The former Rolling Stone who keeps rolling

Jul 4 2008 by David Charters, Liverpool Daily Post

When an old Stone comes rolling into town, the talk soon turns to cigarettes, rock and roll and Wilfred Pickles. David Charters reports

IT IS perhaps almost blasphemous to say this, but there is a hint of slippers, bed-socks and cocoa in the warm tones of the prickle-jawed rock star, whose muscular arms have been linked by countless beauties on his travels into the night.

Didn’t this mellow fellow once pluck the bass guitar on songs calling for sympathy with the devil?

Yes, it’s Bill Wyman, ex-Rolling Stone and legendary ladies’ man, on the phone, talking about Wilfred Pickles, who, with his wife “Mabel at the table”, presented Have A Go, the wireless show, which claimed a listenership of 20m in the 1950s.

The show’s title is causing the confusion.

It seems that Bill actually means Opportunity Knocks, the TV talent contest, hosted by Hughie Green, in which juggling unicyclists and fire-eaters did battle with crooners and dancing poodles – rather than the wireless show that featured the stories of “ordinary” people and simple quiz questions.

Anyway, in a more general sense, Bill is speaking about the Have A Go spirit, which still drives people into popular entertainment – now through those puffed-up talent contests, such as the X-Factor and Britain’s Got Talent.

In mid-conversation, he breaks off to light a fag, though these days one resists the temptation to ask him if there is anything more than tobacco in it, man.

“Can’t give ’em up,” says Bill, who will be playing with his Rhythm Kings at the Echo Arena, Liverpool, on July 14, supported by John Martyn, the guitarist and hard-liver (in both senses, we are reliably informed).

Bill is a delight. When you consider the ring of PRs, poseurs and flunkies surrounding most instantly manufactured popsters, it is a pleasure to hear the man himself.

But first a potted biography. Bill, the son of a bricklayer, was born William Perks in Plumstead, London, in 1936. He played bass with the Stones, as they became the most famous rock band in the world, leaving in 1993.

Since then he has written successful books, including Blues Odyssey and Rolling with the Stones. He has pursued his interest in history and archeology, skimming large areas of England with his metal-detector. Even more impressively, his googly bowling has foxed many cricketers, including England’s Mark Ramprakash, whose wickets he spread in a charity match.

Last time we talked was in 1999, which I remembered, but Bill didn’t.

Then we discussed the importance of Lonnie Donegan in British music. Well, the wee man died in 2002, but Bill had affectionate words for him.

“There was one nice moment before he died when we were playing a gig in Spain with the Rhythm Kings and Lonnie appeared,” says Bill. “He did a number with us, which is on one of our bootleg CDs. He did a great job on it – fun.”

Why do old rockers go on? Is there a secret in their smelling salts?

“Well, everybody has to do live gigs because they are not making money on CDs. In the old days, you toured to promote your new album. Nowadays, your record promotes your live tour.

“We’re on the road doing shows to make a crust, professionals entertaining an audience, not just miming to tracks like a lot of the young bands. The bands of the 60s and 70s enjoyed playing live.”

There is a pause while he lights up. Would he like to give up?

“Well, I’ve tried on occasions, but it’s usually lasted for about 20 minutes,” he says.

“When I go to a restaurant or somewhere, I pop outside. There is always someone else on the table who wants to have a ciggy.

“I was in the Ivy (London restaurant) with Twiggy and her husband and Peter Asher (formerly of the pop duo Peter and Gordon and brother of Jane) and his wife two nights ago.

“Ian La Frenais (who, with Dick Clement, wrote The Likely Lads, Porridge and Auf Wiedersehen, Pet) and I were going out about every quarter of an hour.”