Branson. Tom Bower

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СКАЧАТЬ by the story of a meeting on Branson’s houseboat with Jake Rivera, an agent representing Elvis Costello and the Attractions. To successfully contract the group, Branson turned on his customary charm: ‘I loved your last album.’

      ‘What was your favourite track?’ asked Rivera mischievously.

      Branson was dumbstruck. His ignorance was exposed. The story of his humiliation raced around London. McLaren’s opinion of Branson was so low that he suspected Branson might even consider selling bootleg records of Virgin’s own artists.

      For their first record, ‘Anarchy in the UK’, the Pistols contracted instead with EMI. In December 1976, Branson watched television bewitched by the stream of drunken expletives used by the Pistols to prove their notoriety and promote their record. Their violence was headline news. It was just what Branson required. But a hurried agreement the following morning by Leslie Hill, EMI’s embarrassed managing director, to transfer the group to Virgin ended abruptly. McLaren had agreed with Branson to ‘be in your office this afternoon’ to discuss the transfer but he never arrived. However, five months later, in May 1977, McLaren finally arrived in Denbigh Terrace with Steven Fisher, his lawyer.

      The Sex Pistols needed a record company and Virgin needed a sensation. McLaren was not surprised by the absence of any records in Branson’s house except for one Reader’s Digest collection of Mozart, a present from Ted. ‘We want someone who’s going to run with us,’ said McLaren. ‘It’ll be hair-raising, but it’ll be fun.’ Branson smiled. ‘Sex’ in all its guises was richly exploitable. He traded on other people’s ideas. ‘I’m just piggy-backing,’ he would later admit. McLaren’s creation offered a chance of financial salvation.

      ‘Those two are loathsome,’ Branson told John Varnom after McLaren and Fisher departed. ‘They’re loathsome,’ he repeated with vehemence. ‘Loathsome!’

      ‘Richard’s utterly over the top,’ thought Varnom, who normally shared Branson’s prejudices. Branson’s loyal acolyte concluded that he had witnessed the clash of two mutually intolerant spin-masters. However loathsome, Virgin and the Pistols were yoked together to ridicule the monarchy.

      ‘We need something,’ mumbled Branson. Varnom’s sophisticated sense of mischief, he hoped, would contrive an outrageous prank to promote the Pistols new record, ‘God Save the Queen’. The record was a vicious curse at the monarch designed to coincide with the nation’s extensive Silver Jubilee celebrations. Creating chaos for publicity was commercially vital.

      At 4 p.m. on 7 June 1977 Varnom arrived at Westminster pier to hire The Elizabethan, a Thames cruiser.

      ‘It’s not for those Punks?’ asked the boatman.

      ‘No,’ replied Varnom, ‘it’s for a boring German synthesiser band.’

      Thirty minutes later, the taxis arrived with the Pistols, their managers and Branson. ‘Just sail past the Houses of Parliament,’ ordered Branson.

      ‘It’s going to be sensational,’ laughed Varnom.

      ‘Great,’ bubbled Branson. His imagination raced. Pranks were always exciting but this was special. Earning money by insulting the Establishment and basking in celebrity was a blissful combination. As the cruiser neared the Palace of Westminster, the curses of the four drugged and drunken Pistols blared from loudspeakers across the river towards the Houses of Parliament. The result was better than Branson could have imagined. Police boarded the cruiser, ordered that it return to the pier and, amid screams and fights, arrested several people. Branson held back until the mêlée was over and then briefed the newspapers. Chortling at the anticipated publicity, Branson led the Virgin cabal to a Greek restaurant to celebrate. The evening ended with everyone smoking marijuana supplied by the restaurant. Irreverence was certain to restore Virgin’s fortunes.

      ‘Fantastic,’ screeched Branson reading the universal disgust expressed in the newspaper headlines the following morning. Publicity meant soaring sales and guaranteed profits. He was delighted to attract more headlines by attesting in court later that day to McLaren’s good character. Conflict and controversy, he knew, would be even more profitable if he positioned himself as the victim: the helpless innocent fighting for the common good. By stoking the Pistols’ notoriety, he would push their album Never Mind the Bollocks up the charts. ‘It was a political statement,’ he told the reporters outside the court. ‘Those arrested are all victims of the system.’

      The only victim was Malcolm McLaren. The agent was the victim of Branson’s imposition of an unusually advantageous contract. McLaren had made a fatal error which many mixing with Branson over the years would commit. Coolly devoid of attachment to the music, Branson had viewed the Pistols’ contract as a vehicle to earn money. He had planned McLaren’s entry into his life, and his exit. In the eagerness to find a record label after EMI terminated the Pistols contract, McLaren had failed to carefully examine the details of the agreements which he had signed. As the Pistols disintegrated amid debauchery, disputes, murder and suicide, McLaren discovered that Branson, to secure his investment, had excluded him from the management of the surviving group. ‘He’s a dangerous man in court,’ was Steven Fisher’s brief assessment. Rushing to court in August 1978 to protect his property, McLaren found himself outclassed by his partner. His losses were Branson’s profits, financial and tactical. The victor understood the commercial advantage of using the courts. It was part of the formula for survival and success.

      During that period, Branson was also ‘piggybacking’ on the vogue for reggae music and welcomed the chance to distribute Atra records, a black label owned by Brent Clarke, a Caribbean. Reggae records had become profitable in Nigeria and Branson was particularly interested in Keith Hudson, a singer contracted to Clarke. By 1976, Clarke suspected that Branson might try to lift Hudson and feared that Virgin’s accounts of Atra sales were inaccurate. A crude check of how many records Virgin had sold suggested discrepancies. ‘You owe us money,’ Brent Clarke told the Virgin accountants to no response. Branson preferred not to take Clarke’s telephone calls. Irritated, Brent and his brother Sebastian called at Branson’s home. The businessman was assaulted and fled.

      Branson was terrified. In agitated tones, he confessed to Al Clark, his sophisticated publicist, ‘I escaped with my life.’ To his closest employees, Branson appeared to be shaken and deflated by the rancour. But Branson was not prepared to concede defeat.

      After complaining to the police, Branson arranged to meet the brothers at the Back-a-Yard café on the Portobello Road. In what seemed to be a stilted conversation, the brothers explained their case unaware that Branson was carrying a tape recorder provided by the police officers. After thirty minutes, a group of policemen charged into the café and arrested the brothers. Both were accused of demanding money with menaces. ‘You’re only accepting his word,’ shouted Sebastian Clarke, ‘because he’s white and we’re black.’ Branson smiled but by the time he arrived at the Old Bailey to testify, he seemed uninterested in the case. His testimony was rejected by the jury and the Clarkes were acquitted. The brothers’ euphoria was tempered by their financial plight. By then, Clarke’s business was bankrupt.

      The ringmaster did not fear any criticism from his cabal. Most were unaware of the entrapment and prosecution of the Clarkes. In the social and economic misery created by the Labour government, Virgin was a sanctuary where music and enjoyment were a lifestyle. Those gathered around Branson were innocent and even unconcerned about his lurches from persecutor to poacher to self-professed victim. Virgin’s employees were simply grateful to the catalyst for their licence to play. Branson himself was, it appeared, preoccupied with winning the battle for financial survival.

      Emboldened by his restored finances, Branson was searching for new acquisitions. Established stars were offered huge amounts to switch allegiance. The Marchess group, negotiating СКАЧАТЬ