Intro

Paul Barrett was manager of Shakin' Stevens and the Sunsets, and is currently manager and agent for several rock 'n' roll groups, and promoter of rock 'n' roll music. He lives in Wales.

Hilary Hayward is a music journalist who has for ten years run the music trade magazines for promoters, Circuit. She also writes for Music Week, Melody Maker and the standard, among other papers, and is the author of Careers in the Music Business.

Copyright © 1983 By Paul Barrett and Hilary Hayward
Phototypeset by Input Typesetting Ltd,
London SW19 8DR

Printed in Great Britain by
Hunt Barnard Printing Ltd., Aylesbury, Bucks.

ISBN 0 352 31274 2

Dedication
To my wife Lorraine who gave rock 'n' roll some of the best years of our lives,
'n' to Shakin'Stevens who got what he wanted but lost what he had.
Paul Barrett

To Amy Elizabeth, for her patience.
Hilary Hayward

March 4th, 1948. Ely, Cardiff. Shakin' Stevens is born Michael Barratt, youngest of eleven children. June 9th, 1954. Ely Racecourse Youthclub. The man in the loud check jacket is looking pleased with himself. His thin lips positively quiver with satisfaction and his nose glows slightly, as it often does on these occasions. He surveys the hall, girls down one side in their floral print dresses and neat white socks and boys down the other, looking almost smart for once even if a certain rowdy element does insist on wearing their black trousers ridiculously narrow.

Tonight they've covered the waltz quite adequately and soon he'd be introducing the art of the Foxtrot to their tender, unschooled sensibilities. His eyes flow casually down the row of giggling, gossiping girls, alighting on a shy redhead: he'd use her as a partner for the first demonstration, she has a look of constant eagerness on her freckled features which appeals to his ego - she is easily impressed. He picks up a new short playing record recently acquired for the youth club which advertises, he thinks, it's musical intentions with the words' A Foxtrot' clearly emblazoned on the label. He clears his throat noisily and raps the table beside him for silence. 'The next dance we're going to learn," he begins, raising his voice just enough to be heard over the hubbub but with a sligh note of authorative warning in the Welsh tones, 'is the Foxtrot.'

THE RECORD HITS THE TURNTABLE AND HE STANDS POISED,
IT IS JUST A SPLIT SECOND BEFORE THE ROCK 'N' ROLL REVOLUTION HITS CARDIFF,
RIGHT BETWEEN THE EYES.