The Mick Ronson Story: Turn and Face the Strange

‘A fascinating and brilliantly-researched guide to the life of a great and much missed musician.’

David Quantick, music writer

‘Released in 1970 The Man who Sold the World was Bowie’s first record with Mick Ronson and was Bowie’s attempt to shrug off his failed ‘one-hit-wonder folkie’ tag (achieved through the albeit limited success of Space Oddity). And strike a light did it do the job! Step in Bowie’s very own Jeff Beck, the Spider with the Platinum hair, my fellow northerner, Mick ‘Ronno’ Ronson. This is a lovingly crafted tribute to his life and his music.’

Marc Riley, BBC Radio 6 Music

‘Mick came from good stock. A no-nonsense Yorkshire lad who would rather get things done than talk about them. Need the public gardens in Hull sorted out? Done. Need some strings arranged on a Mott song? Done. Need a stunning guitar solo on Mott’s last single? Done (that one took 3 meticulous days). Need to beef up Dylan’s Rolling Thunder Tour with some proper rock guitar? Done. Want me to dress up and make up like a platinum-haired rock god? Done (with a touch of persuasion from Bowie). And a hundred other brilliant musical deeds. He didn’t live nearly long enough - but by gum, this book shows he LIVED!’

Morgan Fisher, Mott the Hoople

‘The wonder you felt if you were lucky enough to meet or encounter a musical genius like Mick Ronson, and the curiosity you couldn’t help but contemplate at that intangible gift which enabled, someone like him, to create such beautiful music and melodies, was truly fascinating to experience. His humble gift and legacy has been appreciated by many millions of people around the world and looks likely to remain just as impactful for many, many more to come. What a legacy it is.

Hull and Yorkshire – be proud. Be very proud.’

Kevin Cann, designer, writer, and music promoter

‘Ronson’s innovative use of the wah-wah pedal is still being appraised and appreciated by contemporary discerning guitarists. His track record as a player and composer is second to none. He was a massive influence on a whole generation of musicians. I first saw him play when I was 15. He blew my mind. A genuine guitar god!’

Martin Bramah, singer-songwriter and guitarist, and founding member of the Fall

‘I worked with Ronno at Trident Studios where he was responsible for producing the song that Bowie had written for me, Andy Warhol, which came out on my Weren’t Born A Man album when I was also signed to MainMan (as well as some other tracks) and not forgetting that his Slaughter on 10th Avenue came out as a single with me on the flip side. The first ever string arrangements that Ronno ever did was on my album. It was a sort of try out for him so he could then do what he wanted to do, which was to write arrangements. If you listen to the ‘found’ demo tracks that were discovered by Tris Penna and came out on my MainMan double album 2 years ago on Cherry Red Records, then you’d hear two rare tracks of Andy Warhol, with Ronno and Bowie playing, which had never been heard before until this release.

To work with Ronno was such an honour as his talent was extraordinary, especially his unique guitar sound. I will always consider it an honour to have worked with him, and he will always be missed by me. Love Dana’

Dana Gillespie, actress, singer-songwriter

‘My first recollection of hearing David Bowie was on a Saturday morning in 1969 whilst ice skating at Crossmyloof in Glasgow, Scotland. The radio was blaring out ‘Space Oddity’ and I was hooked. My interest took me on an adventure of exploration, seeking out everything I could from this weird alien God. My best friend, Ian Reekie, bought Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars and this lit the touch paper for my meteoric rise to lead guitar playing. Mick Ronson had a style of his very own, even the clothes he wore had me imitating him in my days at College. I would wear white Oxford bags, a striped red and white v-neck T-shirt, with platform shoes borrowed from my brother John. Ziggy was coming to Glasgow, and my brother and I managed to get tickets for the matinee show. I had read in the music papers that the band never did encores at the matinee shows. The long- awaited day came and we went to the show at Green’s Playhouse in Glasgow. The band didn’t disappoint, they were incredible. I was very privileged to see that tour. The show ended and the band left the stage. John and I knew they wouldn’t be back on so we left the crowd cheering for an encore. Renfield Street was almost empty as we headed away for our bus home. We walked for about three blocks when we heard screaming from back at the gig. A limo was approaching and the lights beside us were red. We looked at the limo and saw David looking straight on and suddenly Ronno stuck his head out at the window and waved at us. In later years I reminded Ronno that he was the first Rock Star to acknowledge me.’

Derek Forbes, Simple Minds

‘Even now 50 years on Ronson’s guitar solo at the end of ‘Moonage Daydream’ still sends me to heaven.’

Daniel Ash, guitarist of Bauhaus

A proper biography of Mick Ronson, with a focus on the city that moulded him, was long overdue. Thankfully Rupert Creed and Garry Burnett have not just provided it, they’ve done so with style and panache. Mick Ronson was a genius who would never answer to such a description. His self-effacement in an industry bloated by hyperbole was one of the things that made him special – the other was his soaring musicality.

It’s very good and worth the wait for all those millions of fans of Ziggy Stardust and the Spider’s from Hull!’

Alan Johnson, award-winning author, and former MP

‘I feel the stage show Turn and Face the Strange celebrating Hull’s very own Mick Ronson deserves a world-wide audience, and I feel the same about this book.’

David ‘Burnsy’ Burns, BBC Radio Humberside

For Tracey

and for Louise

and everyone involved in making the magic that is the legendary Turn and Face the Strange show:

the TAFTS family!

ix

Foreword

by Midge Ure

It’s 1977 and the band I had recently moved from Glasgow to London to join, Rich Kids, were sitting in a pub discussing who we might want to produce our, what transpired to be, only album. We had various names suggested to us by the label but we suspected the names given were for their sales prowess rather than what they might bring to the music. I then suggested someone who I hugely respected and admired as a producer, guitarist, pianist and arranger. Mick Ronson.

It’s 1973 and I’m sitting in the Glasgow Greens Playhouse eagerly awaiting the matinee show from Ziggy Stardust and The Spiders from Mars. I was playing in my own bands that evening hence the matinee but I wasn’t about to miss this moment. It was love at first note! The band. The look. Bowie seducing the audience and to top it all, Mick. Mick with his beat up Gibson Les Paul, his Marshall half stack and his wah wah pedal pulled halfway back giving the guitar its unique, slightly strangled voice playing like there was no tomorrow and at the same time giving Bowie a run for his money when it came to stagecraft and showmanship. Eyes darting from one to the other like watching and supporting both tennis players in a match and never quite knowing who to root for more. It takes quite a powerful force to outshine David Bowie but more than once the spark from the side of the stage outdazzled the spark in the centre!

Mick producing Rich Kids gave me the opportunity to spend time with this unassuming, sometimes shy, understated man. Always happy to pop down the pub or smoke his roll ups. He seemed to be the antithesis of the guitar hero I had witnessed a few years before but his skills and abilities remained. I even found myself the keeper of the ‘holy grail’ of guitars when Mick asked me to look after his Gibson for a few months. Musician friends would come and gaze in wonder at the instrument responsible for the classic ‘Moonage Daydream’ solo. I’m not convinced in hindsight that the ensuing album was the ‘musical marriage made in heaven’ we all anticipated but it brought this genius into our lives and we were all better for it.

Mick agreed to play guitar for me on my 1986 Gift tour. Maybe xbecause I was wanting to hear ‘that sound’ I always associated with Mick or maybe I was living some sort of unattainable schoolboy dream it didn’t work out. I came to the conclusion I was restricting him by having him play parts rather than be himself, rather than be the brilliant musician I loved hearing. A few weeks into rehearsals I had to make the most difficult phone call in my life and explain to Mick I didn’t think this was working. Being who he was he took it with enormous grace and said he understood but I’ll never really know because we never had the opportunity to meet up again.

His melodies. His unique guitar and piano playing. His absolute northern down to earthiness. I miss it all.

He never wanted to be the centre of attention.

He never sought the limelight.

He was happy being a musician.

Not just a sidekick. THE sidekick.

Midge Ure, 2022

xi

Preface

by Garry Burnett

When I was twelve, Top of the Pops was one of the most popular programmes on the telly. We never missed it! I remember the momentous night when David Bowie put his arm around Mick Ronson in the middle of ‘Starman’ and feeling waves of silent disapproval emanating from my father’s fireside chair. I glanced over uncomfortably to see his newspaper lower six inches below his eyes and his brows rise almost to his hairline. ‘Bloody hell!’ he scoffed. ‘Is that a lad or a lass?’ Then he recognised Mick. ‘That’s him off Greatfield! He cuts the grass in East Park!’ I just kept my mouth shut because I thought it was brilliant. And the way he played guitar! Like thousands of others, from that moment on I wanted to be just like him.

I bought the Aladdin Sane LP the week it came out, from Cleveland Records on Craven Street Corner. I couldn’t wait to get home and play it. In those days we had a radiogram record player in our front room which was as big as a sideboard, and if you put a record on, everybody had to listen, you had no choice. So you can imagine how relieved I was that I was on my own the first time I played Aladdin Sane. The lyrics! Track 1 on side 2 was ‘Time’. ‘Time he flexes like a whore. Falls wanking to the floor…’ I blushed. I didn’t even really know what wanking meant at the time. All I knew was it was one of those words that you didn’t ask Dad the meaning of. So I came up with a diversionary tactic: to cough loudly every time it came on.xii

It seemed to work fairly well until one day, disaster struck. There must have been a piece of dust or fluff on the needle because the record began to jump, exactly on the word. ‘Time, he flexes like a whore, falls wanking… wanking… wanking…wanking…’ It must have sounded like I was having a coughing fit. I didn’t realise Dad was in the kitchen. He just strode over and booted the record player, all the way to ‘Jean Genie’. He never said a word, just disappeared behind his newspaper, as if nothing had happened. But when I went to give him his goodnight kiss that night, he just held up his hand. ‘Men don’t kiss men,’ he said. And from that time on I had to shake hands with him at bedtime. Every night, I’d kiss my mum and shake hands with dad. And though I laugh about it now, I remember going to bed that night feeling ashamed and embarrassed, as if I’d done something wrong, and also a bit scared, because I knew everything had changed.

 Drifting through my open bedroom window were all the night noises from East Park where Mick had worked, the peacocks and owls, and I thought, ‘Yes, Mick, you had something to do with all this’. And it was through you I that knew you could be from round here, from East Hull, there was nothing wrong with that, but you didn’t have to be the same as all the rest, that it was okay to dream, to be different.

And so most of my life Mick Ronson has been with me, as firstly a neighbour, then a role model and always an inspiration. Our families grew up and worked in many of the same places. And now he is buried in Hull’s Eastern Cemetery, close to home in the same grave as his parents, just round the corner from my own grandparents and uncles. It is a peaceful place, an oasis of calm sandwiched between two tough estates and opposite what was my old school. Turn your head and you can see cranes turning on the edge of the Humber, or smoke chuffing from the funnels on the North Sea Ferries, and catch the smell of the river and the woodyards in the air.

Listen carefully and you might also hear beautiful music, birdsong, sometimes woodpeckers, in the trees near the chapel, or tinkling wind chimes from the baby cemetery at the far end. One day as I put some flowers down I even thought I caught the four notes of ‘This is for You’, one of Mick’s haunting solos playing on the jingling chimes as a light breeze blew through.

Heaven, and Hull.

xiii

Preface

by Rupert Creed

In contrast to Garry, my teenage years were spent in Brighton. In the late ’60s and early ’70s, ‘London by the seaside’ was a cool place to be. I hung out with hippies on the beach, saw Pink Floyd, King Crimson, Free and Dr John play at the Dome, and sprawled on bean bags, listening to the latest albums on headphones in the smoke-filled booths of Virgin Records on North Street. In 1974 I swapped this vibrant southern scene for what felt at the time, the grey parochial grimness of Hull, moving north to study Drama and German at Hull University. Unlike Mick, who’d had to head to London to make his name as a musician, I was travelling in the opposite direction to train in theatre. By the time I arrived in Hull, Mick had relocated to America. I never got to see him play, let alone meet him in person, despite living in his home city for the next two decades. In fact, until his death in 1993, I didn’t even know that he came from Hull – such was the city’s lack of interest at that time in promoting or celebrating its stars. Close to half a century after first coming to the city, I am still here. I have made a career as a writer and theatre director, documenting and portraying the stories of this unique place and its remarkable people.

In 2016 Garry approached me with the idea of collaborating on a project recording the untold stories of Mick Ronson and celebrating his life and music in a stage show. With a commission from Hull City of Culture we embarked on Turn and Face the Strange. Over six months in 2017, we recorded the memories and stories of Mick’s family, friends, fans and fellow musicians. What emerged was the story of a young man whose personality and attitude were firmly rooted in the culture of the city, but whose ambition and sheer musical talent drove him from the safe and familiar into a new uncharted world of creativity. As sideman to David Bowie onstage, and a key collaborator in the making of his music, Mick played a crucial role in the history of popular music. Although he didn’t maintain the same success achieved with Bowie and the Spiders from Mars, his story doesn’t stop there. He sustained a prolific music career as a guitarist, song arranger and album producer right up to his death.xiv

Most rock histories portray Ronson primarily through the prism of Bowie in his Ziggy period, or alongside stars such as Lou Reed or Ian Hunter. We wanted to flip the traditional narrative back to Mick and offer a more Hull-centric focus. Our story sheds a more nuanced light on how the city and its culture shaped his personality, offered him a safe haven, and gave him a thorough grounding as a musician. It also gave him a culture he would ultimately kick against. Leaving Hull to join Bowie released the creative genie from the bottle and he never looked back. With his Spiders from Hull, Mick played a crucial role in the development of glam rock, journeying from a geographical backwater to the cosmopolitan mainstream. Alongside David Bowie they redefined and reset the boundaries of popular culture. It’s a story of the unlikely juxtaposition of northern attitude and London cool, and how the two at times clashed and combusted, but more often than not coalesced to produce the creative spark for songs that have inspired and been enjoyed by generations of listeners.

Being ‘on the ground’ in Hull, Garry and I had access to a rich resource of local people’s memories and stories of Mick. Some featured in the stage show Turn and Face the Strange, but many more appear for the first time in this book. The stage show sold out with its initial run in 2017 and this success continued through further performances at Hull Truck Theatre through to 2021. The show attracted visitors from as far afield as America, Scandinavia and Europe – a testimony to Mick’s enduring popularity at home and abroad. We have gathered more stories in the interim, all of which offer first-hand accounts of Mick’s life, character and skill as a musician. From estate kid to superstar, Mick Ronson was a man who stepped beyond his predetermined path, who turned and not only faced the strange, but chose to embrace it.

Contents

Title Page

Dedication

Foreword by Midge Ure

Preface

Introduction

1 Childhood and Early Years: 1946–1963

2 First Bands: The Mariners and The Crestas: 1963–1966

3 The Rats, Part One: 1966–1968

4 The Rats, Part Two: 1968–1970

5 Bowie, Hype and The Man Who Sold The World: 1970

6 From Ronno to Ziggy: 1970–1971

7 Ziggy Played Guitar: 1972

8 Ziggy’s Rise and Fall: 1973

9 From Sideman to Frontman: 1973–1974

10 Musician and Producer for Hire: 1974–1977

11 The Long Road Home: 1977–1993

12 The Legacy

Afterword by Kevin Cann

Appendices

Who’s Who

Mick Ronson Timeline

Bands and Artists that Worked with Mick Ronson as Musician and/or Producer

Mick Ronson’s Hull

Acknowledgements

Select Bibliography

Image Section Photo Credits

Index

Plates

About the Authors

Copyright

1

Introduction

Once upon a time, not so long ago

People used to stand and stare at the spider with the platinum hair

They thought you were immortal

(‘Michael Picasso’ by Ian Hunter)

It’s 4 July 1973. Guests are arriving at the Café Royal on Regent Street in London. It’s the post-Ziggy ‘Last Supper’ party and the social event of the year. The previous night David Bowie and the Spiders from Mars played the final show of a world tour that had taken them the length of Britain, crossed America from east to west coasts, and on to Japan — finally to return to London. In just a year and a half, Bowie and his band have gone from half-empty pubs in North London to sell-out gigs in the States. They’ve made iconic albums that have sold worldwide, generated a frenzy for glam rock and achieved international stardom. It’s been a wild ride, and tonight there’s that post-show buzz in the air of sweat mingling with sweet success. Bowie’s main man, Mick Ronson, with his tanned physique and long flowing hair, looks like a Greek god as he steps into the gilded, art deco lift and ascends – if not to the heavens, then at least to the upper floor. The night before, he’d played the gig of a lifetime. To a packed Hammersmith Odeon crammed with adoring fans and rock glitterati such as Mick Jagger and Rod Stewart, Mick Ronson played his blond Les Paul with phenomenal power and passion, blasting a raw energy of sound throughout the auditorium. Jeff Beck had played alongside him, guesting on a couple of numbers. A guitarist emulated and idolised by Mick for years, was now publicly acknowledging Mick’s status, a new guitar great. Then at the end of the concert, before the final number, Bowie declares to a stunned audience that this is not just the last night of the tour, it’s the last night ever of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars. Bowie is killing them off, he’s breaking up the band. Mick knew it was coming and had a solo career lined up thanks to Bowie’s manager Tony Defries, but for drummer Woody Woodmansey and bassist Trevor Bolder it came as a complete surprise, a knock-out 2blow delivered in public, leaving them shocked, angry and deeply hurt. They’d been on this rollercoaster ride together, they’d helped make it happen, but now it looks like they are out of the picture. As they leave the stage they can’t help but notice that Mick, their fellow musician and long-time mate from Hull, is avoiding eye contact. It feels like betrayal. The following evening in the crowded throng of the Café Royal, Woody is making the best of it, trying to work out if he still has a job, but Trevor has stayed away. Mick is surrounded by fans, family and friends and the champagne is flowing. There’s Mick and Bianca Jagger, Paul and Linda McCartney, Ringo Starr, Keith Moon, Cat Stevens, Lou Reed, Barbara Streisand, Britt Ekland, Tony Curtis, Elliot Gould, Ryan O’Neal, Spike Milligan, Peter Cook and Dudley Moore. Anyone who is someone, and in London, is here. And at the centre of it all is David Bowie and the man who helped make him a star. Though the lyrics said, ‘Ziggy played guitar’, everyone knew it was in fact Mick Ronson. How did this kid from a council estate in east Hull get to be here? From the edge of nowhere to the pulsing heart of popular contemporary music? How did this happen? And where did it start?

Michael Ronson was born in 1946 in the city of Hull in the north-east of England. As a baby boomer he was the product of his time and place, born into a working-class family in an industrial northern city where manual work was the norm and jobs were plentiful up to the 1970s. His destiny should have been to tread the path mapped out by his parents and previous generations: leave school at 14; find work on the docks, or in a factory or ancillary trade; earn enough to marry and start a family; holiday on the East Coast at Bridlington or Scarborough; and, more likely than not, live a life pretty much within the city. Mick chose a different path. By his mid-twenties he was a rock superstar touring the globe, an icon of glam rock renowned for his good looks and mastery of the guitar. His career drew countless accolades, not only for his guitar-playing but for his arrangements on piano and strings, his skill as a producer in the studio, and his enthusiasm for working his magic with unknown bands as well as established musicians. Having left Hull in the ’70s, he never returned to his home city, apart from visits to family. He lived in London, then mainly in the States, and wherever the work 3took him – a guitar-playing, album-producing nomad, jet-setting across continents.

His journey, however, is no simple stellar trajectory, but a series of failed early attempts to make his mark as a musician. His burning ambition was tempered by self-doubt, the need to earn a regular working wage, and the lure of staying firmly in the comfort zone of known musical parameters and familiar home territory. Mick’s formative years tell the story of a boy born into a community battered and bruised after the Second World War, where the pressure to get a ‘proper job’ was suffocating to someone blessed with artistic talent. He grew up in a largely working-class community, where negative attitudes to the arts and culture created enormous peer pressure to do the opposite of what he was restless to achieve. The male head of the household was expected to hold down a dependable job sufficient to pay the rent and put food on the table. This had been true for generations. Mick, however, was to lead a fairly maverick, hand-to-mouth lifestyle, and despite having huge earning potential was always focused more on the music than the money. He died poor with little to show of the financial rewards usually associated with being a rock superstar.

Hull’s location would also play a part in shaping Mick’s character and early music ambitions. The city lies 40km (25 miles) inland from the north-east coast, on the broad sweep of the Humber Estuary, isolated from the main north-south transport routes of the UK. It’s a one road in, one road out, ‘end of the line’ town. It has a rich maritime history of fishermen and merchant seamen pioneering the distant horizons, but in equal measure it has a paralysing culture of looking inward, being insular and resistant to change. In the 1960s when Mick was first looking to make a career in music, the only real option available was to take the one road out of Hull and head for London. Dread of getting into debt and the lure of familiar home territory would invariably pull him back. Hull had a cultural drag anchor as strong as the Humber tide, that could easily snag and sink a young man’s ambition and dreams. Having failed to make it as