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I literally owe my life to Phil Everly, and his older brother Don, writes Hawkins
Hawkins' parents had split up, but were reconciled thanks to an Everly Brothers track
Phil Everly, one half of the groundbreaking duo, died aged 74 in September
Their hits included "Bye Bye Love" and "Cathy's Clown"
When a famous musician dies that loss is usually felt more widely than most. In my case though, the death of one particular musician this year was a moment of keen significance, because I literally owe my life to Phil Everly, and his older brother Don.
My parents were born into the austerity of south-east England, as London and its surrounding areas recovered from World War II. Not long after my mother had started school, my grandparents decided to leave the difficulties of post-war London behind them and move out to the Essex countryside bordering the city to its east.
My father’s family, also Londoners, had made the move some years earlier. My grandfather, who served in the Royal Engineers in Europe and North Africa during the war, returned to work in one of the many oil refineries dotted along the Thames estuary.
My mother was 14 when she met my then 16-year-old father. The early ’60s may have been swinging in central London, but the decade’s influence was less obvious in the suburbs. My parents’ first encounter, in 1962, was a model of chaste restraint, at a village dance where boys and girls were kept under the careful watch of adults (especially during any slow dancing.) My dad walked my mum home, and assures me that nothing untoward took place.
By this time the Everly Brothers’ powers had already peaked, but their influence on my father was still growing. His first encounter with their silken harmonies actually came in 1958, huddled under blankets at his aunt’s draughty house. There he would listen to the sounds of one of rock ‘n roll’s pioneering platforms, Radio Luxembourg. “All I Have To Do Is Dream” played through the speakers of the wireless, as radios were always called back then, and he was hooked.
My mum and dad dated happily for a couple of years, but in 1964 they hit a blip. On a chilly night, the couple were walking back from a dance at their local college hall. Peter Knight and the Nightriders had been playing. At the bus stop, my mum told my dad that she no longer wanted to be his girlfriend. Powerless to change her mind, he waved her goodbye for what might have been the last time. Like Marty McFly in Back to the Future, my life was fading from the picture.
The Everly Brothers, too, were on the wane. But their sound was underpinning many of the tracks that were now piloting bands to superstardom. Rock ‘n roll may have been a new sound, but it owed a heavy debt to its forebears. Listen to “Please Please Me” by the Beatles, and compare it to “Cathy’s Clown” by the Everlys (the first record to top both the UK and U.S. charts at the same time,) and it is hard not to notice the similarities.
In a bid to win back my mother’s affections, my dad hit upon an idea. He headed to his local record store and bought a copy of “So Sad (To Watch Good Love Go Bad).” He passed it to my mum’s brother, with whom he was good friends. It was a classic inside job: The man who is now my uncle passed it to the woman who would become my mum; she played it on the family’s gramophone, and – in the words of Ella Fitzgerald – the spell was cast. My parents met again, and were reconciled. They didn’t know it at the time, but I too was saved.
My dad’s affection for the Everly Brothers never faded. He kept pace with disco, listened to the new romantics of the ’80s, had a brush with reggae, and even dabbled in house music. But all of these would be punctuated by the Brothers’ gentle voices.
The Everlys split acrimoniously in 1973, with Phil famously smashing his guitar and storming off stage. But they reformed for a special Reunion Concert at London’s Royal Albert Hall in 1983. Inevitably, my dad was there – with my mum by his side.
Two years later, he insisted on taking me and my sister, aged 12 and 10, to London’s Hammersmith Odeon to see the Everlys for ourselves. We were sat near the front, and the aging but still potent duo won me and my equally cynical sister over completely. At the end of the concert my dad lifted my sister onto his shoulders and Don shook her hand.
My dad actually had a couple of encounters with Phil Everly years later, while working in California. He was shopping at Vons in Burbank when he saw Phil and his then girlfriend Patti buying groceries. Star-struck and too polite to approach them, he didn’t take his chance to say hello. However, not long after, he found himself dining in a Los Angeles restaurant on the next table to the couple. This time he made his move, and was able to finally meet his idol – who was impeccably warm and polite. Sadly, in his excitement, my dad forgot to tell him about the record.
In January this year, as news broke that pulmonary disease had claimed Phil’s life, my brother-in-law called my parents’ house to check if they had heard. My mum broke the news to my dad, who sat down and cried inconsolably.
Throughout the week he received calls from friends and family, all checking to see how he’d reacted to the news. It was as if a family member had died, and in a way – for my dad at least – that was what Phil and Don Everly were and are.
For my own part, the news was a reminder of the comforting soundtrack of my youngest years; of car journeys to the coast, lazy Sunday mornings, family gatherings and parties. Above all though, it was a reminder of the story of my parents’ near break up, their reconciliation, and the debt I owe Phil and his brother.
So thank you, Phil Everly, and may you rest in peace.
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