Take one spoilt rock star, a drum-and-bass collective, two chanteuses and
what do you get? Later with Jools Holland
RICHARD Ashcroft of the Verve has a problem. Huge cameras glide in a
graceful ballet round a circular studio, swooping in on members of the
Manchester rock band and their eight-piece string section as they
rehearse for the only British television performance of their anthemic
hit, The Drugs Don't Work. Ashcroft, gaunt and intense, the natural
centre of attention, hunkers down on his haunches to deliver his
passionate vocals. This is not, however, a new rock 'n' roll pose. The
scrawny singer is attempting to stop his trousers falling down.
"Has anyone got a belt I could borrow?" he says, as the band bring the
song to its heartfelt close. "Otherwise I'm gonna end the show with my
trousers round my ankles." A belt is quickly procured, sparing the
nation an unsavoury episode.
Mercury Prize-winner Roni Size has been watching from the sidelines.
The wiry Bristol drum-and-bass star nods his pineapple hairdo in
approval at the Verve's performance, before ambling off to the canteen,
where members of his Reprazent crew are looking over designs for their
tour clothes. At the bottom of the stairwell, Birmingham reggae band
UB40 assemble against a white wall for a photo shoot, looking, with
their sharp suits and weathered faces, like a police line-up. The door
to the dressing-room of legendary American chanteuse Rickie Lee Jones
is closed, but along the corridor a piano can be heard tinkling in Jools
Holland's room, where the pianist and presenter is ensconced with Jewel,
the young American folk star.
It is late afternoon in the BBC's White City television studios in west
London and there is enough leading musical talent here to stage a
festival. Which is exactly what it feels like to Mark Cooper, the genial
producer of BBC2's music programme Later with Jools Holland, a new
series of which starts on Saturday night. "This is like Glastonbury
without the mud," he declares as he attempts to cross the bustling
studio floor.
His progress is hampered by constant calls for his attention - from the
floor manager, director, cameramen, press officers and band managers.
Cooper has time for everyone. "You acquire a patina of calm in this job,"
he jokes. "But we are constantly teetering on the brink of complete
chaos. If you can imagine trying to run Woodstock in a TV studio, you get
some idea of the scale of the logistical problems facing each episode."
Now entering its 10th series, Later is justifiably the most celebrated
music programme on television. Cooper, a music journalist of long
standing (and occasional contributor to The Daily Telegraph), was
responsible for overseeing the musical content of the BBC2 evening arts
programme The Late Show. Although Later was created as a spin-off in
1992, thanks to its winning mixture of high-quality live performances
and relaxed presentational style it has outlasted its pretentious
origins.
"Music television, years ago, was made by people who didn't care about
music," says Brian Travers of UB40. "They'd do cricket programmes one
day and music the next. This is a show that's made by music fans and you
can tell the difference."
"I've always watched it, because it's the only show that's solely about
music," says Size, who regards his debut performance on the programme as
one of the highlights of his dramatic rise. "Obviously I never expected
the Mercury Prize and all the good things that have come from it, but
this was always one of my goals, to get on to Jools Holland."
As Size points out, much of the credit for the show's success falls to
Holland, who has been the genial host of proceedings since its inception.
His musical credentials - former pianist with Squeeze, now leader of his
own extremely popular Big Band - lend him a genuine affinity with the
performers. Combined with the quick-witted persona of a stand-up comedian,
it makes him perhaps the ideal host.
"It is a music show that takes musicians and their art form seriously and
is entirely dedicated to what the best in music is," says Holland. He is
not always inclined to be serious himself, however. "It's not about
fashion or who's wearing the latest shoes - although I always am,
obviously. There's a good, eclectic mix. I mean, nobody would like
everybody who was on it, but everybody should like somebody.
"There are things that aren't my cup of tea, particularly, but I can see
how they're relevant and should be seen. But when it comes to, say, the
Nosebleeds from Hull doing 'Dandruff Part II', I wouldn't be inclined to
play their records at home." Holland sits at a battered stand-up piano
in his less than palatial dressing-room, rehearsing a song with Jewel.
The glamorous singing sensation (whose largely acoustic debut album has
sold more than six million copies) combines cleavage and clever lyrics,
like a kind of Folkie Spice. They have just met, but stroll through one
of her compositions as if they have been playing together for ever. "You
have to tour with me," she gushes as Holland's virtuoso tinkling adds a
rhythmic swing behind her guitar.
"A lot of the best things, if you ask me, happen in this room around the
piano," declares Jools. "So it would be my ambition to film the show
right here. Of course, we'd have a bit of a problem getting the cameras
in."
Jewel, who has done the rounds of music television shows, is effusive in
her praise of the programme. "It's the only show that really does music
justice," she says. "Usually they dress it in funny clothing and make it
do tricks instead of just letting it be itself."
It is hard to find a musician with a bad word to say about Later, though
Ashcroft does his best. While his girlfriend, Kate Radley of
Spiritualised, vainly attempts to get chips out of a machine in the
canteen, Ashcroft paces about, desperate for a cigarette. "There's so
much bullshit on TV. You can't smoke, you can't do this, you can't do
that," he complains, bug-eyed and talking a mile a minute.
"It's all red tape: volume, cigarettes, alcohol - they want rock and
roll, but when they get it, they s*** themselves. The music business
has been sold down the road by people who are so desperate to get
exposure that they'll do anything. And I'm not interested. But this is
about as comfortable as I can feel in a television studio. It's the show
with the least amount of crap - because it's the most musically based.
I always enjoy watching it."
Ashcroft pauses in the midst of his self-contradictory diatribe and
laughs. "I mean, yeah, I'm still moaning about it, obviously," he says.
"The backdrop looks like a bag of s***. But this is as near to what I
consider a music show should be as you can get."
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