|Robert Calvert / annex|
Hawklord in KGB wedding affair
An article from the New Musical Express; 12th Nov. 1977 -
by JAMIE MANDELKAU
SPACE-CADET Bob Calvert threw away his Biggles costume in exchange for a more sober, dapper Noel Coward look when he married writer Pamela Townley at the Caxton Hall registry office in Victoria, London on Nov. 5, 1977.
The bride arrived late. Between Lee Marvin impersonations the good Knightly Calvert assured backstage liggers and family that there was nothing to worry about: "This is just a formality. Everything else has already been done."
Recent whispers from the sci-fi pop group suggested that Calvert, singer and poseur extraordinaire, was fired and dumped by his peace & love buddies in Paris a few weeks back. The band blew out three Belgian gigs and flew home, apparently fearing for their lives.
Calvert, it was rumoured, had broken down under the stress of touring. Words like, crazy, manic, dangerous, Frankenstein were used to describe his state. It was said that he had tried to strangle tour manager Jeff Dexter and insisted on travelling through terrorist - blitzed Europe dressed in full combat gear, complete with gas pistol in a holster on his hip.
The Universal Cowboy denied it all: "Dave Brock (guitarist) convinced the others that I was having a nervous breakdown. What nonsense! They dumped me and my bags on the street in Paris. If I had been ill, what kind of mates are they to leave me? Call themselves human beings?
"I was a bit high-spirited - after all, I was going to get married! The truth is that Dave Brock didn't want to do the extra gigs. He wanted to go home to his wife. He was tired ...
"I have every intention of fulfilling my Hawkwind contractual obligations. One more album and tour. Then I'm off to become a full-time writer."
At the champagne knees-tip, Calvert pulled your reporter aside and firmly pointed out: "You know, given a KGB interrogation, only me and Simon King (best man) would survive. Inside I'm ice and steel. The rest of you," his arm swept across the room, "would cop-out, fail. Weaklings . . ."
At that I shook the bionic hand and split.
|Robert Calvert - the spirit of the p/age|