PREVIEW

Their two-year spell in the army behind them, Jim Gordon and Graham Taylor shared the same ambition to establish themselves in the music industry in a big way. Just how, or by what means, they weren't sure, but if self-confidence and unswerving belief in themselves meant what everyone said it did, success was just a matter of time...and luck.

The big band sounds of the Dorsey Brothers, Artie Shaw, Glenn Miller and others had swept the United States the previous decade and provided the legacy, during the early Fifties, of former featured vocalists Frankie Laine, Kay Starr, Doris Day, and Perry Como jostling each other for hit parade status. Jim and Graham knew the musical cycle had to keep on turning, once again bringing in new ideas and fresh talents. The key to fulfilling their aspirations could only be cut by creating a new musical sound, and not by imitation or repetition. Neither had specialized knowledge of the record industry which, after its initial setbacks, had proved to be a boom one; but each had proved to the other that he knew which recordings the public would turn into a hit when listening to the new releases played on the radio.

During their spell in the army, they had earned $600 from their fellow servicemen by taking bets on the chances of any disc getting into the charts. This had proved an enjoyable and profitable diversion from poker and dice and, despite being on the losing end, the other GIs were soon avid listeners to each week's Top 20 best-selling records reports. The pair had even taken to betting between themselves as to the hit potential of these releases and, on demob, Jim was ahead by a mere five dollars on their even money bets.

"That's the only knowledge we need to know," Jim had told Graham, after the pair had agreed to combine their winnings as an investment for the future. "If we could continue forecasting the nation's top sellers we'd have it made!"

Success in the music industry was merely a stepping stone to greater things. The entertainment media had become so interwoven that a hit recording artist would be snapped up by television, night clubs, lucrative one-night personal appearances and movies. Huge profits were waiting for whoever could come up with the right formula and ingredients for that success, and Jim and Graham were determined to be a part of it.

Their first few weeks back meant returning to their home town of Stanville, New England and their folks-all four of whom were not keen to learn of their sons' music world ambitions.

"Is that what you spent your time studying for?" Graham's parents had asked.

"Are you crazy, Jim?" questioned his father, seeking confirmation of his own opinion. "Those savings you plan on taking out were put by for law school and you're going to blow them on a gamble for which you haven't even got reasonable odds."

"We always knew music was your hobby son," his mother tried to reason, "but it's hardly the sort of thing you can build a career on."

Jim had well-anticipated their folks' attitude. Weren't all New England parents the same when it came to their children leaving the warmth and security of their nice, small town homes for cold, friendless New York? It was typical of the close-knit family environment in which he and Graham had grown up but, appreciative of it as they were, neither could accept the thought of remaining in Stanville and marrying the girls next door as their fathers had done.

They were both 21 when landing their first positions in the record business, dispatch clerks with Perfection Records Inc. The work was mundane, the pay far from what they had hoped for, and prospects appeared bleak; but it was a start, each encouraged the other. The thought of continuing in this employment indefinitely was something neither wished to contemplate but, as long as they were employees of Perfection, it was up to them to keep their ears and eyes alert as to the way the big boys ran their business.

Jim brushed back his dark hair, noting with satisfaction that it had again reached collar length, and grimaced when his eyes set upon the photograph, pinned inside his locker door, of he and Graham, taken after the army barber had savagely chopped at them. He grinned at himself in the mirror hanging beside the snap, causing his hazel eyes to narrow slightly and his gentle, but masculine, good looks to adopt an even friendlier appearance. If he could sing in tune, he smiled, he would try his luck in front of a microphone, but the thought of the sound of his vocal attempts brought another grimace.

Graham donned his overalls, and ran his fingers through his curls. Like Jim, he was dark-haired, but a mass of springy locks set above penetrating blue eyes and a slimmer build gave him a younger, teenage appearance. "How much longer do you reckon we'll stick it out at Perfection?" he called over to Jim, again separating his curls. "I don't fancy sticking labels on parcels indefinitely."

The pair had been working for Perfection Records Inc. for three months and the nearest either had come in direct contact with the music business had been in the shape of Jean Ford, secretary to company publicist, Hyman Sandberg, and whom Graham had taken out on a couple of occasions. Their going out together could hardly be described as dating since, to Graham, they had served as excuses to discuss each other's ambitions to get ahead in the record industry.

Jean sympathized with Graham and Jim for having to start at what was, probably, the last and least satisfying link in bringing a recording to the record shops; packaging and labeling the parcels for delivery to the stores. At least she had a job which brought her in touch with some of the people who mattered.

"As long as Darren Grant keeps selling records as quickly as he's doing, there'll always be a job for us here," Jim sighed, closing his locker and walking towards the stacks of discs and spikes of advice notes.

"I hear his contract with Perfection has been renewed again," said Graham, placing another batch of discs on the shelf. "Hyman Sandberg must be raking it in. As well as his 10 per cent from Grant, he also handles Vicky Sims. She can't sing either, but at least she's good to look at!"

Jim nodded, pressing down the strong, brown sticky tape on a case of the curvy Miss Sims' latest release. She was the hottest female property to hit the record world in quite a while and under exclusive contract to Perfection. While Ella Fitzgerald, Peggy Lee, Sarah Vaughan and Doris Day had vocal artistry which kept their fans eagerly awaiting each new release, Vicky's contribution lay in the husky sex appeal which simply oozed from the grooves of her discs.

"Did you hear how Vicky was discovered?" Graham asked.

"No, how?" Jim questioned back.

"She posed for a set of cheesecake pictures and sent them off to her agent, together with a tape she recorded in that sexy sound of hers. I guess she figured if the tape didn't attract his attention, the pictures would!"

Jim pursed his lips in thought. "How did she go about the recording make the tape herself?"

Graham grinned broadly. "She wouldn't know a tape recorder from a battleship," he chortled. "A girl like Vicky would have had no problem hiring a small studio and musicians to cover a recording. She certainly impressed Sandberg-however she managed to raise the dough."

"Probably by giving Sandberg a raise," retorted Jim, cutting short his laughter as the germ of an idea entered his thoughts. "How about doing an old pal a favor...?"

The sudden change in his friend's tone caused Graham's hands to loosen their grip on the pile of 78s he was parceling, sending them sliding to the ground and shattering in the process. "Shit!" he cursed, scooping them up. "Now I've got to fill in another breakages report...

"... what sort of a favor?" he continued in the same sentence.

NIGHTS OF THE TURNTABLE

The story of Jim Gordon's climb from owner of a small studio to President of Revolution Enterprises, the most successful independent recording company in the United States, and his experiences en route.

Patty Jones, the night club singer he discovers, and falls in love with, who allegedly shared her bed with disc-jockeys to ensure maximum plays for her recordings.

Rose Camillo, the small town girl who realizes his ambition to create a female, records superstar. The possessor of an extraordinarily haunting voice, she is also the mother of Jim's child and a victim of personal tragedy.

Victor Griffiths, rival recording company president who operates his own casting couch methods when auditioning would-be teenage pop stars.

Rex Martin, discovered in a gay bar, whose troubled past is instrumental in securing Revolution's independence.

Pete Jenson, groomed by Jim Gordon for stardom, whose success and magnetism has a devastating and irreversible effect on all.

Ron Roberts, married with three grown-up children, has spent his entire working life in the media. Affiliated to Britain's Daily Express, Sunday Correspondent and Daily Telegraph on a full-time basis, he has also freelanced for the Daily Mail, Guardian, The European and Independent newspapers.

Specializing in popular music-related features, his articles have appeared in the Express, Correspondent, Telegraph, London Evening Standard, Record Mirror, Woman's Own, Woman's Realm, CD liners and a number of syndicated titles in all five continents.

His favorite interviewees have, pleasingly, reflected the artists most represented in his extensive music collection, and include Connie Francis, Vikki Carr, Alma Cogan and Dolores Gray Nights of the Turntable is his first novel, and he has already drawn outlines of plots for an intended sequel, with the working title "Daze of the Weak".