THE NON-TRENDINESS OF DIRE STRAITS

THE NON-TRENDINESS OF DIRE STRAITS

Starring Mark Knopfler: America's Newest Guitar Hero (from England, natch)

A Music Biz Yarn

by

Gary Kenton

I was doing publicity then. Working for the Warner brothers (Stan and Reg). I was in London, escorting fellow CREEM contributor Richard Riegel to a couple of concerts by Thin Lizzy at London's Wembley Pool. (Richard had hardly travelled outside of Cincinnati, no less been to merry England, so he required a certain amount of supervision.) My duties brought me to the Phonogram offices of London, the company which handles Lizzy in the U.K.. where I met up with Johnny Stainze, A&R man, record collector, rockabilly fanatic and all-around good bloke. We talked about Lizzy for a bit, but they have been B-I-G in England for a while already and Johnny was quick to turn the subject to trading records (visions of Warners vinyl dancing in his head) and a new group he'd just signed called Dire Straits.

It was the second time the name had come up in two days. The previous evening I'd been hanging out with two of England's foremost rock critics and historians, Simon Frith and Charlie Gillett, the latter of whom is friends with John Illsley, the bassist for Dire Straits. A year earlier, in the summer of '77, Illsley had brought a demo tape to Gillett, who then proceeded to play a couple of the songs on his popular Sunday morning Radio London show. He twice aired an improbable, yet compelling rough rock song about jazz musicians entitled "Sultans Of Swing." Johnny Stainze remembers being in the shower when the song first came on and, although he says his ears perked up even with the soap in them, when Gillett obligingly played the song again a couple of Sundays later, Stainze picked up the scent and swung into action.

The suspense of this narrative is diminished somewhat by the fact that we all know that "Sultans" has since become a humungous hit, reaching the Top 10 and helping Dire Straits' debut album to do likewise. But, in an era when bands are not "discovered" so often as they are manufactured, it restores one's faith to be able to tell of a simple, unmitigated case of discovery and signing. But then again, everything about Dire Straits is straightforward. uncomplicated and seemingly un touched by the trendy goings-on of the music business (why, their album was even issued on plain black vinyl, if you can believe that!). With A&R men, programmers and fans alike becoming increasingly suspicious of new wave and neo-punk bands with overt messages and missions, along came Dire Straits with the ultimate deception: no deception at all. Once taken for what it is—intelligent, sensual rock 'n' roll— their music hits like a ton of bricks or, rather, like a breath of fresh air. That is how it struck Gillett and Stainze, the latter of whom outbid several rivals to sign Dire Straits to a worldwide contract, excluding the U.S.

By the following spring, the Muff Winwood-produced debut LP was already garnering attention in several European countries and Johnny Stainze was playing it for me in his office. Interestingly, Stainze had already sent copies of the album to several record companies in the U.S. (including Warners) in search of a deal for the band, but his feelers received little or no response. But when I circulated copies furnished to me by Stainze, along with some gushing enthusiasms, the wheels began turning and, largely through the efforts of Roberta Peterson (at WB in Burbank) and Karin Berg (in New York), the band eventually got signed. It is ironic to note that, at the time just prior to the finalizing of the deal with Dire Straits, Warners' big A&R push was for the Boomtown Rats, who they came very close to landing (in fact, the Rats' reps gave Warners every indication they were, indeed, coming into the WB fold before they scurried off to Columbia). Had Warners succeeded in signing the Rats, it is doubtful whether they would have pursued a deal for another, less renowned (at the time) British band such as Dire Straits. That's show-biz.

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And Harry doesn't mind if he doesn't make the scene

He's got a daytime job fie's doing alright

He can play honky tonk just like anything

Saving it up for Friday night

With the Sultans with the Sultans of Swing . . .

—"Sultans of Swing" (©Straightjacket Songs, Rondor Music)

Harry could almost be a synonym for Mark Knopfler. The man who writes and sings all of Dire Straits' songs couldn't care less about making the scene. He can play the guitar like anything. An unlikely figure for the rock spotlight, Knopfler seems to save his creative energies for his music. But, unlike Harry, Mark gave up his daytime job as an English teacher to pursue his musical muse. "Mark was teaching college at a place called Loughton in North London," says Pick Withers, Dire Straits' drummer, "and giving guitar lessons on the side. But after each summer vacation, he was finding it harder to go back to teaching. After he came back from his last vacation, in America, he knew it was time to make a move."

Interestingly, Withers is the only member of Dire Straits who could have been considered a professional musician before the band formed. After completing high school and working for a year in local government, Pick started playing in various bands. "When you're 19," he recalls, "everything's carefree. You just hop in the car and take the gigs as they come. It wasn't for a few years that I started taking things a bit more seriously." He took on a lot of studio work around London and filled in with Brinsley Schwarz, the versatile pubrock band which foreshadowed Dire Straits somewhat, on a six-week European tour. It was just after his return that he first met Mark Knopfler. "The guy who I was sharing a house with at the time was a friend of Mark's," Pick remembers, "and Mark had come round to use the tape recorder to put down some rough sketches of his songs. He wanted some simple drum parts on the tape, so I put them down then and there." Knopfler had been playing with a band called Cafe Racers, doing rockabilly and the like on weekends or the odd weekday when his teaching schedule permitted but, once he made the decision to quit teaching, it didn't take long to assemble the band. Mark's brother, David, was easily convinced to give up social work in order to join the band full-time and rehearsals began even while bassist Illsley was still cramming for his exams for his degree in sociology . Once Illsley had copped his degree and Withers was brought in, the four became, officially, Dire Straits.

Due to the omnipresence of punk, Dire Straits couldn't get arrested in London...

Although the future, as we know, was to be rosy for the new band, things did not fall into place immediately. Before Illsley had the smarts to bring their demo tape to Gillett, Dire Straits were strangers in their own land. Due to the omnipresence of punk, they couldn't get arrested in their hometown London, no less get a paying gig. Matters didn't change all that much in England after Phonogram had signed them, either.' The album didn't really start to gain acceptance in the U.K. until it had already hit the Top 20 in the U.S., some seven months after it initial release. In Germany, the album wasn't even slated for release until after it started clicking elsewhere; it has now sold over 250,000 copies in Deutschland. As a matter of fact, the only place besides the U.S where Dire Straits took off practically out of the box was Holland. Now, of course, Phonogram has released it everywhere records are sold. By the same token, the marketing machinery at Warner Bros, didn't really click into gear until the group embarked on its February-March tour, when radio airplay and sales indices already made

it abundantly clear that America was taking to Dire Straits in a big, big way. Karin Berg is quick to point to the group's rare sense of economy and restraint to account for their appeal, but she readily admits that "the company didn't feel quite so strongly about them at the time of signing. It makes me giggle to see them go over so tremendously." It is also ironic, in view of the tremendous time and money invested in the campaigns for such highly touted acts as Elvis Costello, the Boomtown Rats and, to a lesser extent, the Clash, to see Dire Straits slip in, virtually unannounced, and outsell them all.

"We have what almost any band that achieves popularity has ...a style. -Pick Withers"

But why? Certainly the album deserved the audience it has found and is certain to show up on a lot of Ten Best lists at the end of 1979, but even as this writer enthused over the album in the hopes of getting them signed, thoughts of gold and platinum never even occurred. Firstly, it is a low-key album, if not downright subtle. Secondly, Knopfler's singing and guitar playing, while endlessly inventive, tend to be limited in range, making many of the songs,quite similar. Thirdly, although I find Mark to be an engaging, and even sexy, personality; he is nobody's idea of a rock sex symbol. Fourthly, they are not polished performers; on stage, Mark seems to play more for his own amusement, laughing at some private joke, than for the audience. Lastly, unlike Gerry Rafferty, another artist of subtlety and refinement who made the commercial breakthrough (and who, incidentally, shares the same management) the group has neither overtly romantic songs nor a glossy, lushly produced setting to put them in, both of which are practically prerequisites for entry in the hallowed ground of the Top 10.

Those of us in the music biz know better than to ascribe fully to the "if it's in the grooves it will sell" theory, but there is something infectious and seductive in their sound that simply would not be denied. Even the fact that they possess an unique, identifiable style in the first place is crucial. "We never had any sort of blueprint, our sound just evolved," says Pick, "but we have what almost any band that achieves popularity has ... a style." But there is something specific in that style that has created the phenomena of Dire Straits.

It didn't strike me until I saw the band perform at The Bottom Line in New York. A memorable, satisfying show was slightly marred by a discomforting overreaction to the swirling run of notes which climaxes "Sultans Of Swing." A dazzling bit of virtuosity, to be sure, but the combination of the rapid succession of notes and the familiarity bred of intense radio play whipped the audience into a frenzy that, by comparison, left some of Knopfler's finer, more intricate playing that evening vastly unappreciated. I realized then that although he might not fill the superstar bill in terms of dress or deameanor, he was the newest guitar hero, the latest in the pantheon of rock demigods alongside Clapton, Beck and Page. People might like his singing—sort of a cross between Bob Dylan and Lou Reed^ and they might find a haunting combination of poetic sentimentality and ironic intelligence in his lyrics, but the underlying reason for the success of the Dire Straits LP is simply that it offers more and better guitar playing than any rock offering in recent memory. The short fills which Knopfler improvises throughout his songs are played with as much care and detail as his leads, while the solos give the air of a jam despite being deceptively well organized and constructed. Although they are as basic and tight as Creedence Clearwater Revival, Dire Straits give the impression of swinging loosely from chorus to refrain, from song to song, as if following no particular design apart from their own spontaneous intention. Nothing appeals to American record buyers as much as the vision of a lone guitarist, pouring out his inspirations as they come, free to travel where the feeling moves him. Although it suggests a famous. R. Crumb cartoon (hippie with guitar thinking to himself as he plays: "Wow! I'm really expressing myself!!"), Knopfler fits this image admirably. He can only be described as comfortable behind his red Fender, playing with an ease that belies his intensity. He may not be as flashy, but -his persona is as closely intertwined with his guitar as any rocker since Hendrix.

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Now that they have made short work of establishing themselves, new challenges face the band, not the least of which will be to maintain their equilibrium as their success catches up with them. "We're delighted with what's happening," understates Pick, "but we're trying not to get caught up by it. None of us wants to get into that jet set, elitist, unaccessible type of thing. We're trying to remain the same people. Everybody changes, but you try to maintain a sense of proportion and balance. The business can be faddish and if there's one thing I've learned, it'.s that the word permanent is obsolete. Our next album might not sell at all. . . although I think it will. " The second LP, to be titled Communique, shows several advances, especially in terms of technical sound (Jerry Wexler produced it in Muscle Shoals, Alabama), but does not deviate drastically from the pattern set on the debut. There may not be another hit single in the offing, but new songs like the quasi-reggae "Once Upon A Time In The West" or the rocking "Lady Writer" are every bit as alluring and kinetic as anything on the first disc, with Knopfler's singing more self-assured and forceful. Communique is due out in May, but may be held up by Warners to allow Dire Straits to run its complete sales course.

The group has already mapped out plans for a summer tour, probably hitting larger venues than the clubs they visited in March. "It's very comfortable right now playing in clubs," Pick said at ,the time, "and we wonder whether two guitars, , a bass and drums can get it across in some of those 7,000-seaters. Our music can be modest and timid at times and it can get lost in those big places. But we've done some very successful gigs of that size in Europe, so you just have to know when you get to that stage that it's critical to have good lighting and P.A. systems and to play halls that aren't too big and cold." One of the few non-club dates the band played last time around, at the Tower Theatre in Philadelphia, gave every indication that they can make the transition into larger auditoriums as smoothly as they shift tempos at the end of "Lions," one of the first album's overlooked mood pieces.

I've never gotten any satisfactory explanation why Knopfler & Co. chose the name Dire Straits. However it came about, the moniker takes on an ironic edge now, in light of their quick and heady rise. They are swimming in friendly waters, it seems, wherever they go now (even London) and they've built their reputation from the ground up, on solid rhythm, sinewy guitar lines, and Knopfler's gruff yet personable voice. It would take a near catastrophe, even in this capricious business of music, to ever land them in dire straits again.