TWO
THE POST EARLY, PRE FILM CAREER YEARS
1959-61
THE LONDON OF 1959 that greeted Klaus upon his arrival was a veritable festoon of greasy coffee-houses and surly rock’n’roll aspirations. This was the time of Marty Wilde, beatniks and Cliff Richard. The language spoken was a kind of groovy poetry that seemed alien to the bewildered Klaus - not least because he was as yet unable to speak English. Neon lights flashed, the sounds of beat combos throbbed, and young men and women stood in doorways mostly getting it on.
Hans Orff had helped to set up Klaus in accommodation with a landlady at a first floor flat in Willesden High Road. This lady was one Miss Gladys Todd, an erstwhile jazz type singer and escort. A stranger in a strange new world, Klaus felt comfortable with Gladys. She helped him to learn English and told him stories of her life as a World War Two good-time girl. She possessed a charisma that reminded him of his mother and he quickly took to her hard-bitten drinking ways, often offering to walk to the nearest liquor store to buy bottles of ‘English Gin’. In a stupor she would cook for him, sew for him and accept the extravagant rent he paid in ignorance.
At the same time he began work at Club Nefertiti - one of Orff’s newest establishments - a moody but stylish Soho den for, tax evaders, sex offenders, plain-clothes policemen and high court judges. Klaus played accordion with the house band, and served drinks and ice cream dressed in lederhosen. Initially his poor English made for problems but his boyish charms won the difficult crowd over and soon customers were leaving generous tips for him to sit and feed them bourbon ice cream whilst singing a falsetto rendition of Edelweiss. After a few months this would pay enough for him to begin his musical studies in earnest at the then estimable but little known Acton Conservatory.
There, under the tutelage of Henry Bysshe (Dmus, honorary), Klaus expanded his musical vocabulary and expressional techniques. Together they would attend recitals at the South Bank Centre and, more frequently, Acton Town Hall. Klaus learned of JS Bach, counterpoint, developmental thematic schemata and orchestration; Henry learned of Lotte Schmitt’s songs and the accordion. In time they became close and forged the father-son relationship Klaus had so desperately yearned after.
But in 1960 tragedy struck at Klaus’ new-found happiness; Gladys Todd died whilst entertaining dwarves from a visiting circus. Only five of the diminutive gang were found but were eventually convicted of group nuisance. The other seven escaped and remained at large.
For years Gladys had carved a lucrative living but had lived modestly. Having come to regard Klaus as the son shed had who’d run away, she left him a legacy of £10,000 in used notes. Devastated, Klaus struggled to maintain a brave face but the demanding clientele at ‘Club Nefertiti’ inevitably noticed the looming nadir. His renditions of Edelweiss, once so touching, were ragged - his voice cracked and charred by hours of hard grieving. Finally in 1961 his spirit was brutally shattered when Henry Bysshe was arrested during a bust at the club and died of a sudden migraine in a police van. Klaus turned to what he knew best and threw himself into a punishing schedule of accordion playing and singing at the club. For hours each day he practised the instrument feverishly, determined to master a virtuosic Concerto for Accordion especially composed by the late maestro. He worried his friends by becoming embroiled in a passionate affair with Nerys Stokes, one of the club’s dancers. Nerys’ weak grip on reality made it difficult to have any form of relationship with her. Klaus was not, however, in a stable state of mind himself. Nerys egged Klaus on, pushing him to throw inappropriate songs and jokes into the club’s stage act. Orff was eventually forced to dismiss Klaus after he refused to sing Edelweiss to Harry ‘Mad Hat’ Hurley of Bethnal Green, one of London’s most notorious suppliers of meat and fish.
As fate would have it, the clean break from Soho and the club did much to rejuvenate Klaus, and within weeks he and Nerys were married. Now more filled with determination than ever, he was spurred on by Henry Bysshe’s memory and the money left by Gladys. Klaus Harmony was about to turn his creative attentions to rock’n’roll and the world of pop.
THE POST EARLY, PRE FILM CAREER YEARS
1959-61
THE LONDON OF 1959 that greeted Klaus upon his arrival was a veritable festoon of greasy coffee-houses and surly rock’n’roll aspirations. This was the time of Marty Wilde, beatniks and Cliff Richard. The language spoken was a kind of groovy poetry that seemed alien to the bewildered Klaus - not least because he was as yet unable to speak English. Neon lights flashed, the sounds of beat combos throbbed, and young men and women stood in doorways mostly getting it on.
Hans Orff had helped to set up Klaus in accommodation with a landlady at a first floor flat in Willesden High Road. This lady was one Miss Gladys Todd, an erstwhile jazz type singer and escort. A stranger in a strange new world, Klaus felt comfortable with Gladys. She helped him to learn English and told him stories of her life as a World War Two good-time girl. She possessed a charisma that reminded him of his mother and he quickly took to her hard-bitten drinking ways, often offering to walk to the nearest liquor store to buy bottles of ‘English Gin’. In a stupor she would cook for him, sew for him and accept the extravagant rent he paid in ignorance.
At the same time he began work at Club Nefertiti - one of Orff’s newest establishments - a moody but stylish Soho den for, tax evaders, sex offenders, plain-clothes policemen and high court judges. Klaus played accordion with the house band, and served drinks and ice cream dressed in lederhosen. Initially his poor English made for problems but his boyish charms won the difficult crowd over and soon customers were leaving generous tips for him to sit and feed them bourbon ice cream whilst singing a falsetto rendition of Edelweiss. After a few months this would pay enough for him to begin his musical studies in earnest at the then estimable but little known Acton Conservatory.
There, under the tutelage of Henry Bysshe (Dmus, honorary), Klaus expanded his musical vocabulary and expressional techniques. Together they would attend recitals at the South Bank Centre and, more frequently, Acton Town Hall. Klaus learned of JS Bach, counterpoint, developmental thematic schemata and orchestration; Henry learned of Lotte Schmitt’s songs and the accordion. In time they became close and forged the father-son relationship Klaus had so desperately yearned after.
But in 1960 tragedy struck at Klaus’ new-found happiness; Gladys Todd died whilst entertaining dwarves from a visiting circus. Only five of the diminutive gang were found but were eventually convicted of group nuisance. The other seven escaped and remained at large.
For years Gladys had carved a lucrative living but had lived modestly. Having come to regard Klaus as the son shed had who’d run away, she left him a legacy of £10,000 in used notes. Devastated, Klaus struggled to maintain a brave face but the demanding clientele at ‘Club Nefertiti’ inevitably noticed the looming nadir. His renditions of Edelweiss, once so touching, were ragged - his voice cracked and charred by hours of hard grieving. Finally in 1961 his spirit was brutally shattered when Henry Bysshe was arrested during a bust at the club and died of a sudden migraine in a police van. Klaus turned to what he knew best and threw himself into a punishing schedule of accordion playing and singing at the club. For hours each day he practised the instrument feverishly, determined to master a virtuosic Concerto for Accordion especially composed by the late maestro. He worried his friends by becoming embroiled in a passionate affair with Nerys Stokes, one of the club’s dancers. Nerys’ weak grip on reality made it difficult to have any form of relationship with her. Klaus was not, however, in a stable state of mind himself. Nerys egged Klaus on, pushing him to throw inappropriate songs and jokes into the club’s stage act. Orff was eventually forced to dismiss Klaus after he refused to sing Edelweiss to Harry ‘Mad Hat’ Hurley of Bethnal Green, one of London’s most notorious suppliers of meat and fish.
As fate would have it, the clean break from Soho and the club did much to rejuvenate Klaus, and within weeks he and Nerys were married. Now more filled with determination than ever, he was spurred on by Henry Bysshe’s memory and the money left by Gladys. Klaus Harmony was about to turn his creative attentions to rock’n’roll and the world of pop.