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Daily Mirror
4 days ago
- Entertainment
- Daily Mirror
'I spotted 80s pop icons on my flight and they were shocked I actually recognised them'
Mirror writer Ravi Meah was only a baby when this British band were churning out top 10 hits, but their paths somehow crossed on a trip to Amsterdam I'm on a flight to Amsterdam for a solo birthday trip. It's been a long few weeks at work and I decided to treat myself to a break in the land of clogs, windmills and Max Verstappen. In my pursuit of having fun in the Dutch capital, little did I realise I would receive the biggest birthday surprise on my flight. The plane had just taken off when the stewardess came over to ask what kind of drinks or snacks I would like. "Surprise me," I replied, to which she offered up a selection of soft drinks, tea, coffee and spirits. I felt brave, so I chose my tipple of choice. "Oooh, I'll have a gin and tonic, please. I feel great," I said back, with a fevered ebullience. You only live once, they say. The lovely stewardess then handed me a plastic cup, some Fever-Tree tonic water and two small bottles of gin. Then, something unusual happened – a slim man sporting large black noise-cancelling headphones, who was sat in front of me, turned his head in my direction and his eyes lit up after hearing what I was drinking. Another chap, dressed in a black jacket and with well-combed hair, sat next to me and retorted: "Ooh, that's a great choice!" I replied: "I'm on holiday, mate. It's a great time to have fun." But to my millennial astonishment, I'd recognised those guys. They weren't just any gents. They were members of one of Britain's most iconic pop bands, en route to a gig in the Netherlands. And I'm on the same flight as them. Level 42 were one of the world's biggest bands of the 1980s, with their slick, stylish and incredible records – a melange of pop, rock and jazz funk – providing the soundtrack to the decade. They sold more than 31 million records throughout their career and enjoyed six top 10 hits during the 1980s. Later this year, the group will celebrate the 40th anniversary of their most successful album, World Machine, by going on tour across the UK and Europe. Ten dates, including their flagship show at London's Royal Albert Hall on October 22, have already sold out. The guy who smiled back at my choice of drink was Mike Lindup, the group's keyboardist and long-standing member. Sitting next to him was Mark King, bassist and founding member, dressed in a black T-shirt and still feeling young as ever. As for the man sitting next to me? That was Nathan King, Mark's younger brother and guitarist who joined the group in 2001 after the first iteration of the band – which featured brothers Phil and Rowland "Boon" Gould – split up in 1994. I was only a baby when Level 42 released some of their biggest hits, but it was only in the late 1990s – when I discovered and fell in love with new wave, synthpop, alternative rock and goth rock – that I got wind of their music. The wistful love song Something About You still sounds as beautiful today as it did when it punched its way to the UK and US top 10 charts in 1985. And who can forget their 1986 banger Lessons In Love? The rest of their back catalogue is a treasure trove of musical gems – and I'm glad I listened to them. But me being me, I turned into a giddy little wreck when I made a simple request to Nathan: "Do you reckon Mike and Mark would have some time for me to say hello to them? I just want to thank them for creating such great music all these years and for sticking around to celebrate World Machine this year." "Yeah, they will, mate," Nathan answered. "That's really nice of you to say that about us." We enjoyed a good long talk about Nathan's life with the band, his Dutch wife and how Level 42 has a huge following in the Far East. "Ah, you guys are probably bigger than Beyoncé and Katy Perry over in that part of the world," I said to Nathan. As for their reason for flying to Amsterdam, Nathan revealed the band were on their way to perform their headline slot at the Dijkpop Festival in Andijk, a village 39 miles north of the Dutch capital. Even more revealing was that they had planned to come back to the UK that very same evening on the overnight ferry. Talk about hardcore. "I just realised I have one bottle of gin left. Would you like it?" I asked Nathan. "You sure? You don't have to," he replied. I insisted he have it as a little gift – it wasn't much, but it's not everyday you get to meet such humble celebrities. There were no airs and graces about them. As we were about to touch down at Schiphol Airport, Nathan introduced me firstly to Mike, and then to Mark. "It truly is an honour to see you both. World Machine is one of the best albums you've made and I'm glad you're both still here touring," I said to both musicians. "Thanks very much. That means a lot to us," Mark replied, shaking my hand and showing such loving gratitude. "It's really nice to hear our music cutting across many generations, so thank you." Then came the subject of football. Mike happens to be a fan of Tottenham Hotspur. And I showed him a photo of another celebrity who I had bumped into at Heathrow earlier that day. It was none other than Ange Postecoglou, the manager who was unceremoniously sacked by the club despite leading them to their first trophy since 2008. "I think I shook his hand earlier today at the lounge," Mark exclaimed. "I don't think I saw him there," Mike admitted, which surprised me, given his love for Spurs. Sporting talk all over, we landed and the band agreed to have a selfie with me. We managed to find a spot at the arrivals hall and then went our separate ways. This was truly the best birthday present I've had thus far. What was surprising, though, was that no one on the flight appeared to recognise them apart from me. And the passengers were probably the same age as Level 42's motley crew. All I know is that I had a great story to tell some of my friends back home. Living it up with Level 42 till the sun – or in this case, the plane – goes down. They say never meet your heroes, as you'd often feel disappointed. But my recent encounter with one of the world's most iconic 80s bands was an exception in many ways. Or should that be levels? Level 42's World Machine 40th anniversary tour runs between September 18 and November 17. Click here for more information.
The Guardian
30-03-2025
- Entertainment
- The Guardian
Maybe I'm Amazed by John Harris review – with a little help from John, Paul, George and Ringo
Halfway through Maybe I'm Amazed, there's a photograph of John Harris's son, James, with one of his heroes. James is a young-looking 10 in knee-length shorts decorated with stars. Ian Hunter of 1970s rock band Mott the Hoople stands beside him, a hand gently around his shoulder. 'Sixty-nine years separate them,' Harris writes. 'Here is proof of how songs and their creators find fans in the most unlikely of places.' Maybe I'm Amazed is the story of a growing child's love of music, but it's more than that: it's also about how songs provided a whole world for James, and his family, after his autism diagnosis. It marks a departure for Harris, whose previous journalism, aside from his political work for the Guardian, has involved editing magazines and writing columns, reviews and other books about music. Books exploring personal connections to music have boomed in recent years (I'm primed to notice, having written a music memoir myself, The Sound of Being Human, in 2022). Like mine and many others, Harris's is structured around a playlist, but this skeleton (of James's favourite songs) only provides a loose frame. The book is more of an outlet for a father navigating an unexpected relationship with his child, in which music brings a welcome means of communication, cohesion and comfort. Harris writes movingly about his son's early years, in which music was ever-present, partly because of his parents' enthusiasms (Harris points out that his first gig was Level 42 aged 13, while James's was Chuck Berry at Camp Bestival just before he was two; Harris's wife, Ginny, also works in the music business). Harris notices how intensely James responds to songs from this age, loving his dad playing cyclical chord sequences on his guitar, hammering rhythms along to them in perfect time on his tiny toy piano. Elsewhere, he is often quiet and withdrawn, and repeats streams of words, a common characteristic of autism, known as echolalia. James's diagnosis comes before he turns three. You feel for Harris as he theorises why certain music moves his son, as he can't do it himself: 'In a lot of the Beatles's early music, there is an irresistible optimism, everything seemingly going at 100 miles an hour, thanks to an energy that the music could barely contain.' His early chapters read like a cathartic outpouring about the hurdles and obstacles his family has had to face, but his forays into neuroscience get deeper by the page, which is where this book's real power lies. Harris is brave enough to consider the issues of neurodiversity and the music-loving brain in accessible ways. After noting Mozart's many early prodigious achievements, he writes: 'Whether any of this allows anyone to definitely say he was autistic is a question that probably answers itself … [but] 'his talent clearly came with a sharp sense of difference and his brief life was lived outside all kinds of norms and conventions'. In other examples of behaviours that it's possible to see on the autism spectrum – although Harris is at pains to not impose labels on anyone –we're told how Mariah Carey and Elton John played piano pieces by ear aged three, and a line from Nick Drake's Hazey Jane II speaks volumes about that artist's own struggles ('If songs were lines in a conversation/ The situation would be fine'). Harris also recalls how his father-in-law, a BBC recording engineer, once sat in on a Beatles interview. His main memory was of John Lennon sitting in a corner, ordering a Rolls-Royce from a car dealer, painstakingly listing his precise specifications. A 2011 Guardian profile of psychiatrist Lorna Wing, who defined the idea of the autism spectrum, is also quoted; she believed autistic traits were required 'for real success' in the arts. This idea lingers in passages about inherited traits between generations, and Harris recognises his own obsessions in his son's genetic makeup. This also introduces some funny moments, when he looks back at his own younger years: 'When I was 13, a kid at school wrote an elegantly mocking poem about our class, which contained the line 'Harris brings in another tape'.' There are arresting moments throughout too. We're reminded of how music cuts through the chaotic, noisy distractions of everyday life for those with autism spectrum disorder, and Harris recounts the tragic death in an NHS care unit of Connor Sparrowhawk, an autistic 18-year-old obsessed with David Bowie and the Beatles, as he wonders what support there will be for his child, who will soon be an adult. 'Autistic people are part of a neurological family that includes millions of other human beings,' he reminds us. His book also underlines for us how music, in so many magical ways, can powerfully bring very different people together. Maybe I'm Amazed: A Story of Love and Connection in 10 Songs by John Harris is published by John Murray Press (£16.99). To support the Guardian and Observer order your copy at Delivery charges may apply
