Last week I wrote an appraisal of The Beach Boys magnum opus ‘Pet Sounds‘ – compelled to put pen to paper after watching a BBC 4 documentary about the making of that ground breaking album.
In complementing me on the review, a friend suggested I write up my thoughts on a documentary shown the same evening as the ‘Pet Sounds‘ programme – namely ‘Tubular Bells – The Mike Oldfield Story.’
This served as a challenge as he is someone whose career has never stirred my curiosity – despite his best known work ‘Tubular Bells‘ (1973) being widely regarded as a seminal 70s recording.
‘Tubular Bells‘ like ‘Frampton Comes Alive‘ and (for a number of years I’m ashamed to admit) ‘The Dark Side of the Moon‘ was for me one of the albums from that decade which existed on the other side of a demarcation line – drawn after I first heard The Ramones debut LP.
I have never owned ‘Tubular Bells‘ and until last weekend had not heard it all the way through, knowing only the obvious parts from countless 70s period piece television dramas.
On giving it a full listen must admit to not being grabbed in the way millions were judging by its sales, finding the documentary of slightly more interest.
For all his wealth and critical acclaim, the Mike Oldfield story did not strike me as a particularly happy one. His difficult childhood turned him into a shy, withdrawn youth, but by the age of just fourteen he was a precocious musical talent, displaying a virtuosity that enabled Oldfield to master virtually any instrument he picked up.
In a different sense, music journalist Karl Dallas also used the word ‘precocious‘ when describing an early encounter with Oldfield (who at sixteen was playing bass guitar in the Kevin Ayres Band), inserting it into a sentence also containing the phrase ‘little prick.’
Indeed Tom Newman, producer of ‘Tubular Bells‘ states ‘Mike was bad at social intercourse,’ but then again excellent inter-personal skills have never been a prerequisite for the creation of great music and when Oldfield says: ‘I retreated into music – music was more real to me than reality,’ it could almost be Van Morrison talking.
The story eventually leads, with a particularly frightening LSD trip for Oldfield along the way, to The Manor, a recording studio in Oxfordshire recently purchased by fledgling business tycoon Richard Branson – who from here on in becomes a key character in the tale.
The young musician/composer is given free reign to create and in doing so produces one of the strangest success stories in the history of rock – an instrumental album where almost every instrument (a huge array it has to be said) is overdubbed by Oldfield.
The fact it contains no vocals is initially a concern to Branson (being the first release on his Virgin label) – but not to the record buying public who send it to the top of the album charts, registering sales of over five million during the next three years.
While awarding Oldfield high marks for his undoubted ambition and outstanding musicianship (influences from rock, folk and classical music can be detected in what are mostly short, connected themes), there is a tendency, to these ears at least, for the melodies to lack a sense of drama and to sound a touch repetitive.
It is not an aversion to instrumentals that makes me say this, more likely an uneasy feeling that at times ‘Tubular Bells‘ veers towards what I recognize as progressive rock and the excesses of bands such as King Crimson, Yes and Emerson, Lake and Palmer (the two instrumentals on ‘Quadrophenia‘ out-prog the progs simply by virtue of being exciting and not overstaying their welcome).
Oldfield certainly deserves credit in achieving the enormous commercial success he did for such an experimental work, even if critical reaction has swung between claims of him being ‘the most important popular composer of the decade‘, to ‘Tubular Bells‘ amounting to ‘uncompelling melodies repeated over and over at sluggish tempos.’
Avoiding the cliché of saying the truth lies somewhere in the middle, my inclination is to agree with noted American rock writer Dave Marsh who described it as, ‘monotonous and far too long.’
The emotional effort in producing such an epic work put huge emotional strain on Oldfield (by comparison, the follow-up ‘Hergest Ridge‘ sank without trace) and worse was to follow when Virgin, the label he had done more than anyone to establish, threw in its lot with punk rock – signing bands such as The Ruts, Magazine and eventually The Sex Pistols, whose ethos included complete abhorrence of the indulgence they felt Oldfield stood for.
The man himself was clearly offended by the derogatory remarks that came his way and also by a perceived betrayal by Virgin who he says ‘became a punk label.’ In truth Branson was no doubt as equally appalled by punk as Oldfield, but judged the market and simply saw a business opportunity.
In the late 70s Oldfield underwent primal scream therapy in an attempt to reconcile issues that had troubled him since he was a boy, the results only partially successful according to those close to him. The documentary skips over the next thirty years in a flash, fast-forwarding to the London Olympics of 2012 with Oldfield looking every bit the aging guitar-hero – resplendent in neat haircut and sharp suit – playing a large excerpt from ‘Tubular Bells‘ during the spectacular opening ceremony.
Far removed from the university graduate he looked in a host of 70s colour supplements, Oldfield also appears to be enjoying himself – enjoyment seemingly in short supply for much of his life, moving a friend to comment as the documentary draws to a close:
‘Mike has given so much, he deserves something back.’
If he does find contentment it seems likely to be through music, even if there is little chance of it having the same remarkable impact as ‘Tubular Bells.’
Whether you like the album or not, there is no doubting its ambition or originality, successful way beyond the realms of anything he or Richard Branson could have dared dream back in 1973 – and for creating a defining work of the era, Oldfield at the very least, deserves respect.
This article was first published on 22/3/2018.
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NEIL SAMBROOK is the author of ‘MONTY’S DOUBLE’ – an acclaimed thriller now available in paperback as an Amazon Kindle Book.
