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Spring mornings in western Tennessee can be as beautiful as anywhere in the South. This was the first one I'd experienced firsthand, and by eight o'clock the sun was bright and the clear sky was a brilliant shade of blue. I'd flown into Memphis the previous night and was still off-balance and jetlagged. I'd been woken at 3:00am by a thunder crash right above my hotel room. This was followed by a violent storm and torrential deluge that disrupted my attempted night's sleep. By six I decided it was no good, I might as well get up.

Driving was pretty easy. The roads were deserted, and negotiating Memphis's wide streets and avenues was a pleasure. I was well prepared for the heat but the rising temperature at this early hour in April still took me by surprise. I headed northeast on the empty roads and in 20 minutes I arrived at my destination, the Memory Hill Gardens Cemetery. In retrospect I realised that I had just driven through a ghost town to get to a cemetery.

The gates were open, and laid out before me was a large, flat field. All the graves were level with the grass, with only the occasional glint of sunlight catching on the inscriptions to show that they were there. Getting closer I could see that small bunches of flowers were carefully positioned across the field. With no one to ask it was a slow and arduous task to find the grave I was looking for. After a good 40 minutes, I passed the small chapel at the rear and found the stone I was looking for, tucked away by a large tree:

Bell

Christopher Branford

1951-1978

After taking a moment to think about why I was there, I self-consciously took a dozen photos: the grave, the chapel, the field. I never met Chris Bell. I was over 25 years too late. It only hit me later how poignant it was that my first visit of the trip was to the one band-member who couldn't tell me his side of the story. Memphis writer Robert Gordon always says that things there aren't quite 'right', and this seemed to be my own example of Memphis at work-standing in a cemetery early on a Sunday morning, not sure what I was trying to achieve by my pilgrimage other than to pay my respects.

As I set out from the cemetery there were now many more cars on the road. Within 30 minutes it was almost like rush hour, except it was 9:30 on a Sunday morning. When I stopped for breakfast, the diner was virtually empty; by the time I left, so were the roads. It was only when I picked up the Sunday newspaper that I realised what was going on-everyone was going to church. The papers had page after page of adverts explaining who was giving which sermon at which church and what they would be preaching about. The adverts were much like the cinema listings in newspapers back home, with photos of each preacher and details of all the different churches. There must have been hundreds of them. So I was more prepared when, a couple of hours later, the churches emptied and the roads were heaving once again. This was Memphis, where things are a little bit different.

Almost two decades ago, I decided that I did want to be a writer after all. I'd toyed with the idea and done a little fanzine work, but only then did I get the burning desire to write a book. The book I wanted to write was about Big Star. I still have a pile of rejection letters to remind me of how the publishers of the day felt about it. Between then and now I've written for many magazines and authored a small handful of books. Every time I finished a book and it came time to suggest a follow-up I always started with Big Star, and I always got the same reply: "Good idea, but it's not quite right for our list at the moment." Again and again it was pushed to one side.

I worried that one day I'd walk into a book store and see the Big Star story sitting there, written by someone else, so I kept going, and I was encouraged by the introduction to Patrick Humphries's excellent Nick Drake biography, where he talks about the difficulty of getting a publisher. "They're like policemen," he writes. "There's never one there when you need one."

I first started submitting proposals for a Big Star book in 1994. For most of the next decade my discussions with publishers went something like this:

"I'm thinking of writing a book about Big Star."

"Who?"

"You know: Big Star. Alex Chilton. The Third album."

"Sorry, I have no idea what you're talking about."

Sometimes the discussion went like this:

"I'm thinking of writing a book about Big Star."

"That's great, they're a great band. It's about time someone wrote a book about them."

"So would you be interested in it?"

"Err, no. Sorry."

Finally, in early 2002, I had a discussion with Andy Miller at 4th Estate.

"I'm thinking of writing a book about Big Star," I said.

"Brilliant," he replied. "When can you let us have it by?"

And there you have it. In fact, here you have it. In your hands. Right now. It might be an exaggeration to say that this book has been produced through copious amounts of blood, sweat, and tears, but not by much. No band in rock history has had such a story to tell and taken so long to have it told.

I was fascinated by the mystery surrounding everything about Big Star. Despite their legendary status, very little had actually been written about them, and apart from Alex Chilton the other names in the story were little more than shadowy figures. And, of course, there was the music, which stretched from their gloriously polished debut, through the crunching guitar-laden follow-up, to the twisted sidestep of Third. On top of this was the unanswered question: why weren't they a massive commercial hit?

I had found my way into the Big Star web through the unlikely means of The Bangles. It took me about a year to actually read the credits on their Different Light album and realise that my favourite song, 'September Gurls', was a cover of a song by an 'A. Chilton.' I didn't recognise the name and assumed that it was probably just a songwriter. It took a further couple of years until I found out that he'd been in a band called Big Star and was now a solo artist. I then found out about The Box Tops and everything else, and when the Rykodisc CDs came out in 1992 I was in heaven.

My first wave of manic collecting followed with record fairs and small ads in the likes of NME as I searched for any snippet of Big-Star-related material and snowballed until my first round of approaches to publishers in 1994. I contacted Ardent studios and got details for Jody Stephens and Andy Hummel. Alex Chilton, as I'd read, was much more difficult to track down, and uncooperative to say the least. (I seem to have developed a penchant for wanting to write about bands with enigmatic lead singers who didn't like being interviewed for books-Stephen Malkmus, Michael Stipe, and Lou Reed also come to mind.)

Big Star played in London in August 2001, and having made contact by telephone and email I wanted to grab an interview before or after they soundchecked. Jody Stephens, Ken Stringfellow, and Jon Auer had all agreed to do interviews for the book if it ever happened, but I still had not come face to face with Alex Chilton. After managing to blag my way past a couple of stern-looking security guards I got into the venue as the band were running through a few instrumentals. But Chilton had decided not to turn up. After the show, Jody told me that Alex was backstage but wasn't interested in talking. Big Star flew home, and I thought my chance had gone.

After pitching the book to various publishers for eight years I was on the verge of giving up on the project. Then two publishers came along at once. The first was a small independent publisher who invited me to London to discuss things further. I was heartened by this development but disheartened that they couldn't actually pay me an advance. I couldn't really afford to take on a project under those terms. It was a shame because they seemed very enthusiastic about the book, which by now had grown, to over 100 interviewees. I caught the train back to Nottingham on a wet February night thinking that might have been the only chance I'd ever get to write the book, but within days, and out of the blue, I met Andy Miller at Fourth Estate. Finally the planets had aligned, and I found a Big Star fan at a big publishing house on the right day. He desperately wanted me to do the book, and they'd pay me enough to cover my flight to Memphis-and some bills, too.

Within weeks the contracts were signed and I was booking flights. At this point the news of my visit started to send a few minor ripples through the Tennessee Big Star community. I arranged to hook up with Jody Stephens at Ardent. Richard Rosebrough was happy to meet up, too, and revealed that he'd been recording with John Lightman (who had dropped from view to the outside world in 1974). Further links allowed that Jim Dickinson might be available, as would John King and a few others. Shortly before flying out, Carolyn and I discovered that Big Star would actually be playing in nearby Oxford, Mississippi, while we were over there.

The interviews followed thick and fast: King, Rosebrough, Lightman, Stephens, Dickinson, and Fry were all gracious hosts in Memphis. The trip also led me to Tommy Hoehn and then Lesa Aldridge, and once I got home I was inundated by people who wished I could have met them in Memphis. But the climax of the visit was going to Oxford to see the enigmatic figure at the heart of Big Star.

Alex Chilton always guarded his privacy. Famous for not being famous, he did almost everything in his power to remain so. In what now amounts to almost two decades of research, I've found less than five TV interviews with the man. On my trip to see the show I was accompanied by Lightman and Rosebrough, who thought it would be a good idea to introduce me to Chilton afterward. I doubted it would have a happy ending. It didn't. It was obvious that he didn't want to even say hello, so I let him be.

Of the books I've written, Big Star has always generated the most interest. More people write to me about this book/band than all the others I've written put together. Now I've been lucky enough to get the chance to update the original text. In the decade (is it really that long?) that has passed since I wrote the original book, a lot happened in the Big Star world. When I sat down to put it all together it was deeply saddening to go through the list of people who have passed away. Alex Chilton was gone, and the Big Star story pretty much ended with his passing. Jim Dickinson, Carole Manning, Tommy Hoehn, Steve Rhea, and Andy Hummel were all generous and helpful the first time around but are sadly no longer with us. But there have been positive developments, too. Since the first version of this book, Big Star recorded their first new album in 30 years, and then produced a boxed set of rarities, too. I'd like to thank Nigel Osborne, Tom Seabrook, and all at Jawbone for the opportunity to finish off this story.

Finally, if you have any Big Star-related information to share-or would just like to chat about the band-you can contact me at robj@innotts.co.uk or visit my website at www.jovanovic.co.uk.

Rob Jovanovic

January 2013


An early promotional shot of Alex Chilton with The Box Tops (Special Collection, University of Memphis Libraries).

Alex Chilton and Dennis Wilson, on tour with The Beach Boys (author's collection).

Richard Rosebrough and Chris Bell in one of their pre-Big Star bands (Richard Rosebrough).

John Dando and Chris Bell at the University of Tennessee, 1971 (Andy Hummel).

Jody Stephens, as photographed by Andy Hummel.

An Ardent Records promo shot of Big Star, issued at the release of the group's debut album.

Another shot of Jody Stephens by Andy Hummel.

An Ardent Records promo sheet.

Self portrait by Andy Hummel.

The master sheet for the second side of #1 Record (Ardent Records).

Alex Chilton takes a break during the Radio City sessions (Andy Hummel).

Session sheet for 'September Gurls' (Ardent Records).

A press shot of the band around the time of the release of Radio City (Ardent Records).

The Ardent newsletter.

Lesa Aldridge, circa 1974 (Andy Hummel).

Chris Bell tries out a new guitar (John Fry).

Chris Bell onstage, 1976 (Van Duren).

A late-70s ad for the UK release of the band's third albums (author's collection).

Alex Chilton's 'Can't Seem To Make You Mine' (author's collection).

Ad for the Columbia live album (author's collection).

A 1993 ad for the Rykodisc reissues (author's collection).

Ken Stringfellow prepares for a Third concert at the Primavera Sound festival in Spain (Dominique Stringfellow).

Mike Mills, Norman Blake, Brett Harris, and Skylar Gudasz sing 'Jesus Christ' (Dominique Stringfellow).

Jody Stephens sings 'For You' (Dominique Stringfellow).




The end of the line, 2009-13 | Bibliography

Memphis, Milan, Paris, London, 1973-74 | Memphis, TN, 1975 | London, England, and Memphis, TN, 1975 and 1976 | New York, NY, 1977 | Memphis, TN, 1978 | Memphis, TN, 1978-79 | Memphis, TN, 1979-80 | Memphis, TN, and beyond, 1981-92 | Around the world, 1993-2004 | In Space, 2005-08 |

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