KING SALOMAN and the BEVIS FROND By Gil Gershman, photo by Dennis Kleiman (from MAGNET No.29 Jul/Aug 1997) The Bevis Frond, Nick Saloman's one-man musical empire, has brightening the world since 1987's Miasma. Over the course of 10 records, the Frond has paved the dual paths of Pop and Psychedelia with record after sterling record. Saloman's marriage to the musical muse extends back to when he was five. Before most tots knew theirs ABCs, little Nicky Saloman knew that he wanted to play guitar. Inspired first by the Shadows and Brian Hyland, Saloman's aspirations became a reality when his father surprised him with a six-string after a trip abroad. The rest, as they say, is history. England's rock 'n' roll revolution was at full boil when Saloman first hit his musical stride. A passion for the quintessential English masters -the Animals, Stones, Who and Kinks- led the young Saloman through stints with London folk bands during college, (Trainspotters alert: Saloman's first recorded performance appears on Oddsocks' 1974 album, Men Of The Moment.) Following the lead of Jimi Hendrix and bands such as the Beatles and Cream, Saloman formed The Von Trap Family and attracted cult attention as a purveyor of fine, punk-laced psychedelia. A motorbike accident during his 20s threatened to end Saloman's musical pursuits. But one who lives and breathes music the way most men breathe air couldn't be so easily deterred. After retraining his injured arm to tackle the guitar anew, Saloman emerged with his first recordings as The Bevis Frond. A self-recorded potpourri of confectionery garage pop and mind-expanding firebomb psych, Miasma is an album that should have stopped the world in its tracks. The Bevis Frond's kaleidoscopic rush, a sensory assault of Hammond organ and remarkably self-schooled nose-diving/stringbending guitar hurricanes, is both strangely familiar and undeniably original; its sound still echoes throughout an international underground. At the rate of one heaping slice of Frondage per year, Saloman has kept the magic alive through minor line-up changes, record label apathy and the infuriating disinterest of the UK's ridiculous music press. The latest Bevis Frond platter, Son Of Walter, showcases Saloman in peak form, again dishing up songs and channelling storms that have the power to turn the music world on its ear. "So many people get carried away/By a middle-aged freak with a gut like a whale/And a paranoid streak that he can't control/And I've got to agree it's a constant source of mystery to me as well... But what can I do except ride the swell/Until It dumps me back on the London clay... And I have to admit that I've had a good time, but it's over now." "Animal Tracks," 1995 One of the most charming modern-day legends you'll ever meet, Saloman is a visionary 44-year-old showing no sign that age will slow his prodigious output. The adulation his music has garnered does appear to be a constant source of mystery" to the gentle genius. It's one of several themes to which Saloman's carefully crafted lyrics often return, one of the many threads that strings the Frond's musical tapestry. A deeply rooted love for England is another, often expressed as a lashing out against those who would destroy London for profit (London Stone). But Saloman isn't playing the xenophobe card. Like any good writer, he writes about what he knows. As he puts it, "I make such a song and dance about England and London because it seems that, in rock or pop, if you're referring to place names, they always seem to be American. If you are American, that's fine. But if you're not, and you're singing about going down the road in Memphis or New Orleans, it sounds totally stupid! I always thought, 'Why the hell don't people in England sing about England?' That seems to be changing, and a lot of English bands seem to be singing about London now." Saloman frowns upon labels and categories, and that's fine. His work defies them. Triptych's 19-minute "Tangerine Infringement Beak" sits comfortably beside the radio-ready pop of inner Marshland's "Lights Are Changing" and still reflects the same guiding vision. Even "God Speed You To Earth," a flawless piece of minor-key emotion that quietly screams to be treasured and played to death, teases radio conventions by jangling away for seven unhurried minutes at the end of New River Head. Saloman isn't in the business of churning out "hits." He couldn't give a toss about the indifference that his hometown rags, the NME and Melody Maker, show him. The Bevis Frond, since its four-track inception, has always been about Saloman satisfying Saloman. If hundreds of immortal songs should happen to tumble out in the process, so be it. He may wonder how people wet themselves over similarly minded bands yet remain oblivious to his Bevis Frond output. But he's not too concerned about it. Saloman is direct about his intentions: "I see a uniqueness in that I'm probably the only person who really and truly doesn't care." He continues, demonstrating the honesty that rings through his work, "The whole point is so that I never have to work again. I want to have a nice life. If I'm very lucky, I'm halfway through my life. I want to enjoy myself." This healthy attitude has helped Saloman to weather blows that would have destroyed other musicians. The Bevis Frond was a cornerstone of Reckless Records, a label that released the band's first six albums on both sides of the water. The partnership between Saloman and Reckless came to an abrupt end in 1992, when Reckless head Charles Taylor passed on releasing London stone. The Bevis Frond was set to tour Europe, and Saloman counted on the record being available. Saloman had to force an explanation from Taylor and was given a hedging, "Well, I just don't think that it's up to your usual standard." Undaunted, Saloman released the record on his own Woronzow label and has self-released every new Bevis Frond album since. Despite a loyal international fanbase and much interest in collaboration from fanzines and small labels, Saloman hasn't been too concerned with moving the Frond to a "new" label. "I haven't gone looking, to be honest," Saloman says. "I've had offers from small labels. But when I've spoken to them, it has always been haphazard. So I've thought, 'What's the point?' But I have been waiting for someone decent to suggest that we work together." Saloman's reluctance may stem from unwillingness to surrender his control over The Bevis Frond. The thought of working with a major label, especially in any situation where producers intervene in recording decisions, doesn't appeal to him. "Unless I had 100 percent control, I couldn't do it," he states firmly. "I couldn't cope with some idiot producer telling me that it needs to be perfect. If I write a song and record it, I don't want any other input in it. I don't want anyone telling me what I should do with it. If I signed a major-label deal, I wouldn't have as much control, and I wouldn't be enjoying myself." Son Of Walter is a bit of a return for Saloman, a renewal of the complete control that he yielded to collaborations and guest musicians since It Just Is. "I had just bought a new home studio," Saloman explains. "I'd spent a load of money on it, so why not use it?" Hardly a control freak, Saloman isn't averse to collaboration. The present live incarnation of the Frond teams him with Adrian Shaw (who played bass with Hawkwind in the '80s) and the skin-pounding Andy Ward (from that progiest of caravans, Camel). Saloman engages in axe-duels with Bari Watts in Outskirts Of Infinity, has contributed guitar and sitar to David Tibet's Current 93 records and ropes in his friends to kick some rippin' garage action under his Fred Bison alias. Most recently, Saloman paired up with indie sweetheart Mary Lou Lord. His first appearance on U.S. soil came during a gig with Lord. For many, the first exposure, to The Bevis Frond came by way of Lord's covers of "He'd Be A Diamond" and "Lights Are Changing". Lord even managed to coax Saloman into the studio during the recording of her major-label debut album. How did this unlikely friendship come about? "Mary Lou Lord phoned me up and asked me if I'd mind if she covered one of my singles," says Saloman. "We met up when she came to the U.K., and she wanted to do more of my songs. I wrote quite a few of the songs (on her album), and we wrote a few together. She's essentially covering Nick Saloman songs that I haven't performed yet." As if Saloman hadn't already done enough for music, there is a "little thing" called the Ptolemaic Terrascope. Saloman, once a secondhand record dealer, and Phil McMullen were two souls destined to meet. Initially McMullen was "this sort of weird bloke who came in to buy records all the time." The two men shared a passion for music, keeping one ear on the musical past and one ear on music's future. Their disgust with the dominant English music press encouraged an independent venture: the now-revered "occasional" Saloman and McMullen publish and edit, respectively. Proving you're never too old for DIY, Saloman is still responsible for "running about, contributing the odd bit of writing and artwork, and just getting each issue off the ground." The philosophy behind the Terrascope is beautifully simple. "We don't write about stuff we don't like," Saloman states. For those who consider the magazine's coverage (always deservingly positive) of Frond records and activities to be a "conflict of interest," Saloman has another simple answer: "It's my bloody magazine! If I can't get it in there, where can I get it in? Besides, I think the people who buy the Terrascope want to know about what's up with The Bevis Frond." No one can deny the essential role that the Terrascope plays. It's that rarest of fields where Man, Magma, the Monkees and Magic Hour meet; where the Nazz is every bit as valid as Neutral Milk Hotel; and where the '70s Hampton Grease Band is reviewed together with the '90s Tractor Hips. With the occasional exception of Mob, no other magazine acknowledges the past in such a holistic fashion. But producing a new chapter in the musical gospel every few months takes its financial toll. When the Terrascope found itself threatened by depleted funds, musicians and friends organised the irresistible Succour compilation. Their commitment and devotion to the magazine went even further. Many of these same individuals helped organise a cash raking benefit, a modest venture that grew and grew in scope. Before Saloman and McMullen realised it, they were in Providence, R.l., with an incredible cast of international artists and a sold-out benefit gala that was christened "Terrastock." The Providence shows represent the beginning of a new phase for The Bevis Frond. Flydaddy's domestic release of Son Of Walter marks the first time a Bevis Frond album has been available in the U.S. since 1992's A Gathering Of Fronds. Saloman's live performance at the benefit was his first ever U.S. performance with a band. And even more exposure is due. Infinite Zero is preparing a comprehensive reissue of The Bevis Frond's Reckless albums, and talk is circulating about a full-scale American tour for The Bevis Frond. With the Terrascope still afloat, a new generation of Frond converts imminent and the attention of press far and wide, it looks as though Saloman's time has finally arrived. Back to the Articles Page.