'72 Controversial Flash article/interview & reply

FLASH

Phonograph Record Magazine
September 1972

by R. Serge Denisoff

At another Holiday Inn where rock musician culture must spend at least a third of its time, Colin Carter, the long, tall, wire-haired lead singer of Flash proclaims, "musicians have huge egos that they need to prop up on stage and they carry it around with them all the time." Colin is perfectly correct as one rarely meets professional performers who are without ego. It would seem you don't make it in the record business without one. Egos are what make rock stars and break up successful groups. It's ironic, but painfully true. The Beatles, The Byrds, Springfields and the list goes on. Every time a group breaks up or changes personnel, at least one or two splinter bands arise. Flash is one such act. Peter Banks is the odd man out. He was a founding member (as they say in the New Musical Express) of Yes. Yes in those days lived in the shadow of Led Zeppelin, then the golden haired boys of the English branch of the Atlantic label. Hence Yes was left with a poorly promoted first album and a tour of second rate English pubs and clubs at the inset. As Peter explains the consistent grind of the road begins to get to people. Musicians get so "they can't stand living with certain members of the band." But they stay on the road. The frustrations of playing the same "bloody" numbers night after night found Bill Bruford leaving Yes, and Banks joking about punching time clocks when they went on stage. Night after night they played the same songs over and over and over again. Roy Flynn, the manager of the band, became the "bad guy." Some members of Yes ignored him as best they could at times, "sending him off to coventry" as the English say — meaning they didn't talk to him. Peter shared the bands unhappiness but apparently did not like the "coventry" bit. The expulsion of the manager did not solve the group's problems. The nightly club appearances did not go away and English audiences, according to Peter, "have seen so much and heard so much that the whole babble of aesthetic performance and musical intensity has just been pushed off." They just don't respond like American audiences. They've seen it all. "Wait till Peter gets to the Whisky," I think, "and encounters the friendly Los Angeles rock press and the legendary John Ned Mendelsohn." With the manager gone, the record company became — with some justification — the villain. "We were conned," Peter says with some feeling. "I can honestly say that. I don't think Atlantic did enough for the band." Another cop out? Every band in the world blames THE record company for the sins of the world. Some of the time they're right. Peter charges that Atlantic did not promote Yes until after Fragile, especially in the lucrative American market. As a conscientious PRM writer I push on, but Peter stops saying the case is in the English courts. Obviously, Yes is still with Atlantic, so why isn't he? Peter, who answers most of the questions, blames Tony Colton, lead singer of Heads, Hands and Feet, who produced Yes' second album, Time And A Word: "When I heard the final mix of the album, I was very upset. I felt like crying; the guitar was gone. The guitar virtually disappeared." Shortly afterward Peter departed Yes. Peter was the first to leave. Another "founder member," Tony Kaye, who would appear in Flash on at least the first album, also left Yes again over musical direction. Tony told Melody Maker, "I'd not been happy with the band for a year. I Wasn't getting into the music they were playing and the direction they were going. I found myself left out...." Since the departure of Banks and Kaye, Yes has added Steve Howe and Rick Wakeman and gone on to some international acclaim. It is at this point that things become very muddy and confusing. Peter and Tony left Yes because they just weren't getting their share of the spotlight. They were two of the five "founding members." So who is the rightful heir to the true Yes identity? This is not simply an academic question because it defines Flash's identity. But this is no question to pose to any rock act, as I painfully have discovered from thousands of blues bands who "ain't never heard of" Paul Butterfield or Muddy Waters, but sound exactly like them.

Several hours prior to the dreary comforts of the Toledo Holiday Inn, Flash had played the Agora Club. The Agora is the last link in a chain of over-eighteen nightclubs which run bands from Cleveland to Cincinnati through Columbus to the "glass capital of the world." Not much for a glamorous American tour, but Flash is still dues paying.

From the minute Flash comes on stage there is little question that Peter Banks is the star. He stands alone on the far corner of the stage picking Hendrix runs. Each song features a long — very long — solo. Dreams of Heaven is a showcase for the lead guitar. The lightning bolts and other electronic effects only highlight Peter. He raises his arms as a Teutonic demigod while washed with flicking strobe lighting. The audience goes crazy. The bolts and other electronic effects now focus on Peter Banks as they never did with Yes. He seems above it all. Even Colin's double strides around the stage seem supportive. "They're just like Yes," someone says. "Yep, they are," I respond, resisting the obvious pun. Peter is the leader and founder of Flash.

Flash, as in "he's a flash," exists due to the generosity of English film financiers who feel that collecting rock groups as an investment is nearly as good as stocks and bonds. Peter talked Bolting Brothers of British Lion Ltd. — and all that — into band-rolling him as he was the lead "the greatest rock and roll band in the world." With $15,000, he was ready to go.

With British pounds in the hand and the management firm of Two Worlds Artists and the aid of Ben Nisbett and Derek Lawrence of Wishbone Ash, Peter assembled his group. Colin Carter, who came from a band called Mushroom — "with a sound not far removed from the things Peter and Yes were doing" — convinced Banks to include him after reading an article in Melody Maker. Drummer Mike Hough was recruited through an ad in the same paper. Mike says he "just came along for the blow," a statement best left to liner notes. Ray Bennett, a Banks' acquaintance from the Yes days, joined as bassist. Coincidentally, Ray had played in a band with Yes drummer Bill Bruford at one time. Incestuous, I say to myself. Banks wanted a keyboard man, but couldn't find one. Having assembled the group they immediately went into the studio. Ex Yes-man Tony Kay [sic] was invited to "come along" which he did. Flash is the result of that eight-day session. Remember, it gets confusing.

Flash, as patrons of the Agora remarked, does sound like Yes. Flash refuses to accept this. After several Cokes mixed with Scotch, a combination few Americans can say, yet alone drink, Colin Carter explained the mix up: "Peter was on the first two Yes albums and the rest of the band was obviously influenced by the way he played, so when they got a replacement they still thought on the same lines. He (Steve Howe) was obviously a replacement." Peter quickly adds, "Steve Howe sounds like me." Strange, that's like Wings claiming the Beatles sounded like them. Colin returns saying, "We're not the sort of people who would jump on a particular bandwagon to make money. It's just not that way... We're four individual people playing our music. This is Flash music, and nothing to do with Yes." As usual this question has hit the right chord. Mike Hough, quiet for most of the interview, jumps in, "Like you have to put my influences, then Pete's influences and then Ray's and..." Seeing my poorly hidden disbelief and recalling Colin's remark about musician's egos, "When they get compared to someone else whom they don't imagine themselves to be they take offense," Peter says softly, "People have said after hearing the album, which I can understand...but nobody's ever said it after hearing (seeing) us." At the show they played their album. I really didn't have the heart or the courage to repeat the comparisons made at the Agora during the show.

Flash does have many elements of the Yes of yore. Both on stage and in a studio many gimmicks associated with the "other" band are found in Flash. How much of this is unconscious and coincidental or roots is really a matter of speculation. About the album, now on the charts, there is little question. Peter admitted to the New Musical Express that the band had little time to practice. "It would have been better to record after we'd been on the road for a few weeks. You never know a number well until you have played it at least half a dozen times." Considering the backgrounds of the musicians, strains of Yes could not help but come out of the album. Peter will not appreciate this, but it's true. Nothing played or said this warm night will change the comparison made between Yes and Flash.

Leaving the Holiday Inn it is apparent that Flash is Peter Banks. He put it together and directs it on and off stage. It is his trip. Capitol Records bills the group "Peter Banks and..." by the request of the band I'm told. Peter's head is still part of the nostalgia of Yes. Perhaps he hasn't forgotten being edited out of their second album. Whatever ghost haunts him, Peter will have to either acknowledge it or live with being compared to Yes. As I said, it's all very confusing.

Why can't a band sound like another one when they have the same roots. Is Usual Place by the J. Geils band lousy because it sounds very much like Time Is On My Side? Not at all! America certainly gets accepted despite Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young. Ray Bennett proves to be my favorite psychologist of the evening saying, "Musicians have a giant ego coupled with some inferiority complexes at the same time, and it's sort of one's batting against the other all the time." In that sentence the bassist defined the nitty gritty of Flash, and many other groups. Every time a performer leaves and established group and starts another it must involve a lot of ego just to battle the comparisons which will be made. Eric Clapton has Cream, Peter Banks is stuck with Yes.

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Ah,"YES", the comparisons....(by Sherry Noland)

This 1972 "Phonograph Record Magazine" article/not-much-of-an-interview is a prime example of how the press often takes a little bit of truth, runs with it, and comes up with hilarious results.

The first comical statement -- the article's very first sentence: "Colin Carter, the long, tall, wire-haired lead singer of Flash...".  At 5'6", Colin has been called many things, I'm sure, but LONG,TALL isn't one of them!  If you can't trust the guy on something that easy...

Then the author calls Peter "the leader and founder of Flash" -- not true.  I guess the facts are just too complicated for Mr. Denisoff who laments, "it's all too confusing."  Or maybe, having made up his mind, he simply didn't ask. 

In fact, Colin Carter got the ball rolling when he contacted Banks with some song ideas and the notion that they might work together. They met in Pete's apartment, played some music and decided to give it a go.  Ray Bennett came on board next through his connections with Banks and Bruford.  Then drummers were auditioned, and Mike Hough won the day.  It IS true, Pete's track record with Yes gave them a leg up getting financial backing.  Ray and Colin were the songwriters, and it was, from the beginning, a collaboration, as Pete says.

More from Mr. Denisoff..."it is apparent that Flash is Peter Banks. He put it together and directs it on and off stage. It is his trip. Capitol Records bills the group "Peter Banks and..." by the request of the band I'm told."

I wonder who told him that?  He's wrong on all counts.  Notwithstanding his inaccurate description of how the band functioned, the fact is, Capitol Records added "Flash, featuring England's Peter Banks" to their name on the third album for legal reasons without consulting the band.  There was a name challenge in the courts from a local California band calling themselves Flash!

The many Flash comparisons with Yes are inevitable, and are a testament to the fact that Peter Banks is a brilliant, adventurously unique and talented guitarist who would have made his mark in any band.  As reviewers have said - in Flash, which was more guitar-centered,  he really got to shine.  And Colin Carter's high-pitched, soft voice (before Flash he sang bass!) just happened to sound a bit like Jon A.  Carter has also been compared to Roger Daltrey - looks and voice!  And Bennett's bass playing to John Entwistle.  And on and on.  Whoever gets famous first, gets compared TO.  The real question is, are artists being original, or copying? Look for the differences, not just the similarities, and you'll find them.  For instance, Flash ROCKS; Yes, not so much.  All the Yes, and Flash musicians are creative powerhouses in their own right.  That's why both bands are distinctive.  That's why we like to listen.  And why we remember.....

As for Pete being "the star of Flash", here's a scoop!  This has never been reported before...

When Flash producer, Derek Lawrence, saw serious trouble brewing with Peter, he had such confidence in the talent and promise of the band (Ray, Colin and Mike) that he took Ray aside and advised him to drop Pete and find a replacement before Pete took everybody down (an astounding turn of events since he had known Pete the longest, had worked with him before, and helped find the all-important financing for the band).  Derek even went so far as to suggest possibilities - Richie Blackmore, or Eric Clapton.  Lawrence was an older, experienced guy, very savvy in the music biz. Ray and Colin were young, and perhaps a bit naive.  They decided to continue as they were, hoping to hold things together.  Impossible.  Relations continued to deteriorate until one day on tour, everyone was fed up with Pete, and just walked away from it all, leaving Pete in a hotel in Albuquerque, NM., and the band nowhere.  Peter isn't the only one with regrets.  

Finally, that long-ago misstep is being rectified.  When talk of a reunion began, there were problems once again with Banks almost immediately.  But Bennett and Carter were undeterred this time.  They clicked into working together as they always had - hand-in-glove.  Now, with Ray's virtuoso playing applied to lead guitar, and years of hard knocks, wisdom, and music under their belts, Flash sets sail again...

In an alternate universe, Chris Squire and Jon Anderson never met, and Yes never formed following the collapse of psychedelic band, Mabel Greer’s Toyshop. Filling the space-prog vacuum left in their non-existent wake was Flash, who went on to rule the world during the seventies before turning a bit sh*t in the eighties.

Of course, that’s an alternate universe and the one you’re reading this in already had Yes ready and willing to do all of the above. At the same time, we also had Flash.

Flash was formed when Peter Banks, the original Yes guitarist, left the band under a cloud following their second album, Time and a Word. He teamed up with three likeminded spirits and even hauled in Yes’s pre-Wakeman keyboard-noodler, Tony Kaye, to guest on their 1972 self-titled debut, Flash. The result is Yes, in all but name.

Sporting a cover that would nowadays elicit a raised eyebrow and a disapproving tut, Flash sounds like Yes’s little brother, kicking at the bedroom door, desperate to get in on the act.

A little unfair, perhaps, as Peter Banks was a founding member, but it’s impossible to listen to this album without thinking of those, ultimately more successful, prog standard-bearers. As I said, this is the band Yes would’ve been had Yes not existed.

Right from the off, with the energetic ‘Small Beginnings’, the comparisons are cordially invited to evening drinks followed by a medium-sized finger buffet, right down to the slightly high-pitched vocals from Colin Carter, a la Jon Anderson. ‘Children of the Universe’, in particular, could easily have appeared on anything Squire and co. put out from The Yes Album to Relayer (with the possible exception of Topographic Oceans), such is its near note for note rendering of what a Yes song should sound like, yet despite all this sonic facsimile, Flash remains a worthy listen.

Completely disassociate Flash from the Yes allusions and connections, and you have an album containing five solid space-prog tracks that all take themselves far too seriously, riding the rivers of pomposity with skis the size of canoes strapped to their feet, yet at the same time are hugely enjoyable.

It’s pointless to even attempt to single out any one song above the rest, as they all follow the same ostentatious blueprint favoured by the prog bands of this type. Instead, Flash should be listened to in one sitting, enjoyed, and then quickly forgotten about until the next time it finds pride of place in the CD player.

Although it’s lazy to once again mention the Y-word, truth of the matter is, if you like Yes, then you’ll love this too.

The 2009 Esoteric reissue of Flash contains the rare single version of ‘Small Beginnings’ as a bonus track and is available to buy from Amazon.co.uk