In honor of England’s World Cup semi-final appearance, here’s Part 1 of my St. John story: “Mark St. John: The Man Who Hated Oasis.”
I recently learned that the song Wonderwall by the band Oasis has become the English soccer team’s unofficial anthem. It instantly reminded me of musician-manager Mark St. John, who was perhaps the greatest Oasis hater of all time.
Minutes into my roadie debut at Seattle’s Bumbershoot Music Festival, I’m thrown to the fire. The Pretty Things manager-producer, Mark St. John, reminds me three times to get liquids to drummer Skip Alan, a burly man with shaggy hair. “He dehydrates!” explains the flamboyant St. John, who sports a ponytail and wears black spandex shorts and a tight black sleeveless shirt. Skip does more than dehydrate. Once, he vomited over his shoulder while continuing to play. St. John is also nervous about the crowd.
On this overcast afternoon, the Pretties are following a local ’50s swing group, and the audience is sedate, strictly G-rated. “These people are gonna disappear when the Pretty Things take the stage,” St. John mutters, scanning the swing dancers assembled on the lawn. “The Pretty Things are ugly!”
Indeed, the Pretties are known almost as much for their bad behavior as their music. Regarding the latter, most notably, in 1968, they produced the first rock opera, S.F. Sorrow, which preceded the Who’s Tommy. However, the groundbreaking S.F. Sorrow was released in the States three months after Tommy, so the Pretties were deemed imitators rather than innovators.
Worse, after the Beatles ignited a fever for English rock bands and subculture in America during the mid-’60s, the Pretties wound up touring New Zealand, where they were eventually banned. So while The Who and their contemporaries, like the Rolling Stones, went on to international superstardom, the Pretties remained in relative obscurity.
Before my friend recommended me for this gig, I’d never heard of the Pretty Things. I accepted this assignment because, well, it was an assignment, and I was available, unfortunately.
Now, thirty-six years after they formed, St. John wants the Pretties to finally get their due. He amps up his English brogue—think the Clash at Shea Stadium circa 1982—and introduces the Pretty Things as “the last remaining hope for the anarchy of rock ’n’ roll!” The band takes the stage in black suits and ties, white shirts, and dark shades, looking like “aging villains on parole to attend a gangland funeral,” according to one reporter.
When they appear, the swing dancers do not flee. And suddenly, the clouds disappear, and singer Phil May, who, according to one tabloid, had the longest hair in Britain back in the day, struts like his contemporary Mick Jagger—or maybe it’s the other way around.
At the end of the set, the crowd is on its feet, applauding vigorously. After the Pretties exit, St. John grabs the mic. “If you want more, you’ll have to make more noise than that!” he tells the audience. “These guys are a little hard of hearing!”
Following Bumbershoot, I excuse myself and crawl into one of the twelve coffin-like bunks on the tour bus. I’m seriously jetlagged. We’re on the road when I’m awoken by a muffled moaning coming from . . . well, I’m not quite sure. But I’m certain about this: someone’s having relations on this bus. Now!
I’ll learn later that the Pretties participated in more than their share of sexual shenanigans. Phil was reported to have had encounters with Judy Garland, Skip’s predecessor, Vivian Prince, and Rudolf Nureyev. Prince paired off with Garland while Phil went with Nureyev, or so the story goes.
But where are these moans coming from now?
Somehow, I piece it together: porn is on in the front of the bus, and it’s being broadcast to each bunk’s monitor—but not mine. I want to change that. Immediately. I flip on my bunk’s small screen, but I get static. I fidget with the knobs and bang the set. Nothing! Frustrated, I drift back to sleep—but I hear water everywhere. However, I remain dry. What’s happening now? I awaken to find that we’re at a rest stop, and the bus is being hosed down.
Part 2 of The Man Who Hated Oasis is coming soon.
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Jon Hart is the author of Unfortunately, I was available, the undeserved sequel to Man versus Ball: One Ordinary Guy and His Extraordinary Sports Adventures.
