Shirley (14 page)

Before each session Michael and Shirley would go to Johnny Franz’s flat and talk over what she was going to record with Johnny, and with Oliver, who was the orchestrator. It was decided that her first recording should be the song Ross Parker had written for her debut at the Astor club, ‘Burn My Candle’. Johnny soon found that Shirley had exceptional gifts; not only a powerful voice, but a photographic memory, and the priceless ability to interpret what the composer and lyricist had in mind. She could change key in the middle of a song – something few singers can do – and she listened and absorbed quickly.

Compared with modern recording studios, the Phillips studio in Bayswater in 1956 would seem old fashioned, but at the time and of their kind they were very good. It was a large studio and a full orchestra of excellent musicians was always engaged. When her song was being recorded Shirley
sat alone in a soundproof box so that she could not hear (as she sang) how her song was going.

At the end of a take the two men in charge would go over to her. Johnny would say, ‘Come in softly, then build it up in volume. Okay Shirley?’ And Oliver would say, ‘Now how about a bit of light and shade here. Can you do that, Shirley?’ They recorded take after take until they got it right. Johnny Franz had unlimited patience.

Shirley’s first two recordings were very successful and the second was a best-seller. On Phillips P.B. 598, Shirley sang ‘Born to Sing the Blues’ on one side and on the other, ‘The Wayward Wind.’ She was applauded for her original style. Here was a home-grown singer who didn’t turn herself into a carbon-copy of American stars. Critics observed that Shirley might still have been a bit of a rough diamond but this Cardiff girl singer had the mysterious stuff of which stars are made.

With praise like this Shirley and the recording team were delighted, but Johnny wanted her to record something that would really soar in the charts, which the other songs had not quite done. Shirley didn’t care for the number he chose. It was a calypso; she didn’t want to be known as a calypso singer and she sang it every night in
Such is Life
. It was ‘The Banana Boat Song’, but Johnny persuaded her into it and it rocketed right to the top of the charts.

Everyone said that Johnny Franz died too soon; he was well loved in the industry and his life ended tragically early. He would have been so pleased to know that his protégée, Shirley Bassey, would become one of the biggest recording stars in the world.

Shirley assumed that all record producers would be as kind and understanding as Johnny Franz. She was very wrong. Months later, when Shirley was invited to make a recording at the Columbia Studios in New York she was treated very differently. In New York it was tough professionalism. Time was money over there and Mitch Miller, the American producer, one of the world’s greatest with pop records, whose artists included Sinatra, told Michael Sullivan in no uncertain terms that if Shirley couldn’t get the phrasing right, the recording had better be cancelled. It was only when Sullivan soothed him, and then hissed at Shirley, ‘This guy expects the very best, for God’s sake, get it right this time,’ that the song was finally recorded.

Afterwards, on the way back to their hotel, Shirley wept in the taxi. ‘I’m not used to this; Johnny took me through every song several times.’ Although it was too late and the recording was not a real success it had been a hard and valuable lesson, and Shirley realised that she still had a lot to learn if she was going to be big on record.

But this was in the future – America had yet to come. Only a year had gone by since Shirley had climbed out of obscurity, and Sullivan knew that she needed one more big break. Something that would
really
get her name in the papers; something better than a conventional nightclub engagement, or appearing as a soubrette in revue. He wanted a big-name venue where foreign stars climbed over each other to get a booking – something that could herald her entrance into American show business.

The Café de Paris in Piccadilly Circus on the way to Leicester Square was his next goal. It had just reopened after being blown up in the war when many of the revellers
and dancers had died. An eccentric little man, Major Donald Neville Willing, ex-ENSA, was in charge now. He was a touchy fellow who wouldn’t appreciate the tough approach Sullivan had used with Bertie Green and Jack Hylton. Noël Coward and Marlene Dietrich were the Major’s idea of stars, not Shirley Bassey from Tiger Bay.

The nightclub at the Café de Paris had an air of luxury. The excellent restaurant downstairs circled the dance floor and boasted an abundance of attentive waiters; the orchestra was soft and melodic, and leading down from the balcony was a beautifully carved staircase. Down this staircase came some of the biggest names in international showbiz.

Sullivan began a slow and careful courtship of Major Donald, who was an elfin little man with a monocle. Every now and then he slipped in a mention of this fabulous singer he represented. The Major shook his head, ‘Sorry, dear boy, but I’m fully booked.’ Sullivan went round to see him often, because he lived nearby. ‘I’ll pay,’ Sullivan kept whispering, ‘wonderful costume, new songs, jewellery . . . and she’s beautiful and so sexy.’ The little major shuddered. ‘Leave it with me, dear boy, but I can’t promise anything.’

Then, out of the blue, came an urgent phone call. ‘Two weeks in September,’ whispered the Major. ‘Liberace can’t make it. Now don’t forget, you promised the songs and lots of gorgeous jewellery . . . diamonds I think would be nice.’

Sullivan broke the news to Shirley. He would get two hundred pounds from the Café de Paris of which one hundred pounds had to go to Jack Hylton. ‘There’s no such thing as a free lunch. I’ve got to get you a new dress and a new song, but in the long run it will be worth it. Bit worried about the jewellery, though.’

‘Diamonds!’ said Shirley, looking into the future. ‘I love diamonds.’

Bernard had written to Shirley telling her how much he missed her, Monte Carlo had become suddenly very flat and boring once the royal wedding was over and the weather hadn’t been very good. At the Gala he’d read a sonnet to Princess Grace, but he was dressed in a medieval costume with tights and a long cloak and felt a real fool, but the French were always crazy about tights and cloaks. Things were livening up a little now, however, because Marlene Dietrich had turned up to make a film. They were both staying at the Hôtel de Paris and Marlene had invited him round for a glass of champagne.

Shirley sent Bernard a picture postcard, telling him she was going to appear at the Café de Paris for two weeks in September, wasn’t it exciting? It would be nice if he could come over. She’d been to a new club in Finchley and met two old friends, Gloria and Pepe Davies. Didn’t Bernard come from somewhere near Finchley?
P.S. Balls, I love you
.

A chance meeting and Pepe Davies was back in Shirley’s life. He had promised that this time he would not be jealous. Shirley was glad to have him back; she’d missed his friendship.

Sullivan was busy making preparations for the Café de Paris. This venue was far more sophisticated than the Astor. A new tight black dress was being made for Shirley with a band of mink around the bust, and he had found a new songwriter, and a pianist to play for her. The songwriter, Ian Grant, wrote two numbers for her, ‘My Body’s More Important Than My Mind’, and another called simply, ‘Sex’.

‘My Body . . .’ suited Shirley very well. Her fresh young voice hinting, in the nicest way, at the kind of wickedness beneath.

Shirley was growing quite confident, when the missing Liberace suddenly surfaced and said he was now ready to appear at the Café de Paris. Shirley’s opening had to be put back until the end of September. Michael was philosophical: it would give Shirley a day or two’s good publicity, and allow her more time to perfect her songs. The phrasing and the emphasis on certain words was all important.

She was working so hard that, on the day before her opening, she broke down at a rehearsal and began to weep. Michael called a halt, took her home in a taxi and told her to relax, rest, and try and get a good night’s sleep. Shirley always worried because her voice needed sleep.

She did try to relax, she even went to the cinema with Barry, one of the boys who lived at Olivelli’s. Watching a movie always relaxed her. When they got home Shirley said she would make some tea while Barry went back to his room to find her a book. As soon as he left, the door burst open and in charged Pepe Davies, who must have been lurking outside, full of anger and jealousy that Shirley had been out with another man.

Next morning Sullivan had a telephone call from Papa Olivelli. In a voice filled with emotion and doom, Papa said that Shirley could not stop crying and Sullivan should hurry round. ‘Why?’ asked Sullivan.

‘Because last night that boy, Pepe, tried to kill himself here.’

Sullivan was out of the Mapleton Hotel and round to
Olivelli’s in record time. He found Shirley in bed weeping, her eyes swollen, and looking more like a bedraggled teenager than a glamorous singer. Between sobs she told her story. When Pepe started insulting her she told him she couldn’t take any more and he must get out and stay out. He yelled back at her, ‘All right, you won’t be seeing me any more!’ and stormed off.

She heard his car roar down the road, then turn and roar back. Suddenly there was a terrific crash, and she rushed downstairs into the street. Jammed between the heavy closed gates of a petrol station was a wrecked car. Lying next to it was Pepe, his face covered with blood. Someone called an ambulance and Shirley sat beside Pepe trying to comfort him but her friend Barry prevented her from going in the ambulance, reminding her of tomorrow’s opening.

‘And now he’s on the danger list,’ the distraught Shirley told Sullivan. ‘I must go to him.’ Sullivan talked to her about Pepe’s unreasonable behaviour. It was not her fault, but he was going to ruin her life if she let him get away with it. She began to calm down and he sensed her relief that someone else was taking over. He told her that Pepe had loving parents to look after him; she had to try and carry on. He reminded her that her mother was coming up from Cardiff especially to see her opening. Shirley finally agreed and got up to wash her face. She did well through an afternoon’s band rehearsal, got through two houses of
Such is Life
and was right on form all the time. Then they went by taxi to the Café de Paris.

Shirley gasped with amazement as she opened the door to her dressing room. The room was overflowing with baskets and bouquets of flowers. There was a pile of
telegrams ready to open. She was overjoyed. Sullivan said afterwards, ‘If I helped a bit with a few extra flowers and telegrams I knew it would please her’.

Juhni Sullivan and the dresser both helped Shirley get ready. The new dress showed off her beautiful shoulders. Then they opened the boxes of diamond jewellery that Michael had hired from a Bond Street jeweller just for the opening night. Shirley took a deep breath – her first diamonds! The dresser fitted the necklace, then the earrings and finally clasped the bracelet around Shirley’s wrist. ‘Aren’t they fabulous,’ Shirley whispered in awe. She looked spectacular. Her mother, sitting quietly in the room, was as overcome with delight and wonder as her daughter.

‘They’re worth ten thousand pounds,’ Michael told them.

‘Then I’m scared,’ replied Shirley

The diners had finished eating, soft music was playing. At last it was cabaret time. Shirley glided down the opulent staircase as if to the manor born. The audience in their evening gowns and jewels and immaculate dinner suits applauded, the clapping reaching a crescendo by the time she stood in front of the microphone. ‘Thank you, thank you,’ she said in a small voice with a marked Welsh accent; her accent always returned when she was excited. ‘Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.’

There were journalists and writers at the Café de Paris that night who still remember Shirley Bassey’s debut. Some of them had once called her voice young and raw, but now, they said, her voice had matured and developed. Her songs were recorded at the Café de Paris and hearing the old recordings nowadays her voice is vibrant and electrifying.

Bernard did come over from Monte Carlo to hear her, and was astounded at how much she had changed in a few short months. Her voice was like a trumpet, a trombone, he thought, and what was more she had real allure. He had been seeing quite a lot of Marlene Dietrich and he realised that these two women had something in common, they both invited fantasy.

That night at the Café de Paris Shirley could do no wrong. Those long tapering fingers really got to the audience; not only could the girl sing like an angel, she positively sizzled with sex. In the dressing room afterwards Sullivan couldn’t stop hugging Shirley and while they danced around the room, he carolled, ‘We’ve done it, Shirley, we’ve done it!’ They’d hit the top rung of the ladder for the first time. Liberace, with his mother and his brother George, came round to congratulate and kiss Shirley and tell Sullivan that he was doing a great job.

Michael and Juhni were going on to Churchill’s nightclub in Bond Street together to celebrate with their publicist, Philip Ridgeway, who had undertaken to return the diamonds to the jeweller.

As soon as they arrived at Churchill’s, Ridgeway rushed up to them. ‘Have you got them?’ he asked anxiously. ‘The boxes of diamonds?’

But Sullivan had rushed off, forgetting to take them. He hurried back to the Café de Paris and into Shirley’s dressing room. It was empty. Shirley and her mother had gone, the jewellery boxes were there, but they were empty and not a diamond in sight. Sullivan gave up, he only hoped that Shirley had taken the diamonds home with her. If not, God help them all.

Shirley and Eliza, in the meantime, had wondered what had hit them. Michael had left without a word about what to do with the jewels. Shirley complained to her mother. ‘He told me they are worth a fortune, he even told me he’d hired a detective to look after them. What a lie that was, where’s the detective? And what does he do? Bugger off and leave us holding the baby.’