KENDALL'S KINGDOM — Spike Wells

……………..that is to say, the second hand department in the basement of the old DOBELL’S jazz record shop in the Charing Cross Road. It was the domain of a real character of the London jazz scene, JOHNNY KENDALL, who I first met in 1964 when I was 18 and between school and university.

I had started playing the drums but, not having anyone to play with, was concentrating on educating myself by listening to as much jazz as possible and starting to build a record collection.

I knew Dobell’s was the place (along with the basement of Collett’s in New Oxford St. where Ray Smith presided). There was the wonderful window display of expensive new Blue Notes and the glossy sleeves of the latest releases stacked in bins on the ground floor. The counter was manned by the likes of Don Solash and “Big Trevor” Salter. Through a window at the rear, you could catch a glimpse of the boss himself Doug Dobell sitting at his office desk, smoking one of his cheroots.

But I soon discovered that, if the tatty sign by the steps leading down to the Hades beneath the shop said “open” (facilis est descensus Averni, as Vergil put it - i.e.. once down there, you’d spend all your money) , you could clamber down to be greeted by Johnny K in his lair, a treasure trove of 2nd hand LPs.

If the tatty sign said closed, you’d have to retrace your steps out to the street and venture slightly further afield - but within a very small radius – to run Kendall to earth. He would be downing a pint or three in the Two Brewers (Monmouth St.) or the Duke of Argyll ( Brewer St.) or the Scots Hoose (Cambridge Circus) which has now been renamed the Spice of Life.

When the time came to return to the shop, he would probably secure a half bottle of Bell’s from the barman with which to entertain guests in his lair – guests who included quite a number of American musicians when playing in London. Henry Red Allen was a regular. Roland Kirk loved to browse the 2nd hand shelves with the help of his wife Edith who would have navigated him down the narrow stairs. The most frequent visitor and closest friend to John was Bud Freeman.

Otherwise it was just us punters and even we might be offered a chipped mug containing a slug of Scotch. If you asked to sample a fairly beaten up record in the single listening booth, he would cheerfully warn you that it “ticks a bit” but doesn’t jump. (At least as long as you put a half-crown on the pick-up. No, not fair. I made that up.) If you were still keen to complete the purchase, he’d say “Call it a quid.”

He knew how one would come to value original releases and more than once he advised me in an avuncular manner not to trade these in for reissues. How right he was.

During his tenure at Dobell’s, he went on a trip to New York in 1972 which was a sort of ‘works outing’. I have come across a rare group photo which includes John and his great mate Ray Bolden.

JOHN KENDALL 2nd from left, RAY BOLDEN centre, DOUG DOBELL right

Ray ran the adjoining folk shop in Charing Cross Rd for a time. He was also a real character who I got to know better when he later moved down to Hastings and ‘worked’ (with characteristic rebelliousness) at the Post Office.

Alas, when Dobell’s uprooted and moved to Tower St. across and behind the main road, things were never quite the same and there was evidently no room for John’s 2nd hand emporium. He did manage to find premises for a little shop of his own in Gt. Windmill St. for a time

but it didn’t last long and he ended up trading sporadically from his flat in Belsize Park. I often quizzed him about whether I should trek up there but he always said he didn’t have anything “to blow my brains out”. He meant rare vinyl, not a firearm or anything hallucinogenic.

We shared an enthusiasm to spotting actors in British B movies and, when John was in hospital for one reason or another towards the end of his life, he excitedly told me that he had found himself on a ward in a bed next to George Pravda – one of our favourite “faces” – a Czech who was usually cast as a German crook or Russian spy.

I said I first met Johnny Kendall when I was a student in 1964. In the summer of 1968, when I first came looking for professional work on the London scene, I started playing the odd night with Tony Coe, John Picard, Colin Purbrook and Kenny Baldock. Kendall turned up faithfully at all these gigs and supported us. Mainstream was his kind of music and my participation cemented our friendship.

Going back before my time, I must finally commend to you a wonderful little film (black and white, 43 mins) called LIVING JAZZ featuring the Bruce Turner Jump band on the road. This deserves a further closer look at in a future musing but I mention it now because Johnny Kendall makes a cameo appearance waiting for a No.13 bus. He is spotted and hailed by the band which is loading up a Ford Zephyr for an out-of-town dance engagement. He joins them for a quick chat and a joke and evidently misses his bus……..

John Chilton, Johnny Kendall and Colin Bates in Jack Gold’s 1961 LIVING JAZZ