Wilko Johnson
Guitarist and songwriter with Dr Feelgood, the rockers from Canvey Island who took on the world
WILKO JOHNSON, who has died aged 75, found fame in the 1970s with the Canvey Island rhythm and blues band Dr Feelgood. His jerky, slashing guitar style, songwriting ability and magnetic stage presence brought him worldwide acclaim, but the wildman of rock image was only one facet of a complex, multi-talented man.
He was born John Peter Wilkinson on July 12 1947 on Canvey Island, Essex. He grew up in this below-sea-level community – at that time remote and rural – in the Thames Estuary. He went to Westcliff High School in Southend – while playing in local bands – then studied English at Newcastle University.
He married his childhood sweetheart Irene, and followed the hippy trail to Kathmandu before embarking on a shortlived career as a teacher. With his chestlength hair, quick, sarcastic temper and ability to quote Shakespeare and Piers Plowman by the yard, Johnson stood out from the crowd; and when he and three Canvey Island friends formed Dr Feelgood in 1971 to play basic, energetic blues and R&B, it was this eccentric intelligence, bouncing off the “gentleman bruiser” persona of the gravel-voiced singer Lee Brilleaux, that gave the Feelgoods their electrifying effect.
Johnson possessed the rare ability to write sharp, abrupt songs with the punch and economy of short stories. The backdrop for these cameos was what he referred to as “Oil City”, a baleful version of Canvey Island where shady characters, stalked by paranoia, hastened down mean streets lit by flaming refinery chimneys to conclude furtive deals in a pungent atmosphere of menace.
In their stage wear of tatty suits, slim ties and short hair, the members of Dr Feelgood looked as though they had stepped straight out of Oil City to confront all-comers. The self-regarding rock music scene of the early 1970s, mired in 20-minute guitar solos, received a bracing slap in the face from the four deeply unfashionable Canvey Islanders, and they very soon became the UK’S must-see band.
To watch the unsmiling Feelgoods in their 1973-76 heyday was to witness what some called “the greatest local band in the world” at the height of their powers. Brilleaux was every inch the charismatic frontman, barking out Johnson’s songs with breathtaking venom, while the spiv-haired drummer The Big Figure (John Martin) and the bassist Sparko (John B Sparks), decked out in what he termed his “bastard suit”, fitted together perfectly.
At Brilleaux’s elbow, Johnson attacked his trademark black-and-red Fender Telecaster with eye-catching ferocity as he jerked at hyped-up speed across the stage. Johnson would stare the audience out with bulgy amphetamine eyes from under his puddingbowl fringe, occasionally leaping high in the air with long black-trousered legs flung wide.
His plectrum-free guitar technique, simultaneously playing rhythm with thumb and lead with fingers, produced a spasmodic, chopping accompaniment to Brilleaux’s growly vocals. It was a masterful display of menace and musicianship, and Johnson rode a wave of manic energy night after night.
Dr Feelgood took off like a rocket. Small pub gigs became lengthy tours of the UK and Europe as their reputation spread. They secured a record deal with United Artists, and in January 1975 released their first album, Down by the Jetty. The record bucked the trend, from its stark black-and-white cover shot (a grumpy, hungover band shivering on the Canvey seawall with an oil tanker in the background) to its thin but aggressive sound, a mixture of stereo and mono – insisted upon by Johnson – that put the music right in the listeners’ faces.
Sales were unspectacular, though, as with the follow-up Malpractice: the appeal of Dr Feelgood was rooted in their fiery, sold-out live performances. That was borne out by the success of their third album, Stupidity, which caught them hot and live at two gigs.
It reached No 1 in September 1976, its raw pugnacity kicking open the door for the shock-troops of punk to rampage through (Andy Gill of Gang of Four was particularly inspired by Johnson’s guitar work). But Dr Feelgood’s hour of triumph also proved to be their peak.
Tensions that had always been present between Johnson and his hard-drinking bandmates began to stretch towards breaking point. The others were content to let the guitarist handle all the songwriting, and the relentless touring schedule denied the perfectionist Johnson the time he needed to come up with new material.
Socially, too, they were drifting apart, with the then-teetotal Johnson keeping to his room with a selection of non-alcoholic stimulants rather than joining his colleagues in the bar. He became withdrawn and touchy, a recipe for disaster in a band where the gags and jibes flowed even faster than the booze.
Cracks that could not be papered over developed in the key relationship between Johnson and the younger and more laconic Lee Brilleaux, the natural leader both on and off-stage. What had begun as mutual admiration became intense dislike. In April 1977, during the recording of the fourth album, Sneakin’ Suspicion, a sulky row over a song burned suddenly out of control, and Johnson left the band.
At first Johnson was so disheartened he vowed never to pick up a guitar again, but he soon formed a shortlived new band, Solid Senders, followed by the Wilko Johnson Band. He had a stint as guitarist with Ian Dury and the Blockheads, and embarked on a series of tours with various backing musicians.
His economical songwriting, jerky guitar technique, clangorous sound and manic stage act stayed for the next 35 years exactly as they had been in his Dr Feelgood heyday. He remained resolutely out of style.
But the release in 2009 of Julien Temple’s widely acclaimed film about Dr Feelgood and Canvey Island, Oil City Confidential, reawakened interest in Johnson. Baldheaded and cadaverous, he stole the show as narrator of the Feelgood story. Viewers discovered a man of many interests and talents, from painting to Icelandic sagas and astronomy; and a new generation of enthusiasts joined long-standing fans of Dr Feelgood in making pilgrimages to Canvey Island to explore the “Oil City” of Wilko Johnson’s imagination for themselves.
Johnson experienced a new lease of life. In 2010 he made his acting debut in HBO’S fantasy TV series Game of Thrones as the tongueless executioner Ser Ilyn Payne, and in 2012 he collaborated with the music writer Zoë Howe on a well-received autobiography, Looking Back at Me.
His new-found popularity led to plenty of work, including sold-out gigs with the bassist Norman Watt-roy and drummer Dylan Howe, long-standing musical colleagues whose jazz-flavoured playing suited Johnson down to the ground.
In January 2013 Johnson announced that he was suffering from terminal pancreatic cancer and had only a few months to live, having chosen not to undergo chemotherapy. He spoke movingly in interviews of how the illness had brought him peace of mind, a sense of acceptance and an enhanced appreciation of the beauty of being alive.
But the “Bard of Canvey” proved not quite ready to sign off. A short, emotional farewell tour of the UK that spring was the prelude to a year-long reprieve, during which – in apparently rude health – he played many gigs, recorded with The Who singer Roger Daltrey, and became something of a media hero as he defied his illness with good grace and characteristically sardonic humour.
It then transpired that he had a treatable, less severe form of the disease. He underwent an 11-hour operation, and in 2014 he accepted an “Icon Award” at the Q Awards and declared that he was cancerfree: “Now, I’m spending my time gradually coming to terms with the idea that my death is not imminent, that I am going to live on.”
Wilko Johnson’s wife Irene died in 2004, and he is survived by their two sons.