TAKE
THAT
NOW AND THEN
THE COMPLETE UNAUTHORISED BIOGRAPHY
INSIDE THE BIGGEST COME-BACK IN POP HISTORY
MARTIN ROACH

Copyright

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First published by HarperCollinsEntertainment2006 This edition published 2007

FIRST EDITION

Copyright © Martin Roach 2006, 2007

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Dedicated to Kaye and Alfie Blue

Table of Contents

Cover

Titlepage

Copyright

Dedication

Foreword by Louis Walsh

Introduction

A Wish Away

Who Cares Wins

The Fuses Are Lit

Something Remarkable This Way Comes

The Magic Numbers

I Can't Believe What I'm Seeing

The Golden Years

‘I Don’t Even Like Melon!’

Nobody Better

Gone For Good?

Don’t Let The Stars Get In Your Eyes

Open Roads, Endless Possibilities

The Phoenix Unfolds

Chalk And Cheese

People In Glass Houses

Play To Win

Back With The Boys Again

Afterword

Back For Good

Bibliography

Acknowledgements

About the Publisher

Foreword by Louis Walsh

Take That were the best boy band in the world. They were the reason I started Boyzone—Boyzone were the Irish Take That. I thought Gary and the band were absolutely brilliant. They appealed to everybody, their records were great and they had everything: great ballads, great up-tempo numbers, amazing live shows—I saw them at The Point in Dublin and the sound, the lights, the choreography, the entire show was just amazing.

Then, of course, you had Nigel Martin-Smith, who did a fantastic job managing them. He made Take That special: people weren’t always allowed near them, they weren’t accessible everywhere, hanging out at nightclubs all the time with every Page Three girl, like so many boy bands today. Nigel made them special and that had an awful lot to do with their success.

Robbie has become successful and he is a great performer…a huge success. I admire his work ethic. He’s a fantastic worker who knows how to appeal to both girls and boys. I have been known to criticise him, but he is so ambitious and I would never underestimate Robbie. He knows exactly what he is doing.

Meanwhile, Take That are still selling out stadiums, which is incredible. Their records are still on the radio, their TV documentary was fantastic and they are still so popular. For me, they totally provided the blue-print for that genre.

They will always be England’s best boy band.

Louis Walsh

February 2006

Introduction

Within twelve months of announcing their ‘reunion’ tour in late 2005, Take That had completed the biggest come-back in pop history. At the time of writing they can sell tickets faster than any other pop artist in the UK; they have topped the singles charts two more times and produced one of the biggest selling albums of the last decade; their own TV special enjoyed one of the highest ratings for an entertainment show in years…it seems there is no limit to what they can now achieve.

How have they done it?

On the surface, there are three key reasons. Firstly, the cultural impact from their original career has proved to have far longer lasting resonance than anyone—probably even the band themselves—realised. Pop is a fickle beast and for a band in that genre to have any lasting validity is unusual. Take That was not a pioneering fashion band, far from it. They were not musical innovators. They were certainly not the critics’ band of choice. Yet what the colossal success of their come-back tour tells us is that they clearly made an indelible mark on British music and cultural history. The broadsheets might not like to think so, but it is a fact. Among the thousands of bands that spilled out of the Nineties, the importance of the majority would fade with time. Take That’s legacy, however, was clearly a sleeping giant.

This pop behemoth was first awakened by an ITV1 documentary and then established on the high streets of Britain by a series of come-back shows that captured the nation’s imagination on an unprecedented scale. The band’s famously energetic and explosive original live shows have been surpassed by a new tour of stunning proportions. Filling some of the UK’s biggest venues was one thing, entertaining in them quite another. They did both with aplomb. Why would so many thousands of people chase tickets to see a band from their childhood? Partly because they wanted a good time; partly because the shows themselves were sensational; but mainly because to millions of people, Take That matter.

Finally, the band has produced an album of new material that is genuinely polished, well-crafted and hugely popular. A live show alone does not qualify Take That for the accolade of pop’s biggest come-back. Of course, nostalgia plays a part, but the band has brilliantly complemented this revival with a slew of superb new songs. Opening single ‘Patience’ was a new classic in the ‘Back For Good’ vein, while follow-up ‘Shine’ was an addictive curve-ball. Both were No. 1. The album, Beautiful World, silenced all but the very harshest of critics.

That, it appears, is how they have done it.

It is rare for a pop band to get a second bite of the cherry—rarer still for any come-back to have greater commercial potential than the first time around. That’s what Take That appear to have done. The biggest pop band of the Nineties can now add the biggest come-back in pop history to their list of achievements.

From childhood days in bedrooms writing songs, to thanking audiences of 60,000 in football stadiums over twenty years later, this is how it all happened…

Martin Roach March 2007

A Wish Away

Gary Barlow was washing his Ford Orion outside his parents’ house when his mum shouted that someone was on the phone for him. It was a local model-agency owner called Nigel Martin-Smith whom Gary had been to see that very afternoon. The 19-year-old Gary had wanted to speak with Nigel about getting small acting roles now that he had an Equity Card. At the end of their meeting, Gary had given Nigel a demo tape of some songs he’d been writing and recording in his bedroom.

Drying his hands, Gary picked up the phone.

‘Hello Gary, it’s Nigel Martin-Smith here. I’ve listened to that tape you gave me and I just wondered who is singing on it?’

‘It’s me, Nigel.’

‘OK, but who is playing the music and made the arrangements and everything?’

‘I did, Nigel, I did it all in my bedroom.’

‘Er…right. Can you come back to see me straight away, Gary? Tonight…’

At that precise moment, Take That, arguably the biggest British boy band ever, was born.

***

Regardless of Gary’s latter-day solo success and irrespective of the public’s perception of Take That’s key players, it is a simple fact that the very heart of the band always was—and always will be—Gary Barlow. Of the thirty-three original tracks on the band’s three studio albums, Gary was solely credited for writing twenty-five of them and co-writing a further seven.

Born 20 January 1971, Gary shares his birthday with punk svengali and cultural icon Malcolm McLaren, twenty-five years his senior. He was brought up in Frodsham, Cheshire, a small town with some big money, filled with sandstone brick buildings, a couple of housing estates, an old church, scatterings of hills and good walking country. It has been said that Frodsham people think they are a bit above their neighbours—and they are, overlooking as they do the chemical and petrol plants around Runcorn.

Gary was born to parents Marge and Colin Barlow, with one older brother, Ian (who now runs his own building firm). As a baby, Gary cried so much that his mother wondered if there was something seriously wrong with his health, but then they realised he was just a tiny baby who liked to make a lot of noise. His primary education was at Weaver Vale, where a final-year primary-school production of Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat saw him take the lead role. However, the first real signs of a future life in entertainment came when Gary was just 11 years old and chose a keyboard for Christmas, having been given the choice of either that or a BMX bike. Remarkably—and there are numerous first-hand sources to back this up—the pre-teen Gary was very quickly writing his own material.

Gary’s school life carried on at Frodsham High School, where his mother was a science technician. Perhaps surprisingly, given his young age, the schoolboy Gary had started performing professionally at social clubs in the local area. At this early stage, in true Phoenix Nights-style, he incorporated a handful of jokes into his routine. Notably, his musical influences were generally older than those of most teens—although his first record was ‘Living Next Door to Alice’ by Smokie, he was a big Motown fan, and liked artists such as Elton John and Stevie Wonder. His main song-writing inspirations were The Beatles and Adam Ant, an odd mix but obviously not one that stifled his creativity.

As early as age 13, Gary was playing solo every Saturday for ?8 a night at Connahs Quay Labour Club in North Wales, performing classic working-men’s standards such as ‘Wind Beneath My Wings’. He’d been offered the job after coming second in a talent competition at the venue with a cover of the surreal classic, ‘A Whiter Shade of Pale’. Gary’s slot at the Labour Club lasted two years, during which time he also formed a duo with a friend known only as Heather. Together they played the pubs and clubs circuit for a further two years. He also formed a short-lived band inspired by Adam and the Ants. His rudimentary keyboard was soon replaced with a £600 organ with foot-pedals, which offered the budding songwriter far more musical possibilities.

One of the most significant jobs he secured was a ‘residency’ fronting a small, middle-aged band at the Halton British Legion in Widnes, near Runcorn, which included four gigs every weekend until well after midnight. By then, the mid-teenage Gary was earning up to £140 a night, which was no small accomplishment. Inevitably, late working hours and early school schedules were exhausting for him, but all he wanted to do was play and write and perform. He even gave up his beloved karate lessons because he broke his fingers twice and was concerned about jeopardising his piano-playing.

Gary supported some notable performers, including Ken Dodd and Bobby Davro, and, perhaps more importantly, began to slip his original compositions into his set alongside the staple club standards. One of those original songs had taken him six minutes to write and was entitled ‘A Million Love Songs’. Another two were called ‘Another Crack in My Heart’ and ‘Why Can’t I Wake Up with You?’.

By this stage, Gary would spend any spare time he had writing new material. On quiet weekends he’d aim to write and demo one song a day at home, a challenge he often completed. This prolific drive, cooped up in his bedroom, was balanced with the practical experience of weekly gigging. The Legion was an ideal sounding-board for his song ideas, and also a priceless three-year apprenticeship working both with the public and veteran musicians, especially for a boy who was still twelve months shy of taking his O levels when he started. The ‘pie-and-mash circuit’ might not be the most glamorous of jobs, but there is no better way to breed new talent.

It’s hard to trace back to when a pop star has his first big break, but undoubtedly when Gary entered a song for the BBC Pebble Mill’s competition ‘A Song for Christmas’, and promptly reached the semi-finals, it was a watershed moment. He was only 15. His mother had been largely unimpressed with his self-penned ballad ‘Let’s Pray for Christmas’, but his music teacher entered it into the competition for him.

It was during a gym lesson that Mrs Nelson interrupted Gary to tell him he had been selected by the BBC to go into the next round of ‘seniors’. This involved travelling down to London’s West Heath Studios to record the track in full. It was the first time he’d been inside a recording studio but he was a natural and made full use of the orchestra and backing vocalists on offer. The whole experience was filmed, and watching the clip back now it is hard to imagine that Gary was only four years away from starting the biggest boy band of the Nineties. Although Gary’s track stalled at the semi-finals stage, he won a modest amount of prize money, which he promptly utilised by going into 10CC’s Strawberry Studios in Stockport to demo some more of his own material.

During his time in London, Gary had met several famous agents and music-business executives, so his ‘showbiz networking’ had begun. However, his path to stardom was far from smooth. Eager to get a potentially lucrative publishing deal—effectively selling his songs for other performers to sing—Gary scoured London’s record labels looking for someone who thought he was capable of writing a smash hit for their artists. Among the usual polite rejections, Gary tells a story about one executive who listened to ‘A Million Love Songs’, scornfully ripped the tape out of the machine and slung it through the open window into the street, ending his bizarre tantrum with the warning that Gary should never darken his door again. Gary has, over the years, resisted what must be the great temptation to reveal this executive’s name.

Meanwhile, Gary’s secondary education was unremarkable, with no major dramas: he was a good student and passed six ‘O’ levels, with his parents keen for him to work in banking or the police force.

***

Given their roles in Take That, it is interesting to note that two of the first members to start the chain of events leading to the band’s formation were Howard and Jason. The oldest of the band, Howard Paul Donald, was born on 28 April 1968 in Droylsden, Manchester (Howard is almost four years older than the baby of the band, Robbie Williams). Howard was from a large family, with three brothers (Michael, Colin and Glenn) and a sister (Samantha), as well as his father Keith and mother Kathleen. Both parents were entertainers, Keith teaching Latin American dance and Kathleen being a gifted singer. His parents later separated and he is also close to his step dad, Mike.

Surprisingly, Howard’s first ambition was to be an airline pilot. He went to Moreside Junior School for his primary education, where reports suggest he was a good student. His time there was not without its dramas though: ‘A couple of weeks after I started school, I got this disease called impetigo. When I was off school, this teacher put a big sign on my desk saying “Don’t Go Near This Desk!” When I told my mum, she drove up to the school and went mad!’

Howard’s first album was by Adam Ant and, like his future band-mate Gary Barlow, he was a big fan of the Dandy Highwayman. However, as his teenage years rolled by, he became fascinated with an altogether different style of music—break beat and hip hop. In turn, this relatively new genre introduced him to dancing—break-dancing in particular—and with this new obsession came a declining interest in academic matters.

Break-dancing is an extraordinarily athletic and acrobatic style of movement and dance that at the time was a central part of hip hop culture, emerging as it did out of that movement in the South Bronx of New York City during the late Seventies and early Eighties. It can actually be traced back to 1969, when James Brown’s ‘Get on the Good Foot’ inspired famously acrobatic dance moves, and simultaneously Afrika Bambaataa started organising one of the first break-dance crews, The Zulu Kings. The relevance to Take That might seem tenuous, but by the early-to mid-Eighties, hip hop and break-dancing had been exported across the Atlantic and imposed itself on the daily lives of British youth. School yards were filled with teenagers spinning on old pieces of lino, hip hop clothing labels were worn and break beat music blared out of oversized ghetto blasters—suburban Britain doesn’t have too many ghettos like the Bronx, but that wasn’t the point. It was a style, a look and a sound that became immensely popular. Howard was exactly this type of break-dancing Brit, and he lived for it. He often played truant so he could practise his moves, which increasingly included complex gymnastics, so that by the time he was 15 he was a very adept dancer indeed. According to an interview with Rick Sky for The Take That Fact File (one of the few writers to have covered the band from before they were famous), he once absconded from school for five weeks in a row: ‘I only intended to have a few days off, but I kept taking another day, then another day, till the days had run into weeks. I got into awful trouble for that.’ He later admitted to being caught graffitiing a bus, although that appears to be the extent of his ‘waywardness’. Like Gary, he also bought an electronic keyboard, but his main passion was for dancing.

Despite his latter-day persona as the quietest member of Take That, Howard was something of an extrovert at school—break-dancing was hardly the domain of the class nerd, after all. This obviously provided plenty of distraction, because he left school without a single ‘O’ level to his name. He wasn’t altogether troubled by that, not least because he had just been enrolled in a local break-dancing crew called the RDS Royals.

It was 1986 and Britain was in the grip of the Thatcher years. Unemployment was over the three million mark, social unrest was rife and many people, particularly the young and less privileged, were isolated and disillusioned. Behind all the politics and histrionics, the reality for 16-year-olds with no qualifications, like Howard, was simple: either unemployment or the last bastion of state-sponsored slave labour, the Youth Training Scheme, or YTS. Howard took a job painting cars for £40 a week, and he was still working there when he first auditioned for Take That.

He started to supplement his feeble income by dancing at clubs such as Manchester’s Apollo, on podiums and stages to vibe the crowd up. It was an ideal way of getting paid to practise, and besides, if he wasn’t working at these clubs he would have been there as a paying punter anyway. Consequently he developed a very muscular physique at an early age, leading to his latter-day Take That nickname of ‘The Body’.

***

One of the people in Howard’s break-dancing circles was Jason Orange, the older of twins by twenty minutes, born 10 July 1970. Coming from a similarly big family, as well as Jason’s twin Justin there were four other brothers (Simon, Dominic, Samuel and Oliver) with his (now divorced) parents, bus driver Anthony and doctor’s PA Jennifer, bringing the family total to seven. Jason is reputed to have ‘blue blood’ in his veins—family trees suggest he is a direct descendant of King William of Orange, a Dutch Royal plagued by ill health who sat on the British throne as King William III in the second half of the seventeenth century.

The Orange family were Mormons, a faith shared by other pop stars including The Mission’s bacchanalian front man Wayne Hussey and The Killers’ Brandon Flowers. Like Flowers (and very much unlike the rock-and-roll beast that is Wayne Hussey), Jason’s family eschewed caffeine and alcohol as ‘drugs’ and lived very clean lives, something which Jason was able to continue even under the extreme pressures of being in a world-famous boy band.

Like Howard, Jason was not academia’s biggest fan. Attending at first Havely Hey School in Whythenshawe until he was 12, and then South Manchester High School, Jason was a keen sportsman, being particularly proficient at swimming, running and football. He has said that he was a quiet pupil and kept himself to himself, so it was perhaps not surprising that when he reached 16 he chose to leave school with only a modest amount of exam passes. On his final day at school, he walked through the gates for the last time, turned around, surveyed the buildings where he’d spent so many years and shouted ‘Freedom!’ out loud. He was keen to work and also joined the infamous Youth Training Scheme, which placed him as a painter and decorator for the Direct Works department of the local council (likewise his twin Justin). Typically, this involved decorating council property and amenities buildings.

It was hardly the most glamorous of work, and although Jason enjoyed it for the four years he was on an apprenticeship there, he had his sights set on greater things. In his first teenage year, Jason had also become fascinated with break-dancing—after a brief dalliance with Pink Floyd, whose The Wall was the first album he ever bought—so that by his late-teens every spare minute outside of work was spent practising, performing in the streets and watching American videos of the big-name dancers. He joined a local crew called Street Machine that was effectively a rival to Howard Donald’s RDS Royals. He too started working the clubs, and this was how he first met Howard at the Apollo. With so much in common they were bound to spark off each other, and a tight dancing partnership was soon formed by the name of Street Beat, which proved to be increasingly lucrative. They could soon command a week’s YTS money for one night’s work.

Progress was swift for both dancers, who started to rack up television work as well as regular jobs on the club circuit. Jason performed regularly on the TV show The Hit Man and Her, presented by Pete Waterman and Michaela Strachan. He’d got the gig after his girlfriend had written to the show telling them of his talent (along with his friend Neil McCartney). Howard, meanwhile, had the technically more impressive but rather less street-credible accolade of performing on that mainstay of conservative TV schedules Come Dancing, during sections of the show dedicated to modern dance.

Realising their dancing was proving very popular and that there might be a good long-term living to be had beyond the nine-to-five they were used to, Howard and Jason paid a visit to a local music impresario by the name of Nigel Martin-Smith. Unbeknown to them, their lives would never be the same again.

***

Hailing from the far-from-rock-and-roll town of Oldham in Greater Manchester, Mark Owen was the first future Take That member that Gary Barlow would come into contact with. The product of a northern Catholic family, Mark was born on 24 January 1972 (sharing his birthday with Neil Diamond) and grew up with his brother Daniel and sister Tracey in a modest council house, sharing a room with them for much of his childhood. Such small redbrick terraces were archetypal Mancunian accommodation, made famous by the opening credits of Coronation Street.

Mark’s parents, Keith and Mary, first sent him to be educated at The Holy Rosary Junior School. Mark was a good sportsman, being particularly adept at football despite his relatively diminutive frame, standing at just five foot seven inches tall. One local team he joined, Freehold Athletic, voted him Players’ Player of the Year several times, including one season where he scored a hat-trick in a cup final. (’That day will stay with me for as long as I live.’) Music Industry Five-A-Side football tournaments are testament to the fact that Mark has lost none of his silky skills, nor his quiet, sportsman-like manners.

But his skills were not always so smooth: ‘I got told off all the time for playing football in the house. I broke two windows in one day once. Just as they were fixing the one at the front of the house, I broke the one at the back of the house!’ When he broke a window another time, he went and bought a pane of glass to carry out a hasty repair. Unfortunately, his glazing skills weren’t quite up to his football ones and his parents came home to find his hands cut to ribbons because of his well-intended but ultimately doomed attempts to repair the window.

His interest in music was developed at an early age, the first record he ever owned being the theme tune to the blockbuster movie E.T. The Extra Terrestrial. Unlike Jason and Howard, however, Mark’s general musical taste was somewhat older, with his mother’s idol Elvis Presley being a firm favourite. Along with his sister Tracey, he would often dress up as Elvis, complete with blue suede shoes, and entertain people in the alleyway behind his terraced home. (He is still famed for his impersonation of The King, drawn from years of listening to his mum’s vast vinyl collection of Presley releases.) This very same alleyway would later become a shrine for Take That fans, who scribble messages of love and support on the wall to this day a la Abbey Road, despite Mark’s parents not having lived there for many years. Supposedly, his embarrassed mum used to regularly try to bleach the fan graffiti off the wall so as not to annoy her neighbours, and eventually had to post a notice on her front door asking fans not to knock on it all the time.

Throughout his time in Take That, Mark was famously amiable, laid-back and well-liked by everyone he worked with on a professional level. The media made no secret that they had great admiration for him and at any press conference he would hold court with his self-deprecation and northern humour. Signs of this mellow personality were there at a very young age and his parents speak of few rows between him and his siblings and friends.

His secondary education started aged 11 at St Augustine’s Catholic School, where he would eventually achieve six GCSEs in art, English, maths, religious education, physics and economics (although he failed German, achieving an impressive 13 per cent on one language paper). While his sister Tracey had an excellent voice, Mark developed a love of acting and was a regular in the school drama productions, including the part of Jesus in one Christmas show. Unfortunately his voice started to break mid-scene, as he said in Rick Sky’s The Take That Fact File: ‘Everyone was going around taking the mickey out of me because my speeches were turning into high-pitched squeals. It was so embarrassing.’

The extent of Mark’s childhood capers is pretty normal stuff—he and some friends briefly went missing on a school trip to Tenby before finally turning up in a local nightclub, having persuaded the bouncers to let them in despite their age. Interestingly, his teachers do not recall Mark being particularly involved with or interested in music when he was at school…it was all about football. He styled himself on former greats such as the late George Best, with his flowing locks and immaculate kit being as much a part of his appearance as the match itself.

By now, Mark’s football skills had attracted the interest of several professional teams, not least Manchester United, as well as Huddersfield Town and Rochdale, but a severe groin injury curtailed what had been a promising soccer career. (Being only three years older than David Beckham and also a midfielder, it would have made an enticing team sheet at Old Trafford.) At the time, he was devastated, as soccer had been his main ambition in life. But, like Gordon Ramsay before him, football’s loss was certainly another profession’s gain. Years later, on tour with Take That, Mark would always take a football to play with inside the cavernous venues, hotel rooms or studios, earning him the nickname ‘Booter’.

As with much of the band, Mark left school aged 16 and got a job, initially in a fashionable clothes shop called Zuttis, then for some time as an electrician’s mate, before moving up the career ladder to Barclays Bank in Oldham. The owner of Zuttis, Maggie Hughes, told Rick Sky that he not only impressed her but ‘quite a few girls too…he just wanted to earn some money and was really nice, with a big, beaming, bubbling smile on his face.’ Despite his apparently meek demeanour, Maggie says Mark was a natural salesman because of the warmth of his personality. (Later, Zuttis would make one of Mark’s first ever pair of stage trousers, a see-through nylon number). The Barclays position was destined to last only eight weeks, as another part-time job was about to introduce him to a new friend who would help alter his life forever.

Eager to work, before his final exams Mark had also taken a job as a tea-boy and office hand at the local Strawberry Studios on weekends (his sister Tracey was already working part-time there). Mark soon befriended a local boy who was there to work on his demos…Gary Barlow. Mark often went to Gary’s house to listen to his songs and watch his friend cut and chop ideas onto his four-track Portastudio. It was a natural progression for Mark to start singing on the demos, and before long the duo formed their first band together, using the dubious moniker of The Cutest Rush. The idea was to perform cover versions as well as Gary’s own material. The fledgling band never actually gigged but it did cement the friendship and perfectly prime two members of Take That for their future careers. Meeting with Gary had an indelible effect on Mark and his ambition shifted from the world of football to that of music.

Who Cares Wins

Singers Wanted: Singers and dancers wanted for a new boy band. If you have what it takes, call Nigel Martin-Smith at his Half Moon Chambers office.

Actual text of the audition advert for Take That in the Sun

There were two immediate predecessors to Take That, one British and one American. South London boys Bros were blond near-identical twins playing high-energy, cleverly crafted pop music and selling so many records to teenage girls that legions of so-called Brosettes followed their every move. Lead singer Matt and his drummer twin Luke, as well as their childhood friend Craig on bass, sold millions of records in the late Eighties, changed popular fashions with their Grolsch bottle-top shoe decorations and generated a hysteria among their fans that many observers likened to Beatlemania—when they did a signing in HMV Oxford Street, 11,000 fans turned up. Songs such as ‘When Will I Be Famous?’ and ‘I Owe You Nothing’ shifted hundreds of thousands of copies in a career that included eight Top Ten hits and two No. 1 records.

Just as Bros’s reign over the charts was coming to a close, an American group called New Kids on the Block took over the mantle. Already massive in the USA, where they played to football stadiums full of hyperventilating teenage girls, New Kids on the Block invaded the UK’s shores in 1989. They were originally conceived as an alternative to New Edition, Bobby Brown’s early Jackson Five-inspired group who had a hit in 1983 with ‘Candy Girl’. Blending the vocal talents and personalities of Donnie Wahlberg, Jordan Knight, Jon Knight, Danny Wood and Joe McIntyre was a masterstroke for New Edition producer Maurice Starr. Five was a magic number—it had worked for the Jacksons, the Osmonds, New Edition and now New Kids on the Block.

Joe McIntyre was only 14 years old on their 1986 debut, but within a year of 1988’s album Hangin’ Tough they were the biggest act in America. They cracked Britain too. Between ‘You Got It (The Right Stuff)’ in 1989 and ‘If You Go Away’ in 1991, New Kids on the Block scored eleven Top Twenty hits in Britain. Private jets, mansions, fast cars, all the signs of multi-million-dollar success abounded. Hysteria was the air their fans breathed. A management team who could market this new phenomenon properly had a licence to print money.

Nigel Martin-Smith was still a young entrepreneurial businessman watching all of these chart developments with great interest. His Manchester-based modelling agency was very successful and he was well-known in the north-west entertainment circles. However, he had designs on a much grander scale. His idea would turn him into one of the most famous pop managers of all-time.

Pop legend has it that Nigel had followed New Kids on the Block’s career closely, but when he actually saw them in person at a TV studio in Manchester, he was of the opinion that they were rude and arrogant. Noticing their behaviour had absolutely no effect whatsoever on their popularity, he’d thought to himself how massive a boy band could be if they were polite, professional and nice to deal with. He was also keen to recruit them from the North, rather than London as was often the norm for pop bands.

Fermenting this idea in his mind, Nigel then had that fateful meeting with Gary Barlow and played the demo tape the young songwriter had given him. Suddenly, almost out of nowhere, Nigel had the centrepiece of his concept: a young, experienced, gifted and very hard-working singer-songwriter. All he needed now was a band to mould around him.

Gary said he had a friend by the name of Mark Owen who was a good singer and great personality, so Nigel met up with him and immediately saw the potential. The jigsaw was coming together nicely. Then, on that day in late 1989 when Jason Orange and Howard Donald walked into Nigel’s offices looking for help booking dance work, Nigel knew immediately that his band was quickly gelling around him. He’d seen Jason Orange on The Hit Man and Her and after meeting Howard was impressed by both their dancing skills, but rather than offer them agency services or management guidance as a dance duo, as they had hoped, he surprised them both by suggesting they enrol in a boy band he was putting together. Jason was very reluctant and at first shunned the idea. Admirably, he spoke with his personnel manager at the council about his concerns over the showbiz proposal. Howard was keen from the start and needed no enticing. Eventually, Jason was persuaded by Nigel to meet up with Mark and Gary, whereupon the foursome got on famously and the nucleus of Take That was forged.

Given Take That’s relationship with, and profile in, the British tabloids, it seems only fitting that the elusive fifth member that was to complete the band’s line-up came to them through an advertisement in the Sun. His name was Robert Peter Williams and his mum went with him to the audition. This green-eyed Stoke-on-Trent boy would go on to become the biggest male solo star of the Nineties and the new millennium, but for now he was literally just an exuberant, hopeful kid turning up for an audition. Entertainment was in his blood: his mum was a singer and his father, Peter Conway, had been a highly regarded comedian who appeared on the TV talent show New Faces in the same year that Robbie was born (13 February 1974). Later regarded as Take That’s joker, Robbie admits that his first ever record was Alexi Sayle’s ‘Ullo John Got a New Motor?’. Typically, Robbie has the most glamorous of stars to share his birthday with, including Oliver Reed, George Segal and Peter Gabriel.

In light of his later battles with alcohol, it seems sadly incongruous that Robbie earliest years were spent growing up in a pub, The Red Lion, which his parents ran (he is the only Take Thatter not to be born and bred in Manchester). His now famous obsession with Port Vale Football Club was perhaps inevitable, considering his parents’ drinking hole was right next to the club’s grounds. (On one match day he showered the passing crowds with his mum’s undies.) Sadly, his mum and dad separated when he was only 3 years old, and he moved with his mother Jan and sister Sally to Stoke. ‘It didn’t have any effect on me,’ he later said, ‘because I’ve always been loopy!’

Robbie has a famously close relationship with his mother, and freely admits that during his darkest days to come, she was his rock. Back then, Jan ran a ladies’ clothes shop, then a small cafébistro and also a florist’s. Robbie went to Mill Hill Primary School in Tunstall, near Stoke, and then St Margaret’s Ward School. He was, perhaps predictably, the class prankster. Former school teachers who have been interviewed by the tabloids confirm this.

Like Mark and Jason, Robbie was a keen sportsman—again, Music Industry Five-A-Side tournaments play testament to his footy skills. Not surprisingly, his extrovert personality was drawn at an early age towards acting as a future profession (he told his mum he had no interest in being a pop star). In his early teens he joined the Stoke-on-Trent Theatre Company, playing small parts in Pickwick, Oliver (as the Artful Dodger) and Fiddler on the Roof. Although he would later claim to struggle with Take That’s dance routines, Robbie was also a keen break-dancer.

Robbie left school aged 16 and, after briefly working at his mum’s florist’s, he took a job as a double-glazing salesman.

He was not very good. ‘I just used to tell people they were over-priced and leave.’ Consequently, this career didn’t last long—he quit in order to focus on auditioning for acting roles. Despite his youth, however, he found that most roles were going to even younger actors with experience and often stage-school backgrounds. He did manage to win one role—and a clip that has surfaced on countless Before They Were Famous TV shows—is a bit part in the Liverpudlian soap Brookside. Years later he had a walk-on cameo role in EastEnders (on the phone behind David Wicks), which sounds like the CV of a typical wannabe actor…except that in between these two soap appearances, Robbie Williams was in one of the world’s biggest boy bands and went on to become the UK’s leading solo artist.

***

The audition for Take That itself was at Nigel’s studio, and a nervous Robbie was keen to appear streetwise when he met what might be his future band-mates. ‘I came with my mum and I was saying through the corner of my mouth, “Right, Mum, go now.”’ He walked into the audition and Gary Barlow was sitting in the corner with a leather briefcase full of song sheets, wearing Adidas tracksuit bottoms, Converse trainers, an Italia 90 top and a coiffured Morrissey haircut. Robbie later said he was told, ‘This is Gary Barlow, he’s a professional club singer and he’s going to make this group happen.’ Despite thinking at the time that Gary’s haircut was ridiculous, Robbie has since admitted that he now sports a similar barnet. Music mythology has it that Gary introduced himself to Robbie and called him ‘son’. Gary’s confidence was understandable, as Nigel Martin-Smith obviously saw him as the core of the band—after all, by the time of these auditions, Gary had composed over fifty songs.

Howard had to take a half-day off his job as a vehicle painter to attend the audition, and he was late. Robbie said Jason was ‘very confident and liked Ford Escort RS2000 cars, Howard was shy, Mark was great and Gary was the obvious main musical driving force.’ Robbie sang ‘Nothing Can Divide Us’ by teen heart-throb Jason Donovan, but oddly admits, ‘I remember thinking what a weird bunch of lads they were and I really didn’t think we could ever be a band.’

The audition was soon over and Robbie was told that Nigel would be in touch. A few weeks later, his GCSE results were delivered and he’d failed all but two of them—consistent if nothing else (he got ‘shit-faced on Guinness’ when he received his results). The very same day, the phone rang and it was Nigel calling with the news that he wanted Robbie in the band. The timing could not have been more serendipitous. In a show of exuberance for which he would later become notorious, Robbie sprinted upstairs into his bedroom, flung the window open and screamed ‘I’m going to be famous!’ into the street. Robbie was just 16; Howard was the eldest at 20. Unbeknown to them, within eighteen months they would not be able to walk down any street in Great Britain without being recognised.

One footnote to add to the embryonic days of Take That is the fact that Nigel Martin-Smith insisted each member brought at least one parent with them to sign his managerial contracts. Pop music is littered with tales of teenage starlets signing contracts that are little more than slave labour. Nigel was clever—he knew that if his master plan with Take That worked, huge sums of money would be generated and he was adamant that every detail was precise. Being contractually transparent was an admirable first move. Plus, it gained the trust of the boys’ parents.

From day one, Nigel’s intellect and ideas were absolutely crucial to the band succeeding. This was immediately obvious by the intense programme of rehearsals he arranged, which saw his new charges spending hours every day in dance and choreography sessions, from the early hours until at least 7 p.m. Gary was writing constantly and their voices were improving all the time. Nigel oversaw every aspect of their prospective career, planning it all in intimate detail. The boys were also put on fitness regimes, with sit-ups, press-ups, aerobic work and gymnastics giving the whole experience a real boot-camp atmosphere. Outsiders sometimes wonder why this is so necessary, but if you were to take a bunch of 16—to 20-year-old men and ask them to create a business turning over an eight-figure sum in two years, you would expect there to be some long hours involved.

Let’s be honest, Take That is a pretty dreadful band name. It’s not as bad as The Backstreet Boys and not as good as Foreheads in a Fishtank, but it isn’t great. The boys had seen a photograph of Madonna with the caption ‘Take That!’ written under it and this was elongated to read Take That and Party. The latter two words were dropped when it transpired there already existed an American group called The Party, so that was that…Take That!

When they first heard there was a band called Take That, many music journalists thought it was a joke. It just sounded so limp, so wet. But their success became so huge that you soon forgot the actual words: they became more of a sound that you associated with the five superstars, and any reservations about the moniker completely dissipated.

***

Over the twelve months after the five members of Take That had each inked the contract with Nigel Martin-Smith, they were still rehearsing and preparing. Rick Sky quoted Gary describing the band’s first ever gig in Flicks nightclub in Huddersfield thus: ‘There were about twenty people in the audience and a dog. Only about ten of them were watching…but it wouldn’t have mattered if only the dog was watching. Afterwards we were on such a high.’ That’s all those years playing to the pie-and-mash circuit coming in handy right there.

They had finally started to gig, and their workload was exhausting. In the year or so before they hit the big time, Take That took to the road relentlessly, racking up dozens and dozens of shows. At this stage the band’s lifestyle was far from glamorous: their average week comprised of piling into Nigel’s Ford Escort XR3i and/or a yellow Salford Van Hire vehicle and driving hundreds of miles to play countless gay clubs, then later schools and nightclubs. Funds were understandably tight, so the best they could afford each night were either numerous Little Britain-esque bed and breakfast guest-houses or a long drive home through the small hours. Howard later recalled in the ITV1’s 2005 documentary, Take That—For the Record how most of the gay clubs saw them ‘having our arses pinched and our front bits pinched’. If a gig was particularly hostile, missiles would be thrown. ‘Some of the audiences were kind enough to give us free beer. Say no more,’ said Mark on one occasion. Jason later admitted that he ‘left’ Take That for about two days during this very early phase, and actually considered going back to painting and decorating—he found the pressures and workload a culture shock but was soon able to gain some perspective and ‘rejoin’.

No record companies had shown any interest at this stage, so Take That’s debut single, ‘Do What You Like’, was recorded ready for release on Nigel’s own Dance UK label in July 1991. Written by Gary with Ray Hedges, who went on to work with Boyzone, the track itself is pretty ‘unforgettable’ (but for mainly the wrong reasons), a high-energy, keyboard-driven pop song that had none of the sophistication of the band’s latter-day pop classics. But this was a band learning as they went along, and the single was sufficiently rousing to help them book yet more live shows to promote it.

In the weeks and months leading up to their debut single, the band played scores of gigs. All the time, Nigel Martin-Smith continued working hard to break the band. He arranged press showcases, such as one at Hollywood’s Nightclub in Romford, and spent countless hours on the phone soliciting interest.

Without doubt, the most memorable moment of this fledgling phase of Take That was the bizarre and risqu?promo video they shot for ‘Do What You Like’, which would make The Village People blush. It was shot in Stockport, which is not currently famed for its glitzy showbiz vistas. In a blatant attempt to capture the pink pound, the boys were filmed in a white-wall studio wearing virtually nothing but numerous leather jockstrap-style combinations, codpieces and studded leather. Copious amounts of jelly were slapped and rubbed over various naked body parts and there was enough cavorting aplenty to make Will Young look like Arnold Schwarzenegger. Gary Barlow’s hair is a miracle of modern science and the only thing tighter than the jockstraps was the budget. According to legend, the closing ‘bum’ shot was so hotly sought-after that the boys each auditioned—a screen-test for arses, believe it or not—to see whose was better. Not surprisingly, the moral minority complained the clip was too obscene and pornographic, but the vast majority took it as intended—a tongue-in-cheek bit of fun. Nonetheless, even David Brent from The Office would cringe watching the blatantly homoerotic video. It was all a far cry from seeing a velvet-voiced Robbie play the Royal Albert Hall years later in a suave lounge suit, but this was their first foray into the pop world and it is rare that a pop band nails their image from day one.

It is odd looking back at this video and the early photographs of Take That, because, to be honest, their look is laughable. Leather gear, tassels and tight trousers: it was all so camp and exaggerated. Fast-forward to the sophisticated, grainy images of ‘Back for Good’ and it might as well be a different band. But some context is needed. This was a bunch of young guys who—with exception of Gary Barlow—had relatively little entertainment experience. Contrary to popular belief, they were involved in their own look to some degree—they would shop in High Street Kensington at places such as Hyper Hyper, the amazing alternative clothes emporium where young, breakthrough designers often sold their wares direct.

This look would quickly subside as Nigel began to notice a strange thing happening at a lot of their club shows—specifically, one night when they played an under-age mixed-sex club in Hull. Nigel—ever perceptive—noticed that the reaction to his band from the girls was actually far more frantic than from the gay clubs they’d been focussing on. Cleverly re-focussing his strategy, Nigel twigged immediately that he had a boy-band sensation in the making, and he began to book scores of mixed-sex nightclubs in order to confirm his suspicions.

At this point, Take That were just another pop band in among the thousands of wannabes trying to make it. But Nigel was more than just your average pop-band manager. Somehow, he got them a slot on a satellite TV show called Cool Cube. Gary worked on new material especially for the performance, including a track called ‘Waiting Around’ and they prepared special dance routines too. The tight ‘hot pants’ they wore might have been better suited to a softporn channel but the viewers (perhaps because of, rather than despite the shorts) approved and the band were asked back several times. Breaking a pop band on TV is a crucial way of operating nowadays and Nigel was ahead of his time in using that medium to gain exposure (in more ways than one) for his band (especially important because Simon Bates was the lone DJ playing their music on Radio 1 with any frequency). Furthermore, Nigel understood the need to have omnipresent press coverage, and managed to get a press officer called Carolyn Norman to work for the band before they had even had a hit, and was pivotal in orchestrating the band’s amazing press profile right from the early days. Thus, as quickly as June 1991, she had managed to shoe-horn the band coverage in various teen magazines such as My Guy, Jackie, Number 1 and Smash Hits.

The infamous jelly-smearing video was first shown in July 1991 on another influential TV show, Pete Waterman’s The Hitman and Her, the very same show that Jason had previously appeared on as a dancer. This coincided with the release date of their debut single, entirely self-financed by Nigel and his partner—a real risk for them, and also a genuine show of faith in the band’s potential. Nigel had already spent close to £100,000 investing in Take That.

‘Do What You Like’ charted at No. 82.

The Fuses Are Lit

The furore surrounding the debut video may not have helped the record chart but it did contribute to seducing the major record label RCA to sign the band in September 1991. At the time, RCA’s head of A&R was Korda Marshall, who would later go on to found his own record label and sign Muse, Ash, Garbage and The Darkness. He is now the Managing Director of Warner Brothers Records UK, but in the early days his experience with Take That had a pivotal impact, both good and bad, on Korda’s own career.

‘The irony was,’ he told me, ‘that when we finally signed them to RCA, it was actually the third time we’d looked at them. Originally one of our scouts brought them in but we were not convinced about all the leather-bondage imagery and suchlike; the second time, a guy called David Donald brought it to an A&R meeting but again we did not commit; then the third time, one of our senior A&R managers called Nick Raymonde brought a Take That demo into a meeting, just a few months after he’d joined the company. It was a three-track demo with “Take That and Party”, “A Million Love Songs” and “Do What You Like”.’

Before now, Nick Raymonde has never been interviewed at length about his time with Take That—he worked with them on a daily basis for their entire career and, as the key A&R man, was their central contact with the record company. He still talks about the band with real passion and it is easy to see how he persuaded RCA to commit to a band that no other label was interested in: ‘I’d been doing club promotion for ten years before I started work at RCA, promoting dance music predominantly. I had started looking through all the pop magazines that I hadn’t really looked at for years, doing mental research—suddenly I’m reading all these magazines that I’d never looked at before like Smash Hits, Number 1, Just Seventeen and so on.

‘So I’d been reading through all this pop press and, in the back of my mind, the idea started to ferment that there weren’t any new pop stars—they were all TV stars: Jason and Kylie, Beverley Hills 90210, etc. I didn’t think “Right, I’ll go out and sign a pop group,” it was just registered in my mind. Then a scout called Dave Donald brought in this video of some TV Take That had done and said, “You’ve got to see this video, it’s hilarious.” I watched the video and I didn’t think it was hilarious, I thought it might be an opportunity.

‘The lads were sort of boy-next-door, just dead ordinary, and they gave off the vibe that they were really enjoying what they were doing. I contacted Nigel and it turned out they’d been turned away by RCA—they ended up sitting down in reception and not even being seen—so he was quite amused by the whole situation. By this time he’d been rejected by so many people he’d actually raised ?0,000 to make the infamous “Do What You Like” video—he spent even more of his own money on school shows. He just thought, “Fuck it, I’m going to do it myself”, which is amazing really. Him being involved was a big plus: I liked Nigel, he was one of those few people in the record industry like Tom Watkins, Jazz Summers and Malcolm McLaren-Bell—real larger-than-life characters. People don’t always realise but he is hysterically funny, he has you in stitches, yet at the same time he is totally driven.

‘I went to see them do a PA [Personal Appearance] at an under-18s club in Slough at four o’clock one afternoon. They were supporting Right Said Fred, who were just about to have a big hit with “I’m Too Sexy”. They were sat in the dressing room and I went and said hello and they were all dressed in this ridiculous bondage gear, but it was entertaining! Once they went on stage, there was sort of thirty or forty girls stood around the fringes, pretty disinterested in what was happening on stage and more interested in the boys that were there to chat them up. And do you know what? By the time Take That had finished doing the first song, they were completely mobbed. As I said, I’d done club promotion for so long, so I just did some simple multiplication: there’s about 4,500 clubs in the UK and of that I reckoned there were probably a thousand of them that you could put this band on at; therefore, if you get the same reaction at each club, then make a decent record and somehow aggregate all the fans together, then you could be successful.

‘Because they weren’t on the radar yet, I thought we could have a clear run at them as a project—Korda was a hugely experienced A&R guy and I thought that he would help me with it. He wanted me to succeed because he’d actually brought me into the record label as the A&R manager, so he wanted me to be successful.’

So Nick took the tracks to his boss and this time Korda was hooked by one track in particular: ‘I remember listening to “A Million Love Songs” and thinking That’s a smash record,’ says Korda. ‘Nigel Martin-Smith had a very clear vision of what to do and I thought Gary’s songs were really very good. “A Million Love Songs” had that sax solo, there was something going on in there from chord progressions to harmony, melody, the whole feel. Yet what people won’t realise is that Take That were actually a bit of a joke at the time in the A&R community, and in fact when Nick brought the tape into that meeting, everybody kind of laughed. But Nick took it seriously.’

Nick agrees: ‘As we were going through the process of signing the band, everyone is telling me that I’m an idiot. “This is going to be your first signing for RCA, Nick, and you’re gonna sign this joke group that everyone has turned down!” Hearing all this, I started to get cold feet; I started to imagine how it would look if it all failed, the losses we’d make and so on. I mentioned this to Korda and he said a remarkable thing: “Look, if you sign them and they are successful, you’re a star and we’re all laughing because they’ll sell millions of records; and if they fail, you can blame me.” It was amazing. No one has ever brought that to light, Korda’s never mentioned that and it was unheard of for someone to put it like that. So we decided we’d sign them.’

The context for this relative scorn was that, for many, pop was dead. As mentioned earlier, Bros had ruled the pop world in the late Eighties and New Kids on the Block had taken over their crown shortly after, but since then many ears had either turned to the Pacific West Seaboard and the approaching juggernaut that was grunge, or lost a few brain cells in the rush for ecstasy and raving. Guitars and clubbing were back in, and a squeaky-clean boy band with carefully choreographed dance routines was in many ways the absolute antithesis of what was considered fashionable. ‘I remember the day we signed them,’ recalls Korda. ‘We got all these faxes from Sony and EMI basically saying, “What the fuck are you doing? You’re the laughing stock of the A&R community!” But you have to look at it from a social and cultural aspect, about whether there is a space with nobody in it. For example, years later I went to see Deep Purple and Lynyrd Skynyrd and you could see there was a huge audience for that style of music but there was nobody new doing it…and then I came across this band called The Darkness. Likewise, there was a phase in the early 2000s where there weren’t a lot of singer-songwriters around; there were a few “arty farty” singers and some quality people like Damien Rice, but for me there was no mainstream commercial singer-songwriter. Then I heard James Blunt. You look for a gap. That’s what we saw with Take That.’

Nick Raymonde and Korda both spotted this vacuum. ‘There were no boy bands, nobody was doing pop in that sense. It was the whole club/dance thing. Nick and I went to see Take That at a club called the Limelight in Shaftsbury Avenue where they did a three-song set which, to be honest, was so gay it was funny. They were still quite young at the time. They could obviously dance, the routines were fantastic, and I recall being struck by their complexions. It sounds funny but they were obviously going to be very photogenic. I could just see them all over magazines such as Smash Hits. If you look at any early photos, you have to agree there was a clear photogenic sensibility. I know this sounds silly, but even something as specific as their individual jaw lines, the way that their skin looked—Nigel Martin-Smith had done a good job of styling them too by then.

‘That night I remember thinking they could all dance really well, they’d got a good mix of looks and personalities, and they’d got a couple of songs that could be hits…Let’s go for it! That impulse was actually so unlike me, normally I’d strategise and make a decision on the music and the core creativity and suchlike.

‘As I say, in the very early days it was very gay. It was Nigel Martin-Smith who put it together and it was a market he thought they could tap into. When he came in, we had a long conversation about trout fishing, which I love—he’s a fisherman as well, so we talked about trout for most of the time. I got on with him really well. He had his own model agency in Manchester at the time, yet for this new boy band he had a really strong vision about what he wanted to do. This was crucial in the decision-making process, because it was evident that it wasn’t just five young boys new to the business, which has the potential to be a nightmare. I was effectively dealing with one grown-up man who knew exactly what he was doing.

‘I’d met the actual band on the night of the Limelight gig and then they came into the office and we chatted and talked. It was really evident that they were really good at gripping-and-grinning [meeting and greeting the general public], which, in a pop sense, is really important. At the Limelight and in our offices you could watch them working a room, chatting with women; they were great with women and they were really good with the media and they’d shake hands, they’d be interested and they’d turn up on time. I know it sounds silly but the ability for them to turn up at a TV studio at half six in the morning, looking bright, fresh, ready to go and cracking jokes when everyone else is blotchy-eyed, it was a hefty potential asset…in walk these five young kids and you could-n’t not look at them. You could see them being so attractive to women, which is an obvious bonus. Plus they were really respectful with their p’s and q’s. They were nice kids, well brought up, good characters. And, contrary to many reports, at that point they were certainly a gang, the five of them were together all that time, laughing constantly, mucking about. It was all new and fresh. They were a gang.

‘At this point we started to take them seriously. Nigel took us seriously and we finally agreed a record contract—it wasn’t a huge deal at all. It was in the region of about £70,000, which effectively committed RCA to a further investment of around £300,000 to £400,000 in terms of launching Take That. It was a pretty standard deal to be honest.’

Nigel and the boys’ hard work had finally paid off and they had secured themselves a major-label record contract. Take That joined a very ‘unique’ roster that boasted such diverse artists as Rick Astley, The Primitives, The Wedding Present and Pop Will Eat Itself. ‘I actually had several occasions where the paths of these polar opposites on our roster would cross,’ Korda told me.

‘High-profile new bands are usually signed in something of a fanfare, to start the PR machine rolling early. I remember the signing party for Take That very clearly. It was at the Hard Rock CafÉ. We all had a long chat and I started talking to Robbie. The rest of the band were all drinking Coca Cola and Robbie was like, “Can you shove a scotch in there please?” We had to look around to see where his manager and everyone else was before we gave him this sneaky drink. Bless them, they were under the thumb of Nigel in quite a big way, but in a positive sense; Nigel did a lot of good things for them and that was because he was very strong in knowing what he wanted to do and where he wanted to take it. He controlled the boys and I think their frustrations would later come through, but from a record label’s perspective, Nigel’s approach was a very positive aspect, because there was someone in charge, sailing the ship and knowing what to do.’

Take That’s first major-label single was ‘Promises’ in September 1991, exactly seven days before Nirvana’s seminal ‘Smells Like Teen Spirit’. One record changed the face of modern music, arts, TV, radio, music-industry strategies and pretty much every facet of popular culture; the other one didn’t. No prizes for guessing which one was Take That’s.

Nick Raymonde recalls that first major-label release: ‘I thought Gary was a great songwriter, but being honest, “Promises” was an all right song, but it wasn’t a great record. On top of that, we hadn’t worked out how to get all of these fans that existed everywhere alerted to the fact a record was coming out. There was so much hype around the group that the record company was almost wanting it to succeed too soon. This song was done with Duncan Bridgman at his own studio in Uxbridge Road: he produced it, played on it, but unfortunately I didn’t like it—to be fair to Duncan, though, I didn’t really know what record it was we were trying to make.’

Having said that, the single did mark the start of something big, not least their first ever chart entry. Robbie later remarked that the moment they all heard the single had charted at No. 38—their first chart hit—was the most excited he has ever been about any single, including during his own illustrious solo career. Apparently, the band jumped on his hotel bed so much it broke.

Nick Raymonde was equally pleased. ‘I thought when that first record had gone in at No. 38 that was a genuine hit, because at that time the Top Forty was regarded as success—actually, the fact that it only sold about 8,000 copies and probably hadn’t even washed its hands on the cost of the photograph on the sleeve was a more worrying reality.’

The video was low budget but did give an interesting insight into the band’s life on the road, featuring as it did footage of their club PAs and school shows, as well as a ‘live’ performance re-enacted at Hollywoods nightclub in Romford, one of their regular haunts. During the promotional campaign for ‘Promises’, they also made their first appearance on Wogan, which was Britain’s biggest chat show at the time, with viewing figures of twelve million a night. As part of his intro, Sir Terence called them—not for the first or last time—‘Britain’s answer to New Kids on the Block’.

***

Nigel Hassler of Helter Skelter Agency was, at the time, working for Primary Talent booking agents, and he became involved in some of Take That’s very earliest shows. Even at that early stage, there was a growing buzz within the music industry about these newcomers, as he explained to me: ‘I am always researching magazines, gig listings, seeing who keeps cropping up, who I need to keep an eye out for, and Take That seemed to catch my eye every now and then. So I went to the record label and Nick Raymonde put me in contact with Nigel Martin-Smith. The buzz was building already so I phoned him and said I’d love to get involved.

‘I was employed by Nigel Martin-Smith to try to get them on any kind of club show, mainly under-18s discos, the odd gay club and a schools tour. There was a combination of markets there from way back then. Basically, though, at that stage it was like pulling teeth trying to get them booked, and it was always for very low fees. We were almost giving the band away to give them exposure: I think it was about £200 a night on average.’ Given that this money had to cover fuel, food, any accommodation if it was needed and so on, it is easy to see that everyone involved was, at this point, just investing their efforts in the future.

Their innovative manager was very keen to gig the band as hard as possible—at the time this was a relatively forward-thinking strategy, one of hard road-work normally reserved for more rock-oriented acts. ‘Everybody was working very hard to break the band,’ explains their former agent Nigel Hassler, ‘yet it was actually quite difficult to fill up a date sheet; gigs were not easy to come by. Nigel Martin-Smith would take anything, so they ended up travelling all over the country; Ipswich then up north, then way back south, miles and miles and miles, wherever they could play in front of people.’

Far from concentrating on almost exclusively gay clubs, Nigel Hassler saw a much more focussed attention on school tours. ‘In my opinion,’ continues Hassler, ‘it was the first time this school touring schedule had been done so strategically. Occasionally the odd band may have done one or two school shows, but none had actually gone and done a deliberate schools’ tour. That’s what we were putting together for them. The typical day would involve playing a school in the afternoon, perhaps with a meet-and-greet afterwards and a quick signing session, then off to a club show and very often back in the car for a drive to a late-night club, not always in the same towns. Weekends were always two shows a night. It was relentless. They really put in the time.’

Having seen literally thousands of gigs in his career, Nigel Hassler was impressed by the band’s show even when they were playing tiny venues for next-to-no money: ‘They were great; they looked good, the choreography was fantastic, the costumes were well thought out, they looked like the “real deal”. You often get rock bands who can’t perform too well and they need a couple of years to actually develop and grow to become an accomplished live band, but from what I remember, Take That were doing very well indeed so early on. I actually went to one of their earliest London shows at the Brixton Fridge for a gay club night. They would usually play about five songs, playback with a live vocal. They were very, very good.’

Despite the paltry financial returns, Nigel recalls that their record label was firmly behind them: ‘BMG were giving them major push-ups to make some connection with the public. We had a few problems with show dates clashing with some booked by Nigel Martin-Smith’s office, and when I spoke to him about a few concerns, it was taken as me ducking out of doing work on the band; we had a bit of a disagreement and that was the end of the relationship. It was a fairly short affair but very interesting to see Take That at such an early stage in their careers. I think I may have made about five hundred quid out of the band!’

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