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Irish Times
a day ago
- Entertainment
- Irish Times
Terence Stamp, a kid from London's East End, appeared in all the right films for all the right directors
Ray Davies , writer of The Kinks' indestructible Waterloo Sunset, has, in recent decades, denied that a key line refers to Terence Stamp and Julie Christie . The myth, however, is so intoxicating that the world will continue to believe. 'Terry meets Julie, Waterloo Station, every Friday night,' Davies sang in 1967. 'As long as I gaze on Waterloo sunset I am in paradise.' This was the same year Stamp, who has died at the age of 87 , appeared opposite Christie in John Schlesinger's magnificent (and magnificently groovy) take on Thomas Hardy's Far From the Madding Crowd. Filmed in gorgeous, misty colours by cinematographer Nic Roeg , Stamp, as Sergeant Frank Troy, did almost as much for vintage military chic as did the precisely contemporaneous Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band. He and Christie, romantically linked off camera, were the age's signature couple: suave, casual, informal, staggeringly good-looking. Nobody better represented how, as the second World War receded into history, British youth shook off imperial chains and embraced colour and possibility. Stamp, a working-class kid from London's East End, was in all the right films for all the right directors. He won best actor at Cannes for William Wyler's The Collector in 1965. He was in spy romp Modesty Blaise for Joseph Losey. He was in Poor Cow for Ken Loach. He was sinister in Teorema for Pier Paolo Pasolini. The chiselled actor drifted away from the limelight in the early 1970s, but kept stubbornly returning for clever comebacks. Fascistic as General Zod in the Superman films. A charismatic gangster opposite John Hurt and Tim Roth in Stephen Frears's The Hit from 1984. Camp as chicory coffee in The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert from 1994. Last seen referencing his own 1960s shapes in Edgar Wright's Last Night in Soho from 2021, Stamp aged enviably into a foxy version of the man he had been when Waterloo Sunset was in the top five. READ MORE Terence Henry Stamp was born in Stepney as the eldest of five children (his brother Chris famously managed The Who). Stamp's dad, a tugboat stoker, had trouble getting his head around the lad's career. 'He genuinely believed that people like us didn't do things like that,' Stamp told Sight and Sound in 2013. 'He was a stoker, for Christ's sake.' When the 1960s ended, I just ended with it. I remember my agent telling me: 'They are all looking for a young Terence Stamp' With dad away from home a great deal, Terence was largely raised by the women of the family – mum, gran, aunts. A smart kid, he first found himself in the other emblematic profession of the 1960s: working his way up the advertising business. He eventually won a scholarship to the Webber Douglas Academy of Dramatic Art in South Kensington and built on that training in repertory theatre. These early years sharing a flat with Michael Caine – and partying with Peter O'Toole – later took on the quality of legend. Terence Stamp attends the memorial service of Sir Peter Ustinov, held at the St-Martin-In-The-Fields church, Trafalgar Square, central London, in November 2004. Photograph: Edmond Terakopian/PA 'The young Michael Caine was a joy to be with,' Stamp said. 'We had lots of wonderful times. I'm sure he wasn't trying to educate me, but he did. I was very new to showbiz, and he was a whole era older than me and had been in the business a lot.' Stamp landed spectacularly with a feature debut as the impossibly good looking title character in Peter Ustinov's 1962 take on Herman Melville's nautical drama Billy Budd. The Oscar nomination that came his way confirmed the arrival of a supernatural force. Stamp then cleverly positioned a toe in all streams of the Swinging Sixties. He did social realism in Poor Cow. He did camp glam in Modesty Blaise. He showed a taste for arthouse with his chilling performance as sinister visitor to a bourgeois Italian family in Teorem. But that turn in Far From The Madding Crowd is surely the standout. It matters not a whit – indeed it is part of the appeal – that Stamp and Christie, though playing characters from the mid-19th century, looked to have stepped straight from Carnaby Street of a century later. [ Four new films to see this week: Materialists, Together, Night Always Comes and Oslo Stories: Love Opens in new window ] 'On the set, the fact that she had been my girlfriend just never came up,' Stamp said of Christie in 2015. 'I saw her as Bathsheba, the character she was playing, who all the men in the film fell in love with. But it wasn't hard, with somebody like Julie.' In that same interview with the Guardian, he pondered how his fame withered round about the time the Beatles broke up. This didn't happen to Michael Caine. It didn't happen to Julie Christie. [ Mel Gibson: 'I've still got the Irish passport... I think I understand the quirky nature of the Irish mind' Opens in new window ] 'It's a mystery to me. I was in my prime,' Stamp said. 'When the 1960s ended, I just ended with it. I remember my agent telling me: 'They are all looking for a young Terence Stamp.'' The older Terence Stamp (still in his early 30s) reacted by taking a massive worldwide trip that eventually brought him to India. The rumour goes that, when the offer came, in 1976, to play the villain in Superman, it was addressed to 'Clarence Stamp'. He never equalled the famously (often ill-advisedly) Stakhanovite work rate of Caine, but Stamp continued to secure decent roles at regular intervals. He finally married, at the age of 64, in 2002, but was divorced from Elizabeth O'Rourke, an Australian some decades his junior, just six years later. Whatever Ray Davies might claim, Stamp (and Christie, still with us at 85) will always remain the immortal lovers in the magical normality of Waterloo Sunset. 'I've heard from some people that Ray Davies is now denying it,' Stamp said in 2013. 'But my brother Chris told me that Ray told him that when he wrote those lines he was picturing Julie Christie and myself. In the headlines, we were like the young people of the day. So, I was very flattered by that.'
Glasgow Times
29-07-2025
- Entertainment
- Glasgow Times
Cast revealed for The Kinks musical at Glasgow theatre
Sonia Friedman Productions and ATG Productions have announced the principal cast for the 2025/2026 UK tour of the multi-Olivier Award-winning musical Sunny Afternoon. This show, which tells the story of The Kinks, will come to Glasgow's King's Theatre from October 28 to November 1, the only Scottish dates of the tour in 2025. At the heart of the show will be Danny Horn as Ray Davies, Oliver Hoare as Dave Davies, Harry Curley as Peter Quaife, and Zakarie Stokes as Mick Avory, who will form the iconic band at the heart of Sunny Afternoon. Further casting for the show is yet to be announced. Read more: Outlander star to perform in this play at Glasgow Theatre Royal Ray Davies said: "I'm pleased that Danny and Oliver are rejoining Sunny Afternoon after their brilliant run in Chicago and look forward to Harry and Zakarie joining the band. "Well done to everyone involved in making this wonderful Sunny Afternoon musical." Sunny Afternoon celebrates the raw energy, passion, and timeless sound of the Kinks, telling their story through a back catalogue of chart-toppers including You Really Got Me, Lola, and All Day and All of the Night. The show was a recipient of four Olivier Awards, including Best New Musical and Outstanding Achievement in [[[[Music]]]] for Ray Davies. Set against the backdrop of Britain in the rebellious '60s, Sunny Afternoon is an exhilarating and moving celebration of the music, life, and the band that changed it all. After a sell-out run at Hampstead [[Theatre]], Sunny Afternoon opened to critical acclaim at the Harold Pinter [[[[Theatre]]]] in London's West End, where it ran for two years ahead of its sensational sell-out tour of the UK and Ireland throughout 2016/17. Read more: Exciting event to be held for the first time in Glasgow this weekend The show has music and lyrics by Ray Davies with a book by Joe Penhall and an original story by Ray Davies. It is directed by Edward Hall and designed by Miriam Buether with choreography by Adam Cooper. Lighting design is by Rick Fisher, sound design by Matt McKenzie, and musical supervision by Elliott Ware. Musical and vocal adaptations are by Ray Davies and Elliott Ware based on original Kinks' recordings. Casting is by Natalie Gallacher CDG for Pippa Ailion & Natalie Gallacher Casting. Hair, wigs, and makeup are by Carole Hancock. Associate direction is by Christopher Chase Carter, associate set design by William Fricker, associate costume design by Deborah Andrews, associate lighting design by Eric Watkins, and associate sound design by Ken Hampton.
The Sun
17-07-2025
- Entertainment
- The Sun
The Kinks' Sir Ray Davies on alternative name for band and why he loves taunting US fans
SIR Raymond Douglas Davies and the United States Of America – let's just say it's a complicated relationship. Their paths first crossed in 1964 when the British Invasion was in full swing. 5 5 The Beatles lit the blue touch paper and The Kinks, led by Ray and his brother Dave, were key players in the explosion of sound that followed. Their heavy riff-driven hits You Really Got Me and All Day And All Of The Night rocketed into the top ten of the Billboard Hot 100. A year later, however, the wheels fell off in spectacular fashion — and they had to make a hasty 'British Retreat'. Following a turbulent US tour in the summer of '65, The Kinks were banned from performing there for four years. Though no official reason was given by the American Federation of Musicians, there were reports of rowdy behaviour on and off stage, a physical altercation with a 'British-baiting' TV producer and an unpaid fee. Sixty years on, I've been given the chance to ask Sir Ray, 81, about The Kinks' Stateside story. He has curated the third and final part of the band's archive series, The Journey, which focuses on the late Seventies and early Eighties, when they finally cracked America. For context, Davies begins by reflecting on the impact of seismic events more than a decade earlier. He says: 'I was talking to (drummer) Mick Avory the other day and we concluded that the ban in America was a result of bad management, bad luck and bad behaviour — but we were only young. 'We had dreamt of America for so long' 'Nevertheless, the four-year ban was a bit excessive. Looking back though, it allowed me the space to write songs about England and forget about breaking America. 'However, it was irksome having to watch all our peers tour the States while we were left behind.' By saying 'peers', Davies is of course referring to groups such as The Beatles, the Rolling Stones and The Who. Did The Kinks feel bruised by missing out on the wild success enjoyed by the others? 'Of course we did,' he replies. 'We were young and looking forward to touring the country that had inspired our music and to experiencing Americana first hand. 'We had dreamt of America for so long through this vision of the movies of our childhood.' Davies adds that 'on returning back to England, the band was in financial difficulties and on the verge of breaking up — and that took a further toll on all four of us.' As we know, he picked himself up and emerged as one of our most gifted, perceptive and literate songwriters. There was something quintessentially English about his Dedicated Follower Of Fashion and his lovers Terry and Julie, who 'as long as they gaze on Waterloo Sunset, they are in paradise'. Just consider The Village Green Preservation Society with lines like 'God save strawberry jam and all the different varieties'. In a previous interview, I remember Davies telling me that his song A Well Respected Man was about a neighbour who went to work in a bowler hat. He said: 'While we were banned, it was our biggest hit in America and I sang it in a London accent. 'It was Dick Van Dyke London. Americans still think of us as being a bit Mary Poppins.' A British Invasion contemporary, The Who's Pete Townshend, has said Davies 'invented a new kind of poetry' and that he should have been our Poet Laureate. By 1970, The Kinks' ban had been lifted and American success beckoned once more. They returned to the US top ten with Lola, a memorable Ray Davies composition set in a Soho bar and noted for its singalong chorus and daring lyrics about the gender-fluid title character. 'Before the ban, we played venues like the Hollywood Bowl,' he tells me. 'When we eventually returned, we were booked into small clubs and college venues. 'It was like starting all over again but it felt like an opportunity to get back what had been taken away from us.' 5 By the mid-Seventies, The Kinks were delivering a leaner, more hard-rocking sound to their American audiences. It comes with this explanation from Davies: 'We were often playing as a support act and soundchecks were not always possible. 'So our sound became stripped down, which in a strange way made it more direct and in your face. 'Punk brought London alive, energy returned' 'I started reproducing this sound in the studio,' he continues before stressing, 'but you can't really say songs like All Day And All Of The Night and You Really Got Me are lightweight. 'Having said that, audiences responded well to songs like Art Lover and Well Respected Man, which are not exactly heavy metal. 'On occasions I would break into vaudevillian renditions of You Are My Sunshine and the British National Anthem just to taunt the American audiences and heavy rock aficionados as if to say, 'Yeah, we are British, take it or leave it.' The first Kinks album to adopt a more 'direct' sound was Sleepwalker (1976), their first for music mogul Clive Davis' fledgling Arista Records. It was also the first of a string of LPs that did better in the US than back in good old Blighty. Davies says: 'Clive persuaded me to stay in New York and I began work on Sleepwalker there. I eventually rented an apartment on the Upper West Side.' The title track and Sleepless Night dealt with his insomnia at the time which he likens to 'having permanent jet lag'. The band's no-nonsense approach to the music also chimed with the advent of punk and the arrival of bands like The Jam who cited The Kinks as a major influence. Davies says: 'I feel it (punk) brought London alive and energy returned to the city — we were back on the map of music and fashion. 'A lot of great bands came out of that period and The Kinks were like contemporaries.' Although Davies started work on Sleepwalker in The Big Apple, it was recorded in London at his newly founded Konk Studios. He remembers the early days of Konk and the freedom it afforded. 'We acquired a Neve (mixing) desk and started adapting what was an old factory in North London. 'It was rough and ready but the sound was to our liking and we had a certain amount of control over the budget. This made a huge impact on our recordings. Before Konk, we recorded at other studios and they were strictly on the meter but now we could run into overtime.' Following Sleepwalker came Misfits in 1978 — well received, particularly in the States, but representing another difficult period for The Kinks. Davies says: 'After the success of the Sleepwalker album, the band was in disarray and two members left. 'But myself, Dave and Mick remained committed and we brought in two new members, Jim Rodford and Ian Gibbons.' Did the band see themselves as misfits? I venture. 'As it turned out, Misfits would have been a good name instead of The Kinks,' muses Davies. 'In some ways we have always been more like outsiders — not fitting in with any style or movement.' One of the Misfits songs, A Rock 'n' Roll Fantasy emphatically proved that Davies hadn't lost his way with neat turns of phrase. 'I was absorbed into American culture' He says 'It is quite an autobiographical song. 'The king is dead' was a deliberate reference to Elvis (who died on August 16, 1977). 'I wrote it from the apartment on the 11th floor in NYC and the last verse was a direct reference to a man I saw listening to music in the building opposite. 'The first verse is about a friend of mine . . . 'You've been sleeping in a field but you look real rested/You set out to outrage but you can't get arrested/You say your image is new but it looks well tested/You're lost without a crowd, and yet you go your own way.'' Next, I ask Davies how living in NYC impacted on his songwriting in general. 'It was like learning another language,' he replies. 'I was being absorbed into American culture, particularly with the Low Budget album (1979) and songs like Catch Me Now I'm Falling and Attitude. But one thing that remained was my London accent as opposed to trying to sound American.' On Catch Me Now I'm Falling, Davies deftly captured the uncertain mood in America during the late Seventies. 5 'There must have been a knock-on effect from all the economic difficulties in the world,' he says. 'After the Second World War, America saved the world, but who will save America?' Low Budget also featured (Wish I Could Fly Like) Superman, released in the wake of Christopher Reeve donning the iconic blue and red outfit with yellow accents. 'Superman was a comic book hero of mine and, at the time, we had strikes all over Britain,' says Davies. 'But the song itself is about a man waking to all this bad news and he fantasises about flying away like Superman.' After Low Budget came 1981's Give The People What They Want, including the rocking Destroyer which was like a blast from the past. It featured the riff from All Day And All Of The Night and lyrics referencing Lola. Davies says: 'It had been my idea for a long time, but had been on the back burner. 'I counted the song in, shouted out the chords through the headphones and it was recorded almost in one take.' The album ended with the jangly, bittersweet Better Things, written by Davies about his failing marriage to second wife Yvonne. 'It's basically a break-up song about wishing the other person to have a better life,' he affirms. This brings us to the best-loved of all The Kinks' later songs, Come Dancing, from the 1983 album State Of Confusion. It served as a heartfelt tribute to Davies' tragic sister Rene who loved to dance to big bands on a Saturday night. He tells the story behind the song: 'My first Spanish guitar was a gift from Rene. 'She died of a heart condition at the age of 31 on the day before my 13th birthday, while she was out dancing at the Lyceum Ballroom. 'My musical Come Dancing is based on family life and the events leading up to Rene's passing. Also around that time, I would buy records with my pocket money from Les Aldrich record shop in Muswell Hill which has now sadly closed down. 'These records and memories had an impact on my writing the musical.' If the first disc of The Journey Pt 3 sheds new light on a fascinating and fruitful period for The Kinks, the second is a treasure trove of a different kind. It is a newly discovered, pristine recording of the band's Royal Albert Hall concert on July 11, 1993. This was at the dawn of Britpop and the old masters showed the young pretenders how it should be done. The show drew on all parts of The Kinks' momentous 'journey' and included standout renditions of You Really Got Me, Sunny Afternoon and Dedicated Follower Of Fashion. Last song Days finds Davies addressing the rapturous crowd, 'Thank you for the days/Those endless days, those sacred days you gave me.' He says: 'The concert was part of a tour celebrating our 30th anniversary. It was more like a welcome home from America and it was well received. 'Our fans showed us great affection and enthusiasm which was a highlight of the tour. 'Recently, when we were updating archives in Konk Studio, we came across the recording of that show, the last that the band performed at the Albert Hall.' Finally, I ask Davies about the whole experience of putting together The Journey Parts 1, 2 and 3. 'I would have said let the lyrics do the talking before embarking on this project,' he answers. 'But, in some ways, these recollections have given the songs more depth.' All I can add is, 'Thank you for the Ray.' THE KINKS The Journey Part 3 ★★★★☆
Telegraph
11-07-2025
- Entertainment
- Telegraph
Kinks frontman Ray Davies: We came back from US tour just to watch Arsenal
Sunny Afternoon by The Kinks became part of the national psyche, taking the coveted No 1 slot when it meant something, during the early stages of the 1966 World Cup. 'We were touring during the entire World Cup,' explains a frustrated Ray Davies. 'But we managed to see the final on TV. The band all came to my house, we were supposed to leave and drive to Exeter where we had a gig but the match went to extra time which made us late'. Songwriting, family and football are inseparable for Sir Ray Davies, who turned 81 last month. Prior to owning a television, the radio and live matches were vital cultural touchstones. 'Before we got a TV, we would gather around the Bush radio in the kitchen when the Arsenal were playing'. He adds that his future hits were not crafted to achieve success but to soundtrack Saturday night. 'A lot of my songs were written for my family to sing along to,' he explains. 'When I heard my dad singing Sunny Afternoon, I knew it would be a hit.' When not in the North Bank or the East Stand for games at Highbury, Davies was attending William Grimshaw Secondary Modern School alongside fellow football fan and budding musician Rod Stewart. As he explains: 'I remember 'Rod the Mod' as we used to call him; he was a formidable tackler. We didn't play together as we were in different school houses, although we did play games in Los Angeles at the park.' Growing up in the deprivation of post-war London, Ray suffered from poor health. Along with his brother Dave, the only other consistent member of The Kinks, they absorbed music-hall culture and the melancholic crooner Al Bowlly. The upright piano in his front room – and his banjo-playing Arsenal-supporting father – provided a window to another world. 'The [football] result would always determine the mood around the house on a Saturday night. When the match didn't go our way, Dad would even sometimes give the front room a miss and have a few drinks on his own in the pub. This would allow Dave and me to play the music of our generation, such as Buddy Holly.' His father, Fred, was a notable and direct influence on his son's writing. Released later that year in 1966, Dead End Street challenged the idealism of the era and Swinging London. 'My dad talked about the stock-market crash and subsequent mass unemployment before I was born, and this probably rubbed off on me,' Davies recalls. Poetic character studies of English daily life, such as on Autumn Almanac and particularly the line 'I like my football on a Saturday' could have been about Davies. 'Arsenal was part of our family background, Dad was a big supporter and would go regularly to matches. My brother Dave and I were taken to games as soon as we could walk. Dad would pass on memories to us of players who were around before our time. My sister, Gwen, would sometimes go because she had a secret crush on the goalkeeper Jack Kelsey.' The seventh of eight children born into a working-class family, Davies remembers one player stubbing a cigarette out on his hand before running on to the pitch and another downing a half-bottle of whisky before the second half of a cup final. The sense of anticipation on match day has never faded. 'Dave and I would get on the 212 bus at the top of Muswell Hill and ride to Finsbury Park, get off and then walk to the ground, hearing the crowds chanting in the distance and feeling that sense of expectation.' Football remained part of the backdrop when The Kinks became a success. 'We even came back for a game when we had a few days off during a US tour, and we managed to play a match with the Showbiz XI before returning to America.' The charity side, established in 1957, raised money for a range of causes and featured well-known public figures, musicians, actors, ex-players and industry insiders. Davies says: 'In the early days of the Showbiz XI, it was televised live. I started playing in the late 1960s; it's fair to say that most of the players were frustrated footballers, including myself.' At one notable game, Dave was sent off for calling the ref 'fatty'. I was captain for the day and protested to the ref, who promptly sent me off as well.' The Kinks were at their most potent when, much like Oasis, the brothers combined forces and turned their grievances away from each other. Another British No 1 You Really Got Me (1964) is credited by some as having invented heavy metal and punk while shaping the output of subsequent generations. 'I would agree to a certain extent,' suggests Davies, 'because it's a simple riff that can be adopted by many genres'. Much like Noel and Liam Gallagher, who love Manchester City, or Led Zeppelin frontman Robert Plant, who adores Wolverhampton Wanderers, staying loyal to a childhood football club retains an active link to bygone days. Davies also celebrates modern aspects of the game as much as its cherished past. 'Football has become multilingual and multinational, which is a good thing.' He adds: 'Highbury was magical, the atmosphere was unrivalled. It was a tough act to follow but the Emirates is getting close and the toilets smell better! When I've been to the Emirates, I sometimes go to the guest box and find myself sitting there next to ex-players, for example, Liam Brady and Tony Adams.' While David Bowie was not a football supporter, he did develop a fleeting obsession with England's national team during the 2002 World Cup and was once photographed wearing the 1996 edition England grey away shirt in New York with his daughter Lexi (around 2006). 'We did Carnegie Hall together', Davies says of meeting Bowie in 2003 for a live rendition of Waterloo Sunset. 'When working out who should sing what, we agreed to impersonate one another on the solo parts, and it went very well. We became good friends after that and would message each other regularly.' We finish where it all began, even now he views the club with his father in mind. 'Declan Rice would have been one of my dad's favourites, he had all the qualities that Dad would have appreciated, a hard-working and skilful player.'
Telegraph
29-06-2025
- Business
- Telegraph
The Beatles and Kinks would be howling about tax in Labour's Britain
'If you get too cold, I'll tax the heat / If you take a walk, I'll tax your feet / Cause I'm the taxman / Yeah, I'm the taxman.' Those lyrics by George Harrison are from Taxman, the first song on the Beatles' Revolver album, released in 1966. That same year, the Kinks released Sunny Afternoon, with Ray Davies' blunt first line: 'The taxman's taken all my dough.' Artists and songwriters are often ahead of the curve – quite literally in this case. For it wasn't until 1974 that US economist Arthur Laffer drew a line on a napkin capturing what Harrison and Davies were saying: as tax rates rise beyond a certain point, entrepreneurs and wealth creators get cheesed off. They then do less – or move overseas – and the broader economy suffers. What become known as the Laffer curve, sketched at a smart Washington restaurant during a dinner with Republican Party bigwigs, had a profound impact on policymaking in America and elsewhere. Its core idea – that there's an optimal tax rate that maximises revenue, beyond which higher rates lower total revenues by stifling economic activity – was adopted by Ronald Reagan, a showbiz-star-turned-policymaker, as he entered the White House in 1981. Laffer's insight fed into 'supply-side economics' – the school of thought that finally countered post-war 'big state' ideology. It's no good just borrowing and spending more government money in a bid to boost growth if the tax burden crushes genuine commerce. Reagan's Economic Recovery Tax Act of 1981 sparked much howling from vested interests grown fat on state largesse. But it cut income tax significantly – and the US averaged 3.5pc annual growth for the rest of the decade, rescuing the world's biggest economy from 1970s stagnation. Approaching the first anniversary of this Labour Government, UK tax revenues are heading for 38pc of GDP, the highest tax burden since the early 1960s – above levels which riled the Beatles and the Kinks. Yet the public finances are extremely precarious. The Government borrowed £148bn during the fiscal year that ended in April, £61bn more than the Office for Budget Responsibility estimated when that same fiscal year started. It's important to remember the vast scale of that 12-month forecasting error during current rows over whether Rachel Reeves, the Chancellor, has a single-digit-billion buffer in the national accounts in four years' time – the 'fiscal headroom' that dominates political discussion. Arguing obsessively about contingencies of less than 1pc of public spending which may or may not exist in 2029 is pure displacement activity. Our political and media class meanwhile all but ignores today's stark realities – an annual debt interest bill that's twice yearly defence spending and gilt yields consistently way above those seen during Liz Truss's mini-Budget crisis of October 2022. Yes, it's important to rein-in our runaway benefits bill. Even before the Government's latest cave-in, spending on sickness and disability benefits was set to rise sharply by the end of this decade, from under £50bn to well over £70bn a year, albeit by a few billion less after Labour announced its welfare reforms. Now that Sir Keir Starmer has folded, even that minor slowdown in the rate of increase of benefit spending won't happen. The only way to fix the public finances is to get growth going, so tax revenues rise and our vast 100pc-of-GDP-plus debt burden, and near-crisis-level debt service costs, fall as a share of national income. But Labour's tax rises since last July have crushed economic activity, curtailing tax revenues and weakening the public finances further – a sure sign we're beyond the peak of the Laffer curve, with yet higher tax rates set to prove even more counter-productive. The disastrous rise in employers' National Insurance contributions (NICs) has hammered hiring, undermining NIC revenues overall. Employment has fallen every month since the policy was unveiled in last October's budget, by an astonishing 109,000 in May alone, the month after this tax on jobs was introduced. During that same autumn Budget, Reeves raised capital gains tax from 10pc to 18pc for basic-rate taxpayers and 20pc to 24pc for those paying the higher rate. The Office for Budget Responsibility has since sharply downgraded capital gains tax (CGT) revenue forecasts, wiping £23bn off the projected tax take by 2030. Labour indulged its ideological fantasies by loading more taxes on non-dom international financiers based in the UK. Now multiple billionaires have fled and foreign direct investment projects have fallen to a two-decade low – imagine the jobs and tax revenues we've lost. Building on Tory mistakes, Labour increased taxes even more on North Sea drilling, killing off countless energy extraction projects, again destroying valuable revenue streams. Then there's the spiteful imposition of VAT on school fees which has seen four times more pupils withdrawn by cash-strapped households than ministers predicted and countless school closures – another case of more taxation destroying ambition and enterprise, hitting revenues overall. Back in the early 1980s, inspired by Laffer and Reagan, Margaret Thatcher's Tories lowered tax rates, setting Britain on a path to recovery. David Cameron and Theresa May's governments gradually cut corporation tax (CT) from 28pc in 2010 to 19pc by 2017, with CT revenues hitting 2.7pc of GDP by 2019, up from 2.1pc a decade earlier when the tax rate was much higher. Taxation is complicated – the historical and contemporary examples above are subject to other factors, too. But evidence of many decades shows that countries where the state is relatively small grow faster and are more prosperous, with those consistently spending beyond their means collapsing into crisis. The Beatles and the Kinks didn't leave the UK for tax purposes, unlike the Rolling Stones. But their songs captured the national mood, speaking for the silent majority, a mood that prevails today. Taxation is far too high – and raising tax rates even more will only compound Britain's fiscal and commercial weakness.
