Sock it to them, Tom!
How Elvis had a very surprising theory about Tom Jones’ sex appeal
Tom Jones has been a genuine global star for half a century. How many other people can say that? By my reckoning, it’s no more than a handful: Paul mcCartney, mick Jagger, Bob Dylan, Clint eastwood and Hm The Queen.
And only one of them, I believe, lives in a larger house than sir Tom’s.
It was in march 1965 that his first hit, It’s not Unusual, went to no 1 in the UK and made him famous. To this day, the fame is untainted and the talent uneroded. Another significant milestone approaches on June 7, when he will turn 75 years old.
All of which makes him the perfect subject for a lavishly appointed, no-holds-barred hardback biography. smith’s is not the first — in fact, it’s the twelfth.
But it’s the first for nearly two years, and should keep us going until the autumn, when sir Tom’s autobiography is due out. What else will the great man be able to reveal, given that almost every imaginable revelation has already been made?
For sir Tom has not lived a particularly secretive life. Though married to Linda, nee Trenchard, for 58 years, and happily so, he has enjoyed a prolific extra-curricular love life. But as long as Linda doesn’t have to read about it in the newspaper — let’s hope she doesn’t read this — she turns a blind eye.
It’s not just a matter of having your cake and eating it. It’s having more cake than anyone else has ever had and eating every last crumb of it.
SUCH opportunities would never have arisen, of course, without the talent. Jones was born with the gift of a golden voice, and he knows exactly what to do with it. This was apparent on his first hit, and has not wavered since.
Quite what he should do with his career has not always been so obvious but, under the watchful eye of his son, mark, who has managed him since the mid-eighties, he has recaptured his place in the sun and gained a new generation of fans. several generations, in fact.
The backstory is well known. Babies hear it on their mothers’ knees, and then tell it to their own babies many years later. Born Thomas Woodward in Treforest, south Wales, the infant Tom ‘ had an edge, even as a youngster in short trousers. He didn’t just sing a song; he performed it with verve and passion’.
Aged 12, he lost a year at school through tuberculosis; at 16, he was married with a child on the way. ‘most of thehe girls found him very attractive,’,’ said one schoolmate. ‘He seemed d a bit rough to me, but he definitely ely had the charisma. He had a way withith hi him, a swagger.’’
The climb from obscurity, though, was long and arduous. Tom was a member of a band called The senators, who weren’t going anywhere terribly fast.
A sharp- eyed young manager, Gordon mills, persuaded him to move to London, change his name to ‘Tom Jones’ and begin a solo career. He was already in his mid- 20s. For 20 years, until Gordon died of cancer, Tom always deferred to his expertise. In return, Gordon did all Tom’s dirty work and sacked anyone whoho needed eded sacki sacking.g It was an arrangement that suited them both perfectly.
Hits in the sixties led to Las Vegas in the seventies, and what might best be described as the Underwear Throwing Years. no bow-tie was larger or fluffier than Tom’s, no hips swivelled more suggestively.
elvis was a good friend and was
convinced Tom wore a sock down the front of his trousers. Tom knew everyone and got on with nearly all of them, though he didn’t like it when John Lennon Lennon, with his characteristic Scouse wit, called him a ‘Welsh poof’. Would anyone?
nonetheless, an artistic nadir of some sort was reached when Tom recorded five consecutive country albums in the early Eighties. The live tours and Vegas residencies had made him hedge-fund rich.
He and Linda lived in splendour in California, with many close relatives comfortably ensconced round the corner. But was it making him happy? Well, yes, but at the same time, Tom clearly needed to reconnect with the bluesier, rootsier music he had first loved. It hasn’t been an entirely easy ride since then, but his last two studio albums, praise & Blame (2010) and Spirit In The Room (2012), have been the best of his long career.
What comes over throughout the book is the straightforwardness of the man. other stars say they might consider plastic surgery one day if the need arises, when they have clearly had the lot done.
Sir Tom Jones has also had the lot done — but cheerfully admits to it.
HE HAS a reputation for being a little slow to put his hand in his pocket, yet is generous with family and close friends, as you or I would be in his position.
He doesn’t like drugs or gambling, but enjoys a good cigar, and has drunk so much vintage champagne that at least one of his lovers was put off the stuff for good.
Smith is an efficient chronicler of the life, as befits an old pro whose previous books have included Kylie, Gary (Barlow), Alesha (Dixon), Tulisa, Kate (Middleton), Cheryl and, of course, Victoria.
There are a few factual errors that suggest speed of composition or just lack of knowledge: Leonard Cohen’s song is called Tower of Song, not Tower of Strength, for instance, and he doesn’t know that Burt Bacharach did not write the lyrics to his songs, which is a bit poor.
But his book bounces along happily enough, forever marvelling that this faintly disgraceful old rake has been forgiven everything and become universally adored. As Rob Brydon put it when presenting him with yet another lifetime achievement award: ‘ Tom Jones has lived the life we would all love to live.’
I have no doubt that women swooned and grown men wept, and Sir Tom probably sang It’s not unusual for about the 20,000th time.