I had a brief
acquaintance with Max in the first few weeks after I joined Melody
Maker in 1970. Before he
became the middle man between the tabloid press and those who sought to benefit
by selling them their sordid tales of deceit between the sheets, Max was
involved in music PR, first as an assistant in the EMI press office, where he
encountered The Beatles*, and
then working for Les Perrin, PR to many rock musicians, not least Beatles John,
George and Ringo and The Rolling Stones. Max looked after the lesser names on
Les’ client list, among them Status Quo, then undergoing a major image change
from modish psychedelic pin-ups to denim-clad purveyors of the no-nonsense
boogie that would sustain them thereafter.
Quite how I have no idea
but Max had somehow discovered that at that time, before I found a
flat-share in Bayswater, I lived near Egham in Surrey. Status Quo were playing
a gig at a college in nearby Twickenham and Max invited me to go along and see them. I
wasn’t particularly keen on the idea and when I demurred he said, and I kid you
not: “I’ll bring a bird for you.”
I was momentarily
speechless. Perhaps he thought I imagined that Status Quo would stump up for a
chicken dinner after the show. More likely he realised I was new to the job and
a bit wet behind the ears. So he clarified his offer.
“I’ll bring a girl for
you for the night.”
I was indeed pretty
green in those days, my first few weeks on MM, certainly inexperienced in the
ways by which dodgy PRs might snare the likes of me. I really wasn’t sure how
to react. I didn’t actually know whether or not this was the norm in the world
of pop into which I had so recklessly thrown myself.
“Er, that’s not
necessary,” I stammered. “I’ll come anyway.”
My name had been left on
the door at the college in Twickenham and, mindful that I’d have compromised myself
had I accepted his offer, I turned up with a (male) pal just in case the “bird”
was waiting for me anyway. She wasn’t but Max was surprised that I’d turned up
with my pal. Indeed he seemed more than surprised. He looked at me like I was
mad, or maybe gay. Why on earth, he reasoned, would anyone turn down a “bird” –
it was left unsaid what the provision of a girl would lead to, but it doesn’t
take much to figure it out – in exchange for something as simple as a favourable
MM review for Status Quo?
I can’t remember what I
wrote about Status Quo but even though this clearly wasn’t their doing it put
me off them for life. Happily, I had no further dealings with Max Clifford. Not
long after this he set up his own company and switched from pop to
kiss-and-tell, ultimately rising to the top in this field, the king of
manipulative wheelers and dealers, the champion of women seduced and then
abandoned by randy footballers, politicians and other men in the public eye.
This wasn’t Melody Maker’s turf, of course, but I watched
with mild interest from the sidelines as the man who once offered me a “bird”
rose from strength to strength, acting as a broker between the wronged women
and The Sun and its ilk, negotiating deals
whereby the papers paid considerable sums for the saucy revelations, and taking a cut of the money, usually 20%. Heaven only knows how much
he charged for keeping stories out of the newspapers.
This made him very rich,
of course, bought him a fancy house and flash cars, but along the way he made many
enemies who would no doubt have gloated when Max found himself sentenced to
eight years for sexually assaulting young girls and women. He even wrote an
autobiography in which he bragged about his sexual adventures, and the book was
leapt upon by the prosecution during his trial. Hoisted by his own petard
indeed.
Max had threatened to
write another book in which he would reveal those secrets about his clients
that he’d managed to keep out of the press but now it seems the book is unlikely to see the light of day. No doubt those former clients will sleep more soundly in
their beds now that the King of Sleaze is no more. My condolences to his
family.
* Before
it was taken down after his conviction, the website of Max Clifford Associates
claimed that in 1963 he worked for The Beatles and, by inference, played some
role in their rise to fame. On Wikipedia it stated that he had been given the
job of promoting “an unknown group called The Beatles early in their career,
including their first tour of the United States”.
I always thought this
was a dubious claim and to confirm my suspicions spoke with my friend Mark
Lewisohn, the world’s most reliable Beatle archivist. According to Mark,
Clifford was a junior assistant in the EMI press office in 1963. “The Beatles
didn’t have a great deal to do with that office because Brian Epstein hired
independent PRs, first Andrew Oldham and then Tony Barrow,” said Mark. “When
they did have cause to fraternise with EMI, they mostly worked with press
officer Syd Gillingham and his senior assistant Brian Mulligan. Clifford may
have mailed out press releases. While he was certainly present at one Beatles
photo session, this was only because it happened to take place right by his
office at 20 Manchester Square. Otherwise, he wasn’t involved. He certainly
never toured with them, or helped set up any tours. They’d no need of him.”
So that’s cleared that
up.
1 comment:
I often wonder how much of the "working" Max Clifford was known to his wife and daughter, both of whom were/are thoroughly decent people.
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