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PETER NOONE talking: "The only thing I'm good at is being lucky. I've been such a lucky guy all my life!" he's slumped on the sofa in his sumptuous eight-floor apartment overlooking the fringe of fashionable Chelsea. Around him, some of the trappings the showbiz wheel of fortune has brought. In the bookcase, a mint collection of Churchill's "History Of The English Speaking People." Expensive and elegant furniture. A distinct air of affluence abounds. It seems unbelievable that he's still only 23. The eyes are bright, baby-blue. The grin still toothy. Yet he's been a big star for seven years now; had more hits than some people have had hot dinner, you might say.  A Youthful looking Peter ... complete with fang! "Sometimes I still feel 17," he says. "But I don't mind being young. I've been all over the world; know all sorts of things; have formed some great theories about life - yet when it comes to what normal people go through ... I've missed out!" On a table lies a red leather folder, gold-inscribed: "This Is Your Life," souvenir of his TV surprise some weeks back. "That was my old life," he explains. "But it was quite an experience just the same. You usually have to be about 40 for a show like that. Yes, I've done a lot - yet sometimes it feels like nothing." Life for him, he claims, runs in three-year cycles. And burying the happy-go-lucky Herman image in favour of the new Peter Noone is all part of the pattern. He realises - like it or not - that he must present a more adult approach to survive as a star. "Three years ago I met my wife, Mireille. I got married because I was in love and nothing else mattered. Now I'm having my first hit on my own. It's very important. Every third year I need to flush out. In another three years I know I'll be fed up with what I'm doing." But Peter "Pan" Noone's naive appeal is part of his character. And however hard he tries to change - he'll remain happy Herman to the public for a long time to come. "I'm still basically a kid, of course. A spoilt little bastard sometimes too. But I'm not embarrassed to kick a ball about with some kids in the park. My whole life's a game; and I have to play the game of making records. It has to be ... otherwise I'd go berserk. anyway, if you're spoilt like me and have a few quid you don't have to grow up." For the record, the game of life started on Guy Fawkes Night, 1947, when Peter was born and lived on a council estate outside Manchester. Both parents were studying at university at the time, so his early days were spent around relatives. At school he was a star pupil; invariably top in class throughout, and even determined to be a doctor from the tender age of five. "I started out being very goody-goody," he confesses. "But later I became very evil. Especially when I joined the gang which walked to school, and bought cigarettes, instead of going by bus. I started smoking at 11. "I always had money for cigarettes as a kid. Compared with the others I suppose I was rich." Today, he's rich all right. Not excessively, mind. But he's been careful; his career cleverly controlled. And seven years of consistent chart success on both sides of the Atlantic, with total world sales over 40 million, have made sure of this. But he doesn't smoke anymore. He clamped down from a fearsome 50-a-day six months ago after finding Andy Williams fresh as a daisy at 9 a.m. rehearsals for the Royal Command Performance. "I just suddenly found I couldn't sing and smoke," he smiled. "My throat was in a terrible state each morning. Weeks of cabaret were wicked. Then I heard Andy singing at nine in the morning - and sounding as good as nine at night. I thought 'There's a guy with brains!' - and chucked it in!" On the whole, Peter's progress at school was comparable to most. He had a variety of interests, ranging from selling programmes outside Old Trafford Football Ground (£15 for a Saturday) to window-cleaning (six bob a house). He began buying records at 13, possessing the only portable player at school. "I was always expounding about how good all the American sets were: how trashy the British." And he was invited to join a group simply because he appeared to know so much about the business that he had to be good! "The group was called the Cyclones and they said I was in if I bought an echo-chamber. I borrowed from my dad to do it!" Young Noone was very nonchalant in those days too. He'd go hear the Hollies, for instance, dressed in his best black suit and bright red tie - and he'd stand where they could see him singing along to their Coasters songs. Just before leaving school, however, he started "Peter Novack and the Heartbeats," figuring "Novack" sounded more American than "Noone." And this band became the basis for Herman's Hermits. They played clubs then for £75 a week. A lot of money in those days. Peter well recalls the occasion when, to protect their smart stage-suits, the boys would produce dusters on which to kneel during the more energetic numbers. And it was about this time, while "learning to learn" at the Manchester School of Music, as he puts it, that Peter was picked for his oft-publicised part in "Coronation Street." "It was never the big deal that everyone made out," he revealed. "They just wanted a little guy to play Len Fairclough's son. and they took me." Herman's Hermits happened after a search through comic papers for a name. Peter became "Herman" after a character called "Sherman;" and when someone suggested "Hermits" they all dashed off and dressed up in sacking, with dirt on their faces, to fit the image. "We came onstage to the strains of "Hall Of The Mountain King," he recalled. "And we died a million deaths. The audience just gawped open-mouth at the outfits. We were terrible!" Yet the group gained a phenomenal following even then. In and around Manchester they played basically five-year old hits and even dabbled in "drag" in the act. "when I think about it now," added Peter, "we were pretty hip then. We always seemed to do different numbers to everyone else. And we'd started to |
make tapes because we honestly believed we were the greatest ever. We even believed that if we recorded hits they'd become hits again!" The reminiscing was interrupted by the phone ringing. It was news of sales figures for "Oh You Pretty Thing." I remark that after so many hits I'm surprised he's still concerned. He looked aghast. "I phone every day for the figures. You see, this is really my first record. The others were someone else!" He even keeps a book by the telephone in which all his day-to-day sales are carefully recorded. Right back to that first hit, "I'm Into Something Good," (and HOW prophetic that title turned out to be!). I mention this and he grins. "We were selling something like 30,000 to 40,000 a week in those days, you know. It's incredible. Now it's only three or four thousand. But it's still exciting. I think so." Peter has had more than his fair share of criticism during his career - from writers and readers alike. Inevitably he'd been envied by his colleagues. His fame and fortune was meteoric; yet his recordings, while compulsively commercial, brought a few sneers. "I was always hurt when people said my singles were 'factory records,' or words to that effect," he admitted. "They don't realise just how much work goes into them. But luckily the reviews never did any harm anyway." He knows he's not a great singer. And he's honest enough to own up. But, by the same token, he realises that the combination of his appeal and producer Mickie Most's know-how in the studio is sufficient to create a very commercial commodity. "I never used to take things seriously. And I'd often ask myself, 'What the hell am I doing in this business ... I can't sing!' And I couldn't comprehend it if I got a record in the chart at the start. That only happens to people you read about. You never think it happens to you." He paused for thought. And then, with great conviction: "The only thing I'm really any good at is being lucky. I've been such a lucky guy. And had such good innings. Sometimes I'll be driving up the motorway with the tapes playing in the car and everything becomes so unreal. It's all a fantasy." Back then briefly to the beginning. After some diabolical recording sessions, including a memorable trip to London with a tape which played itself backwards at the audition, Herman's Hermits met Mickie Most. But the magic didn't come automatically. Although he spotted Peter's potential onstage - the first session under his supervision was a flop. ("Herman's Hermits were always more a live act than a studio group," maintained Peter.) And after line-up changes they finally cut "I'm Into Something Good" in 1964. Says Peter: "Mickie didn't like it. But by this time we were frantic. We'd told all our fans about our record - we had to have something out. I suppose there were about 20,000 fans altogether. That alone assured it of a good start! "However, Mickie's wife, Chris, liked the record and it was eventually released. Within four weeks it became No. 1! The rest is Herman history, of course. Hit followed hit - "Silhouettes," "There's A Kind of Hush," "A Must To Avoid," "No Milk Today," and "Mrs. Brown You've Got A Lovely Daughter" - the list is long. And young Herman, with his famous "fang" - that awkward-growing tooth, such an important facet then of his friendly features - became the teen-boppers' heart-throb. He also became rich.  Peter the businessman ... no Swiss bank account but he's financially secure. In the loo of the Noone's flat lies a book titled "The Gnomes Of Zurich." It's the inside story of Swiss banking, and I ventured that it must be compulsive reading for a man of his means. Peter smiled broadly, but denied that he had a Swiss bank account. "I've made arrangements for the future financially," he explains. "I have got some money; but I don't want to use it. Really, you know, Mireille and I live from day-to-day. If, for instance, we want a colour TV - I'll go out and do cabaret to get it. That way I get more pleasure out of buying something. "I used to get very involved in money. Not anymore. I mean, it's nice to live here," he adds, gesturing about his apartment. "But I know I could live just as well in a flat in Bromley. In fact, I know I could. In the same way, I think I would find being a lorry driver or taxi driver a lot of fun." Mickie Most, if anyone, has been Peter Noone's mentor. The man with the "Midas" touch in the studio, who found the hits and paved the way for his popularity. Most was persuaded to hear Peter and the Hermits in a Bolton ballroom shortly after he'd signed the Animals to success. "We had the big fan club things going for us at that time," remembers Peter. "They were all wearing 'Herman's Hermits' sweat shirts and badges. Mickie was apparently quite impressed with my performance; but had reservations about the band as it stood. Later he suggested we change the line-up around. "Our first session for him was a disaster. We'd slept in the van overnight; I'd been smoking non-stop and couldn't sing. Someone else sang for me I think. "But Mickie and me works. I honestly can't make records without Mickie Most - that's it. He brings out the best in me, I suppose. He makes me laugh!" Peter lists "There's A Kind of Hush" and "My Sentimental Friend" among his favourite hits; while conceding that a lot of his records had been very bad performances - either because he was drunk at the time or had been out all night before. "I just didn't take it seriously," he confessed. There is lots of work with Herman's Hermits until September, reports Peter. After that he and the band will go their separate ways - as predicted long ago in these pages. The partnership is, in fact being run down. "It's likely that we'll do only really classy gigs together after then. I figure that if we only worked three times a year - and they were worthwhile shows - that would be fantastic." Meanwhile, the most important thing in his life at the moment is the progress of "Oh You Pretty Thing" up the chart. It's young Peter Noone's FIRST HIT, you see. Maybe it should have been called "Oh You LUCKY Thing!" |