Chapter 2. Hair
I guess the first question to ask is why. Why 'Hair'? For Robert the answer was, I think, quite a straightforward one: he loved the music; he wanted to see a production of it locally; he couldn't envisage any of the established operatic societies ever agreeing to stage it themselves, such was its notoriety, and so he thought he would circumvent all that by producing it himself. (In this he was absolutely correct: even now, more than 35 years later, amateur operatic societies do not stage 'Hair'; non-professional productions tend to be mounted by F.E. Colleges, or older youth theatres, while recent professional revivals tend to wallow in 60's nostalgia). For even in 1975 'Hair', in terms of its themes, felt already out of date and old fashioned, something of an anachronism now that the Vietnam War was finally over.
When people talk about 'Hair', even today, the first thing that springs to mind is the nude scene, yet this is a very minor part of the whole piece, which was initially conceived by its creators (and its original cast who were very instrumental in shaping its final script) rather as Ginsberg's 'Howl' had been, as a long, protracted rant against the repressive stuffiness of establishment, middle American values, with the backdrop of the wider protests against Vietnam and the draft as its context. When the cast take their clothes off at the end of the first half, it is not erotic, but very much in the spirit of this rejection of establishment values and conventions; it is a simple act of defiance, celebrating individuality and freedom, claiming a common, shared identity: strip away the layers of respectability and, to quote another popular song of the times, “get back to the garden”. But as I say, by 1975 this was already something of a cliché, and the zeitgeist had moved on. So, having agreed to direct it, I initially felt at a bit of a loss. Where to start? How to make it relevant? (For the excitement of the original production was its freshness, its unpredictability, its edgy improvised script, its sense of danger. The last thing I wanted to do was merely present the songs – brilliant as they are – as a kind of retro-concert to sing along to).
I had seen the original London production of 'Hair' back in 1970 when it had toured to Manchester and been strangely disappointed. The songs were fantastic and the cast and band had a real vibrant energy about them. There was a certain danger in the air, but it still felt somehow constrained and the script, once improvised but now set, felt tired and formless. Perhaps because the UK was never directly involved with the Vietnam War, the piece, when I saw it, lacked bite.
So I began to read everything I could about the original New York production: about its creators (Rado, Ragni and McDermott); about the first cast members; reviews; audience reactions. I read biographies by Marsha Hunt and others about how the show was put together; I looked at film footage of the US protest movement – not just anti-war, but about civil rights, feminism, gay liberation – and I read hundreds of newspaper cuttings from the times. It was during this period of research that I came across the details of the Charles Manson murders in and around Los Angeles in the summer of 1969, and it was as I was reading these that I began to perceive close similarities between some of the dialogue in the “script”* of 'Hair' and the ramblings of Manson and his followers, and I knew I had stumbled upon a meaningful way-in to making a new production, post-Vietnam, more meaningful more relevant for a mid-seventies audience.
(*The “script” was in fact a record of just one of the new York performances with an introduction explaining that, because of the way the cast had improvised much of the dialogue, no two performances were ever alike, and future productions were therefore encouraged to find their own approach to the “script” as it was here presented. I took this to mean that we had a kind of carte blanche, but as we shall see, in this I was mistaken).
Discarding the actual dialogue, much of which was pretty throwaway, what the “script” did have was a sense of community. Called “the Tribe”, the characters we were introduced to were all young drop-outs from a variety of different backgrounds, who had all gathered around their charismatic leader, Claude, and his inner circle of Berger, Jeannie, Hud, Woof, Chrissie and Sheila. What dialogue was preserved, especially that attributed to Claude, was uncannily close to some of the more outlandish teachings of Manson. Far from creating a new utopian, alternative vision of society, the Tribe was extremely hierarchical, with women expected to be sexually available while at the same time responsible still for any domestic arrangements. Instead of changing the world, however, the members turn on one another; petty rivalries and jealousies emerge; and Claude, in trying to avoid the draft, becomes increasingly weird and disturbing in his words and behaviours, describing, like so many discredited cult-leaders seem to, a fantasy-like escape to an underworld bunker where he and his “chosen ones” will hide out while the rest of the world destroys itself, after which they can all emerge to reclaim what's theirs and start a new Eden. (This is all set out in the song 'Exanaplanetooch' and is almost word-for-word a replica of some of Manson's more outlandish theories, which he termed Helter Skelter, after a song on the Beatles' White Album, whose lyrics he misinterpreted in wild and bizarre ways).
As is, sadly, so often the case, today's revolutionaries become tomorrow's reactionaries; and as John Lennon once famously said (of the 60's), “Nothing changed, except we all dressed up a bit.” So – I wanted in my production to try and show that the seemingly idyllic hippy life as promised by Woodstock had its dark side in the Manson mass murders; but also I wanted to show the really attractive, vibrant, vital energy of the protest movement that was so sexy and attractive and fun, even if, 25 years on, those same drop-outs might have, over the years, become establishment figures themselves: lawyers, teachers, parents. At the start of our production, therefore, the audience was introduced to each member of the “family” as we called them, through a series of photographs of each individual as a child before they dropped out to become who we now saw; then we ended the production with a projection of these same individuals dressed up as they might turn out to be twenty-five years down the line. We intercut the live scenes on stage between different members of the family with film footage that we created (with the help of the Altrincham Film Group) of actual transcripts from the Manson trials to act as a counterpoint. But we also focused our efforts on developing the huge energy and fun to be had by dropping out, by indulging in drugs, sex and rock and roll, and giving the fabulous music, therefore, a broader context within which to be listened to afresh.
Well – that was our aim at any rate, and I believe we achieved it, for as a production it attracted a huge amount of attention; it did cause controversy; it did shock; it did make people uncomfortable (true to the show's original aims). But it also, I feel, celebrated the spirit of rebellion and anarchy and allowed the wonderful music to soar.
We were blessed with the most wonderful company. Robert and Guy placed adverts and articles in various local newspapers – remember, this was in the days before social networks – and held an open meeting to gauge interest, which took place at the Lostock Community Centre, and to which approximately 50 people turned up. Robert spoke about the new Metropolitan Society, introduced me and Chris to everyone, and together we talked about our vision for the production. I recall even then an atmosphere of mischief and fun. As well as playing members of the family, there would be pastiche scenes from periods of US History, as well as scenes showing clashes between members of the family and various representatives of the US establishment – judges, politicians, nuns - and cast members would play these also. Chris Hawley, who was to play Woof in the eventual production, piped up at once: “I'll be a nun!” (And I believe he was...)
Shortly after this there were auditions. These were very informal, for we wanted to encourage everybody who had answered Robert and Guy's adverts to become involved, and consisted of people coming in one by one, or sometimes in small groups, to sing something and copy a simple piece of choreography (we now had on board Lynda Burton as choreographer, who I brought in from PADOS), and to chat a little about why they wanted to be part of it. Lynda, Robert, Chris and I sat in the main body of the community centre where these auditions took place, while everyone else waited their turn in a small ante room off to one side. It very quickly became clear that everyone in the ante room was having a really great time while they waited, laughing, telling jokes, getting to know one another, and I remember Lynda saying that she wished we could all join them in there instead! It certainly seemed to create a spirit of camaraderie that never wavered from that point on and only grew, as strong and powerful friendships for life were formed over the next few months of rehearsals.
In fact, over those months, 'Hair' became a way of life for many of us involved. The whole company rehearsed twice a week (then three times nearer to the production date). Chris rehearsed the band and singers on another night. I rehearsed smaller dialogue scenes on one or two other occasions during the week. There were additional rehearsals in people's houses for those who lived nearby for people to go over sequences and polish them – especially at Jacqui & Bill's in Leigh and at Precious's flat in Hulme. I attended all of these, as well as regular weekly stints at Lynda's house in Prestwich where we planned the various dance sequences ahead of rehearsals. Various members of the cast also took on additional responsibilities for set and costumes, and on top of that, best of all, on most weekends there were parties which usually went on all night. When you consider that everyone involved was also holding down their 'day' jobs, it all represents an enormous surge of enthusiasm, passion, energy and commitment to what had become, as I have said, a way of life.
Some managed to combine all these activities most imaginatively under a single umbrella, most remarkably Arthur Dutton, who worked as, I was never quite sure what, at a firm called Automotive Products, which seemed to manufacture anything and everything out of aluminium for car spares. He had been responsible for finding us Louis, who played Hud in 'Hair', and who later became such a central figure in future Genesis productions, and he became the show's Production Manager, co-ordinating all the props and set etc. One morning he asked me to meet him at Automotive Products, where he led me through a labyrinthine series of warehouses before pulling back a sliding door at the back of one of these warehouses to reveal the entire scaffolding set for the show just standing there! Arthur* also provided us with dummy microphones, again fashioned from aluminium tubes, attached to plastic washing lines, which we were able to incorporate into rehearsals, so that cast members all became familiar with using mic's and avoiding wires and cables as they danced and sang. (An important consideration in the days before radio mic's and with a cast of 30+ on stage!)
(*A further word about Arthur Dutton. Arthur was the unsung hero of Genesis Theatre. He was Production Manager on practically every show we did and he was a fixer: no problem was unsolvable to him, and he would always come up with a neat and clever solution to anything we might throw at him. He had formerly lived in Accra, in Ghana, during that country's move towards independence, and he spoke so fondly of his time there. After Genesis disbanded in 1982/3, I moved away to Dorset and lost touch with Arthur. So – if anyone knows where he is, or if by any chance you might read this, Arthur, please get in touch! It would be great to hear from you again. And there will be more about Arthur later as this account continues to unfold...)
All appeared to be going swimmingly with rehearsals for 'Hair' until Evans Brothers (the owners of the copyright) learned that we were making significant changes to the “script” and demanded that we reverted to the “original”. This proved to be a most unpleasant interlude in what had been up until then a brilliantly creative and enrichingly collaborative process. It is described elsewhere on the website (by Guy) who quite properly puts the perspective of the producers – i.e. Robert and him. From my own perspective at the time I was, I now realise with the wonderful benefit of hindsight, very naïve in assuming that, having paid for the permission to perform the piece, and taking the exhortation contained in the introduction of the “script” to “make it our own” very much on its word, we could then literally do what we wished with it. Although I maintain that we were being true to the creators' initial ambitions by seeking to re-inject a sense of danger and controversy back into the piece, I can quite easily see now that that wouldn't extend as far as depicting such overt parallels with the Manson family! However, these revisions, although not welcomed, were not the main source of the tensions; it was the introduction of music from other sources that threatened to derail us. Guy refers to insertions from 'Carousel', although I don't recall those. What I remember is the incorporation into the opening montage, as a form of prologue to the production, of an extract from the song 'Inchworm',(from the musical 'Hans Christian Anderson') emphasising the mindless repetitions associated with rote learning and an “imposed education system” from which the various drop-outs were escaping. (In the end this opening prologue was salvaged by a really inspired overture that Chris fashioned, with encouragement from Graham Brittain, as a kind of collage using bits of different songs from 'Hair' itself). However, it was the manner in which this whole episode was handled that was so unsettling and distressing. Robert secretly recorded telephone conversations between him and me about what we were doing, which he then played back to Evans Bros., the results of which he later confronted me with just before one particular rehearsal. He was so wound up by the stress of it all that he practically assaulted me, ordered me to remove all the changes we had made, and then explain it all personally to the cast. He gave me an ultimatum that either I did what he said or he would replace me. Naturally this was a terrible situation and now I can see it much more from his position than I could then, when my sole concern was to make the best art that I could without compromise – I was only 23, remember – so in an emotional speech to the cast I informed them of the situation and put the decision into their hands. If they wanted me to leave as a result of the situation, then of course I would go. It was up to them and I left the rehearsal room to give them the chance to discuss it without me there. A very few minutes later I was called back in and given absolute backing: they were, it transpired, fully behind my vision and agreed to all work together to find new ways of remaining true to its realisation while at the same time not antagonising Evans Brothers any further. Robert and I shook hands but the relationship between us was irrevocably damaged, and after that he rarely put in an appearance at rehearsals, making the breakaway from Metropolitan after the production was over and the formation of what turned out to be Genesis more or less inevitable as a result. When I now read of all the work that he and Guy did beforehand in setting up the infrastructure that made 'Hair' possible in the first place, as well as that really beautiful touch by Guy and his mum to organise fresh flowers to be handed out to the audience during every performance (which is something I had forgotten) I am sad that such a rift formed, but the momentum for change at the time was quite unstoppable.
But it would be wrong to dwell for too long on this single episode, however unfortunate, for the overwhelming emotions that ran through the rehearsals for 'Hair' were excitement, joy and a growing awareness that we were doing something quite special, both artistically and socially, in the formation of a very strongly bonded company of performers, technicians and musicians who would do anything for each other, where the end product was tangibly greater than the sum of its individual parts.
Chris has detailed the actual performances themselves (which took place at The Garrick Playhouse, Altrincham, which in turn led to me being appointed as their resident director there for the next three years) and he has also described the various personal highlights for him during that first run. Everyone will have their own favourite moments, of course, but stand-out memories for me, in no particular order, were: Mike Cheeseman's high-risk, bravura performance as Claude; the brilliant Nicky Baird's dangerously anarchic Berger; the superb playing by the band of 'Easy To Be Hard' beautifully sung by Mary Clark while Claude's girl friend Sheila (Alison Davis) was forced to watch Claude making out with Chrissie; Amanda's gorgeous solo dance that accompanied 'Exanaplanetooch'; Janice Jackson's riveting Lolita-esque rendition of 'Frank Mills' (arguably the show's cleverest song); Norman Partington's unforgettable Mick Jagger impersonation; and of course, the spine-tingling opening notes of 'Aquarius' as the show begins and the journey is about to unfold... I could list many more.
Personally the week is also memorable for me because half way through the run, Mike fell asleep in his flat in front of his gas fire and burned himself quite badly and had to miss three performances. With just ten minutes before the show was due to start on the Thursday evening we decided that I would go on in his place. Fortunately I am blessed with a good memory and so I knew all the lines, but I also knew that there was no way I could sing all of the songs – my voice is just not good enough. On the spot we decided which ones I could just about get away with, then hastily doled out the rest to different members of the cast – Mary, Hugh, Alison, Nicky – and what followed really illustrated what I was describing earlier about what a strong and powerful, mutually supporting ensemble that had been fashioned during rehearsals: everyone pulled together magnificently, supported me unbelievably and literally dragged me through it by all uniting and singing/performing as one. It was an overwhelmingly inspiring and humbling experience.
Such was the sense of togetherness when the run ended, and so high were everyone's spirits, that it was inevitable that there would be an upsurge of desire to repeat the experience, and so it was that Genesis Theatre was formed, and the decision taken to do 'Hair' for a second time. Reunions notoriously don't always work out, but everyone was determined not to rest on our laurels and try, if we could, to improve the production still further. Not everyone from the original cast was able to be involved a second time around, quite understandably, for it had already been a huge time commitment, but the vast majority did stay, and new members were recruited, bringing their own talents and energies.
As Chris describes in his entry, new musical material was included: by that time we had collectively become 'Hair'-geeks and trawled through every known recording of the show, with different casts, even including the very original off-Broadway try-out. Each version had discarded certain songs, introduced new ones, and so we now had the luxury of adding some new great songs, but we also had to lose all direct references to the Manson murders. We managed to retain the suggestion of the darker, less palatable aspects of the hippy commune, by re-imagining some song lyrics as spoken dialogue, but we had to lose all the filmed inserts completely. The result was a sharper, tighter, less sprawling production, I felt, performed with greater assurance, clarity and power, with Mike Cheeseman, now restored to full health and fitness again, delivering an even more charismatically sinister performance, but its overall impact was diminished in my opinion, and technically the Lancastrian Hall in Swinton was no match for The Garrick. We had played it too safe.
But still it was a great success: audiences once again flocked to see it; Genesis Theatre had been successfully launched; a strong core membership of really gifted and talented individuals had come together, and a bedrock of deep, loving friendships had been formed that could, we all felt, sustain us for ever. The question for us all now was simple: what next?