Classic Rock UK - April 2019

(Martin Jones) #1

T


ed McKenna, drummer with the Sensational
Alex Harvey Band, Rory Gallagher, Michael
Schenker and others has died at the age of 68
after a routine hernia operation went wrong.
Fortunately the last eight years or so of his life
were some of his happiest.
Born in 1950, he explored various musical instruments
at school in Coatbridge, near Glasgow, before following the
call of an old snare drum given to him by a family member
and settling on percussion. After learning his trade on the
burgeoning Scottish rock’n’roll scene in the mid 60s, Ted
became part of heavy rock band Tear Gas, appearing on
their second album before they became the Sensational Alex
Harvey Band in 1972.
The next five years were a blur of touring and the release
of eight albums, during which the quintet embraced an
astonishing breadth of genres from Vaudeville to prog. Often
dismissed as a novelty act because of their 1975 cover of Tom
Jones hit Delilah (released without their knowledge), the truth
of SAHB’s value lies in the range of artists who credit them as
influences, from The Cure’s Robert Smith to the Sex Pistols’
John Lydon. Ted, guitarist Zal Cleminson, bassist Chris Glen
and keyboard Hugh McKenna (Ted’s cousin) proved to be the
powerhouse Harvey needed to shape the strength of character
he’d always had, and the message
of love he delivered with ferocious
energy. “We opened the Reading
Festival one year and headlined it
the next,” Ted said proudly. “No
one had done that before.” Ted
had a standard line: “Alex could
dominate a room just by entering
it.” With SAHB behind him, the
ceiling came down too.
By the mid-70s they were the highest-grossing live band
in the UK, although attempts to break through in the States
failed. They split in 1977 and Ted went on to join Rory
Gallagher’s band, staying until 1981 and becoming, he’d point
out, the only member ever to quit instead of being dismissed.
A stint with Greg Lake and Gary Moore followed before he
replaced Cozy Powell in the Michael Schenker Group, leaving
in 1984, after a rollercoaster ride which, he said, depended on
the moods and the state of inebriation of his bandmates. He
went on to work with Womack & Womack, Fish and many
others, although he rejected offers to work with a number of
the world-class rock bands of the late 80s. “To be asked meant
you were in that league; everyone knew you could do the job.
But there was nothing musical to learn,” he told me.
Always passionate about education, Ted became a lecturer
in Applied Arts at North Glasgow College in 1996, and
remained until 2011. SAHB staged a number of reunions
with varying success until 2008, and he also worked with
a number of blues and jazz musicians, forming his own
bands on occasion. One of his high points was playing a
show with Cream’s Jack Bruce. In recent years he’d been
busy with Band Of Friends, founded with former Gallagher
bandmate Gerry McAvoy. Along with bassist Glen, he’d also
returned to large-scale touring with Michael Schenker Fest.
Ted’s belief in rudiments made him a dream session hire
because he was able to understand very quickly what was
required of him. However, his passion for education could get

the better of him – students speak affectionately of having not
been taught the prescribed course work because he’d gone off
in a fascinating, valuable but not strictly relevant direction.
Ted – who’d often introduce himself as “Teddy Toddgrass,
Bromsgrove Five” with an accompanying silly accent –
frequently spoke about making “musical sense” on one’s
instrument of choice, and the pros and cons of working with
people who shared or opposed that sense.
There’s no doubting he was incredibly empathic, which
of course, made him a great artist. During my time as SAHB
manager, when the wheels were coming off he took to
pointing at me during meetings and saying: “Let’s make this
better.” That didn’t improve my sense of desperation, because
I was trying to do just that. Eventually he explained what he
meant: “I get you. That’s your attitude – ‘let’s make this better!’”
I’d like to think he was right.

L


ike many, he struggled with the black dog and resorted
to self-medication when things weren’t going well.
I recall several incidents of terror when I realised, while
he was driving me somewhere, that he was drunk. When
things got really bad he had a Jack and Coke between each
song on the SAHB set list, and those were the nights to worry.
“I can’t have a drink,” he accepted once. But in recent years
our liquid lunches consisted of
Guinness for me and soup for him.
Ted seemed to be happier every
time I saw him from around
2011 on. I’m sure part of that
was the close friendship of Claire
Taylor, who was never backward
about coming forward when
she thought he should be doing
something he wasn’t, or vice-
versa. He responded well to her support. She was with him
when he died.
He retained a relationship with former partners and spent
time thinking about past regrets and putting them to bed.
He’d struggled with the book he wanted to write; we were
set to discuss the possibility of doing it together two weeks
after his surgery. I think, at last, Ted knew what he wanted to
say, and the realisation had brought him great contentment.
It would have been a great book.
More importantly, he was loving being on tour, doing
session work, and particularly a freeform-based performance
art in Shamanic, a trio with Fay Fife of the Rezillos and artist
Maria Rud. He was out there, expressing himself, making
musical sense, and being warm to everyone he met.

T


he word ‘authoritative’ always entered my mind when
I thought of Ted’s playing. Evidence of his versatility is
in his catalogue of over 60 album appearances; evidence
of his accuracy is in the way only a small central circle of each
drum skin seemed to ever be struck, leaving the rest smooth
and untouched; evidence of his personality is in the
thousands of photos and videos where he’s seen beaming out
from behind his kit, whether it was a double-bass behemoth
with a forest of cymbals or a simple cajon for a folk jam.
“I do one thing well,” Ted used to insist. “I can play drums
like fuck.” That wasn’t the whole story. He was a fascinating
balance of loud and quiet, and brilliant at being both.

Ted McKenna


March 10, 1950 – January 19, 2019


GET
TY


‘He was a fascinating


balance of loud and


quiet, and brilliant


at being both.’


CLASSICROCKMAGAZINE.COM 17

Martin Kielty looks back at the life and times of the drummer best
remembered for his time with the Sensational Alex Harvey Band.
Free download pdf