Revolución To Roxy

Phil Manzanera From peripatetic youth to art-rock maestro: memoirs of a Mr. Nice Guy. EXPRESSION

Ihope you’ll find my family’s history as interesting as my fifty-year career in music”, Phil Manzanera offers in the preface to his lockdown-written memoir, adding realistically: “Of course, it’s no problem if you want to skip to Roxy…” Probably, most of us will. By and large, we read rock-star autobiographies for revelations, ideally involving extravagance, excess and secrets spilled.

That was never going to happen here. Roxy Music were not Mötley Crüe, and Manzanera is acknowledged as one of the most decent, modest people in the game. It’s a testament, then, to what a stellar professional life he’s had that the book builds at a canter into a gently illuminating read, without burning bridges or defenestrating televisions. And yes, his family had some unusual experiences, with the young Phil growing up in Hawaii, Venezuela, Cuba and Colombia. He started playing guitar aged six.

Back in England, aged 21, he joins Roxy, earning £15 a week, and ditches his double denim. They want to be the British Velvets, but their art-school quirks render them unique. All goes well until Ferry and Eno diverge – “Their two personalities were the reverse of each other,” Manzanera writes. More surprisingly, he elaborates: “Eno was very gregarious and Ferry was very secretive.” Across the splits and reunions, he signals that Ferry hogging the steering wheel was his chief issue. A 1982 kiss-off of “It’s been a great pressure working with you” is as bitchy as Phil gets. That said, the last tour was a gratifying, mellowed-byage experience for all parties.

So this book is more about serenity than scandal. Manzanera’s achievements outside Roxy, from his solo records and production work to collaborations with David Gilmour, Robert Wyatt, Godley & Creme and others are covered, although it’s odd how swiftly he skims over his work with John Cale and Nico. There’s a fun story about Eric Stewart phoning a Barbados studio to persuade Phil to ask Eddy Grant if he could ask his friend the prime minister to let Paul McCartney off a dope bust (he does). And you’ll believe how absurdly competitive Roger Waters was at tennis and swimming. A wry comment about the Floyd “debacle” being escalated by people “saying things they probably later regretted” confirms why this book is charming rather than outrageous, and – more than this – why you’d be hard-pressed to find anybody not kindly disposed towards one of rock’s most subtly influential figures.