holiday in Cornwall for two or three days and unfortunately had this freak accident, during a heat wave in England. Can you believe we had a heat wave in England? He fell asleep on the beach, got a sun stroke and had to be taken to hospital. Rik called me up in a panic. He said: "I have booked all these gigs. I can't cancel them. We have two or three gigs a day for the next 10 days. You're the only one I know that can do this." I said: "Sure, I can play those tunes." Rik confirmed: "Then you're starting tonight at The Roaring 20s, on Carnaby Street." I went there. The guys were setting up. I looked around and asked: "Hey guys, where's the piano?" They looked at me: "We ain't got any piano." I said: "Well, what am I supposed to be playing?" They answered: "George's organ is up there." I said: "I don't know anything about this organ... " I had to decide what to do and that organ was what Georgie was playing, an Hammond M3, one step up from the L100. I started to panic. I went up and looked at all these switches and I said to myself: "Come on, you know the tunes... Try and make a sound out of this thing that comes as close as possible to Jimmy Smith." I managed to kind of get this sound going and I played the set. The more I played it, the more I started liking it. I was, as Rik Gunnell said, a natural. I left the stage after the first set and a guy came up to me and said: "I thought you were a pianist." "I said: "Well, yeah, I am. I still play piano." He said: "How long have you been playing organ then?" So, I said: "I don't know. 45 minutes?" And that was when I realized that Rik had got me. I bought a Hammond and the rest is history, as they say.

AAJ: In the early sixties you were in touch with John McLaughlin and played a lot together.

BA: Yeah, we were friends. We were both 17 or 18 years old, and we took every gig that was available. Usually, they were on the US Air Force and US Army bases. Every weekend, we would play a few sets and generally have a great time. A real buddy.

AAJ: Are there any recordings of your collaboration?

BA: No, there aren't. I tried to get the trio and the quartet recorded but all the British labels were convinced that British jazz wouldn't sell.

AAJ: In the mid '60s your next big thing was Steampacket with Rod Stewart, Julie Driscoll...

BA: ... and Long John Baldry. It was early 1965, and I was playing in Manchester in a club with the trio and Long John came in. He was a household name. I finished the set and he came up and said: "Hey Brian, can I talk to you for a minute?" I said: "Sure." He said: "Look, would you like to come and talk to my managers on Monday morning? They've got an idea that they wanted put in front of you." I said: "Sure." I discovered that John wanted a new band. The managers asked me: "Would you be willing to form a band? You can keep your musicians but John says he's got to have Rod Stewart in the band." I knew Rod, he was around the scene and he even sat in with my band.

AAJ: Did Julie Driscoll start to collaborate with you in the Steampacket or did you play together before?

BA: Well, we were managed by the same person, Giorgio Gomelsky. I did a couple of singles with Julie. I was called just to do the sessions and I heard Julie sing. Wow. I asked her to join Steampacket. Two male voices and a female voice.

AAJ: What was the reason for the end of Steampacket?

BA: Well, we did this gig for a month in St. Tropez in the summer of '66. John was basically an alcoholic at the time. We had four sets with about 15 minutes between each one. So that went on until maybe about 2 or 3 in the morning and John just missed the last two sets. And I said to myself: "When we get back to town, we'll finish up our contracts and then I think I should do what the hell I like." This was the beginning of Trinity. I was looking for a drummer like Bernard Purdie and a bassist like James Jamerson. Then a guitarist and Julie singing.

AAJ: You recorded a couple of very good albums, you enjoyed great success and then you released a double album called Streetnoise, a true masterpiece.



BA: Our manager would interfere with the music and kept telling me that I needed two oboes on this album. I was thinking that he didn't know what he was talking about. On "All Blues" Julie did a spectacular vocal. Our manager asked the sound engineer, Eddie Offord, to delete that take and use that tape again. And I told Eddie: "No, you don't roll over stuff like that! If you touch that button I'm going to have to break your arm." So, we saved that version, but a big argument started at the end of which Gomelsky stormed out of the studio and left us on our own. We had been told: "You've got two weeks to get this thing done because they've already booked the American tour." So I wrote some tunes, Julie wrote some other tunes and we decided that we would pick from the best of the people we liked. Like Laura Nyro, for example, Nina Simone and Miles...

AAJ: After Streetnoise, Julie left and your quartet, still called Trinity, featured Gary Boyle on electric guitar, Dave Ambrose on electric bass and Clive Thacker on drums. I remember seeing this group in late May, or early June of 1970, in Gambettola, a small town just north of Rimini. With that line-up you recorded Befour, the beautiful album that included "Maiden Voyage" by Herbie Hancock and "Listen Here" by Eddie Harris. A groovy kind of jazz. Then you changed everything again and Oblivion Express started. It is interesting to note that with Oblivion Express you chose to record "Dragon Song," written by John McLaughlin for his album Devotion produced by Alan Douglas. It is well known that McLaughlin was not that happy with Alan Douglas' production style, and they had more or less the same kind of disagreements that you had with Giorgio Gomelsky.



BA: John gave me a call. I was in New York at that time. It must have been 1970. He said: "Brian, come and hear this record. I'm sure you're going to like it." Years before, when we used to play together, I was always asking John to turn up the volume. He had this little Gibson amp and I could never hear him. You know he was very... nuanced. And I kept asking: "Can you turn it up, John?" I asked this even on ballads and stuff like that. No way. He wouldn't. He always said: "No, no, no." And then now he said: "Come and have a listen." I went to the studio and there they put on "Dragon Song" and I thought: "Yeah, finally! I'm going to have to record that."

AAJ: "Dragon Song" killed you...

BA: And there is more. A door opened and in came Jimi Hendrix. He said: "Brian, how are you, man? It's good to see you." Alan Douglas was there as the guy who was actually producing and recording that McLaughlin's album. He started to talk to Jimi. In a very nasty way. He said to Jimi: "You know you're finished. This is the new guy." And I really didn't like that, and so I said to Jimi: "Let's go outside and talk man." So, we went outside and I saw the state that Jimmy was in. He had a gray tone to his skin and he had his girlfriend with him and she was the same. Jimi said: "Brian, can you stay and make an album with me now?" I asked: "Well, how long would it take?" I was used to doing rush jobs, like Streetnoise and my own stuff, an album in two afternoons in the studio. Jimi said: "Three months." I said: "No, I can't do it because I've got all these things to go back to. And if I cancel those contracts, they'll probably put me in jail." Anyway, he got this silver paper out and started to sniff this crap. I looked at him, and he said, "Oh I'm sorry," and he offered it to me. I said: "No, no, no, Jimi, you've got to stop doing all that shit, man. In the end it's going to kill you." He stopped and said to me one last thing, that is stuck in my mind: "You know what, Brian? I need a lot more people like you around me." What a waste of an incredible talent!

AAJ: Let's get back to your career. With Oblivion Express your career changed again in the '70s and then in the '80s and then again. You seemed driven by the need to change.

BA: Well, if you get something that sells a lot, the record companies want you to keep doing everything like that. It doesn't work like that. I saw Duke Ellington, who was one of my greatest icons, on a BBC broadcast and he was being interviewed by a well-known journalist, Joan Bakewell. She asked him: "So Duke, what kind of music do you like?" and he said: "Well, there's only two types of music. Good and bad." Right? So I knew that I would be going to do whatever the hell appealed to me and I'd arrange it in my way and just roll forward and see what happens. Sometimes I look back and go, "wow!." I've been so lucky that the universe has smiled on me.

AAJ: Bad marketing in music is dangerous. It expects musicians to repeat what made them successful. But that is not the way it goes, because creativity demands change.

BA: You have to change otherwise you die. When I looked at my Miles Davis albums I thought about that. He kept releasing very different albums, one after another. He was totally fearless. So, I told myself, "well, that's what I'm going to do."

AAJ: What is your plan for the future?

BA: I don't know, I'm going to try to stay alive. And I'm still playing and writing. Hope to go and play in Italy again, as I married a lady from Sardinia. For 51 years, my love. I love playing in Italy. So many funny things have happened to me in Italy. I tell you this one. We were playing on Lake Como, just by the lake-side. They put all the chairs out in the park. There was a gravel strip and then the stage and there was an old guy who was sitting in the front. He had two crutches to help him walk. In the middle of the concert he staggered to the stage and said: "Hey Breean." And I said, "Hello Sir, what can I do for you?" He answered, in Italian, "20 years ago I heard you and you played this tune. Can you play it for me now?" And I said: "Well, what's it called?" He said: "Oh, I don't remember the title." And then I said: "Oh well, look. If you sing a couple of phrases from this tune, I'll know what it is and I'd play it for you." And he said: "Oh, I can't." And of course, the audience loved this stuff. You know, certain things happen only in Italy.

AAJ: When did you get married?

BA: That was 1968, in London. We had met in Milano about one year earlier, at a club called The Bang Bang. Ella is her name.

AAJ: In the late '60s you were a big rock star all over Europe. In Italy you were even more than a star. Your songs "Save Me" and "This Wheel's on Fire" were high on Hit Parade, Italy's Top Ten list.

BA: It was just a wonderful time. Well, it always is in Italy, every time I go there. There's always something happening that's great. Once, we were along the Adriatic sea, in San Benedetto del Tronto or somewhere near. I arrived and the manager of the hotel came down. Signora Olga was her name. She said: "We have heard that you like to drink a lot of tea." And I said: "Yes, English tea." She said: "Yes, of course. We have sent somebody to Fortnum and Mason and they have brought tea and biscuits." That's all wonderful. This is great and she said: "Your room has a terrace and you can look over the sea. Your band can come up and we have laid out a couple of tables for them." They brought up the tea and biscuits and we're sitting there. This is good. This is amazing. There was a garden in front. And then this road went into infinity, that way and this way. Someone yelled: "Wait a minute, look at this." There was a little Topolino [a tiny little FIAT car] with two megaphones on top, which looked like it had just been snatched out of a film or something... And there was somebody inside the car, which was covered with posters of our gig. When the car arrived in front of us, the guy inside said in Italian: "Stasera il più grande spettacolo della stagione, Breean Aujer e il suo Pony Express." [Tonight the greatest show of the year, Brian Auger and his Pony Express]

AAJ: This happened in the seventies?

BA: Yeah, in the seventies.



AAJ: What is the story behind the name Oblivion Express?

BA: Around the time when Streetnoise came out I was trying to build a bridge between the rock and jazz scenes, so that other people could crossover. After the Trinity, which was really big, they wanted me to keep playing the same thing again, and I said no and I put a new band together, for which I needed a name... I knew I was going to go against the tide, and I thought that maybe that was going to be the quickest way to oblivion. And so I thought "I'll call it the Oblivion Express."

AAJ: This is very interesting because in fact, you were one of the first to create a bridge between rock at the highest level and jazz. A funky kind of jazz. "Tropic of Capricorn" is maybe the perfect tune to understand the way you were going. A great opener, by the way, groovy and catchy.



BA: I'm gonna write a trio of things, "Tropic of Cancer" and "Congo" to go with "Tropic of Capricorn." I have an idea for "Tropic of Cancer" and I will complete it. I got some time to actually be quiet and think about it. I don't know where "Tropic of Capricorn" came from but I remember doing anything but what Gomelsky kind of liked. He kept saying: "That's wrong." I said: "Giorgio, it's not wrong. Just listen to it!." When I played "Tropic of Capricorn" to The Zoot Money's band, in Los Angeles, the guitarist loved it! It was cool!

AAJ: It's a great tune. I really like it. Hope everything will be great for the next 50 years.

BA: Yes, I hope so. That would be great.

AAJ: Brian, I said 50, not 15.

BA: I know, I heard it right and 50 is OK with me.

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