Welcome to A Breath of Fresh Air with Sandy Kaye. Hello, how are you? I hope you’re all set to meet today’s incredible guest. Let’s see if you can guess who it is.
He’s the curly-haired troubadour who once wrote a hit song for the Who’s Roger Daltrey. He danced his way to a Grammy in the 70s with a song that still makes everyone want to move. And his heartfelt ballad, When I Need You, went straight to number one right around the world.
Any ideas? Yep, you got it. This week, we’re talking to the legendary Leo Sayer. Sandy, what a breath of fresh air this is.
I was born in Sussex, a little town shore and by sea. The son of the hospital engineer and his Irish wife. At a time when England was still reeling from the Second World War, which meant I had a ration card, which I still got.
So I never had sugar as a kid. I grew up without that. We lived in a house in the grounds of the hospital.
I once wrote a song called The Kid’s Grown Up, which is all about the bus that could see into my bedroom, because it was right on the road, you know. And I would wave to the people on the bus, you know, when I was a boy, and they’d wave back on the top deck. It was pretty good, actually.
I mean, there’s nothing to complain about. I didn’t do so well at school because I was a dyslexic kid. I had learning difficulties that wouldn’t have been analysed in those days, but now we know all about ADHD, all that stuff.
Of course. I had a really fertile mind and a very slow body. You started singing in the church choir at about 11, didn’t you? Oh, yeah.
My parents were very, very religious, very devout Catholics, and the nuns and the priests would all come to the house. Me and my brother used to call the house the Presbytery, because it was basically where all the priests lived as much as when they lived in their own places. So yeah, we were very close to the clergy.
And there was a wonderful priest from Donegal in Ireland. He had this beautiful voice. I loved singing with him.
So he said, look, let me help you. And he helped me and gave me some lessons on how to develop the voice. So I was able to bring the voice all the way from my stomach, my lungs.
And he took me with him to monasteries and nunneries and cathedrals. And, you know, he’d have me sing with him. I was his favourite choir boy and altar server.
At school, you joined a band. What sort of music were you being influenced by as you were growing up? I had an older cousin. One day we went up there and he had a record deck and he put on two records he’d just bought.
One was Buddy Holly, but he also had another record that was very intriguing with a rough looking bloke on the cover with a flat cap called Bob Dylan. On that were all these kind of really serious, you know, fix in to die, see that my grave is kept clean, old blues songs and the House of the Rising Sun. And that first Bob Dylan album, he only wrote one original song.
And that was a song about Woody Guthrie, his hero. But other than that, they were all covers of old blues songs. And I suppose that introduced me to this kind of like dark world that my parents would have never introduced me to.
So I got fascinated and I looked up the artists, you know, Booker White and Sonny Terry and Brown and McGee. And I went to the record store where you could in those days, a record shop was a place where you could play records, you know, not many people could actually afford to buy records because they were quite expensive for normal people. So you’d put them on, you know, and you’d have this little soundproof booth and you’d listen to this old dark guy singing in this weird song about death.
It intrigued me, it fascinated me. And plus the Buddy Holly thing at the same time was so much about fabulous joy and youth and incredible, this brainiac kind of guy with glasses on singing these songs. I mean, later Elvis Costello coined that one, didn’t he? And I copied him, you know.
He fascinated me as well because, you know, he was so free and it was wonderful. Every day it’s getting closer, going faster than a roller coaster. Love like yours will surely come my way.
Hey, hey, hey. Every day it’s getting faster. Everyone said go ahead and ask her.
Love like yours will surely come my way. Hey, hey, hey. We had a band.
The drummer used to tap his hands on books. I think he had some sticks, but he had books, you know. And the guitarist, Phil Hamlet, was the boy that everybody admired.
His dad was rich, ran a Porsche showroom, so he had an electric guitar. And the bass player, somehow he managed to kind of borrow a bass guitar from his uncle or something like that. So we had a band, you know, four guys, bang.
And I was playing the harmonica very badly in those days and singing at the front, you know. Oh boy, when you’re with me, oh boy, the world can see. And I was singing the Buddy Holly songs and I threw in one of those blues songs as well.
And I remember it was the sixth form. It was like speech day and everybody had to do something because they knew we had a band and all the headmaster looking on and everything like that. And we did about three songs and everybody cheered.
It was wonderful. I mean, my God, this works. The most joyful moment.
I thought, well, if all goes wrong, I could do this. I never really ever seriously ever thought that I’d be doing what I’m doing now, but it was a skill there to be able to sing in tune, to be able to know how to sing into a microphone, have the harmonica maybe with me. And also, you know, stand up there, not feeling like my trousers had fallen down.
It was a wonderful feeling, you know, of confidence. The first time in my life. There I was good at art.
So I went to art school and my father at the meeting that you have said, well, I’m not having you being a bohemian. So they put me into commercial art and instantly I revolted against graphic design because I was hanging out with all the fine artists, you know, doing life drawing and still life. But it came to about a two year assessment and I decided that art was shit and painted everything in brown.
And they threw me out of art school. But, you know, scared of my dad and what he was going to say, I went straight to Brighton and there were a few art studios there and I got a job straight away. And suddenly I’m using my graphic experience and using my art experience and I’m, you know, doing magazine adverts and everything.
And I’m in a studio. Oh my God, this is fantastic. They love what I’m doing.
And I went back to the art school and I was a hero because I was working. I really seriously thought I had a career. Give me your body.
Give me your mind. Open your heart. Give me your love.
In the kitchen. Get me in the hall. For God’s sake.
God’s sake. That led me to going to London and I lived rough on the streets in London. And that’s where I kind of first saw music on the streets, you know, and all the folkies at the time, people even like Donovan, Don Partridge, Bert Jansch, John Renborn, all these really acclaimed folk artists at the time, John Martin, they were all playing on the streets in London.
Like busking? Yeah, like busking. Not necessarily for the money, but just because it was a thing to do. It was 1966, 67.
It was a time when everybody felt the spirit of flower power and music should be free. And if you had a talent, you could share it with people. It was a wonderful time.
And London was this free spirited and amazing place, the swinging 60s, you know, to experience where everybody helped everybody and everybody gave and nobody was about the money. It wasn’t materialistic in any way. And I went through a series of working in studios, working for agencies.
I worked even for J. Walter Thompson’s. I did some of the Guinness ads. I did record covers for Bob Marley and Free and Humble Pie and Peter Frampton, all those kind of guys, you know, and I met them all because, yeah, I love your cover, man, you know.
I wonder how you’re feeling There’s ringing in my ears And no one to relate to Separate me Who can I ask to be your force Who do I phone The stars are out and shining But all I really want to know Oh, won’t you show me the way Oh, won’t you show me the way It was a raging time and it was fascinating. And I got a bit bullish and I found a bunch of artists who were like me, all independent. And we decided to combine our talents.
And we took on a space in Hampstead. And one day I just left a note and the keys outside the window, you know, and I’ve skipped. And I was having a nervous breakdown.
I couldn’t face doing any painting. I couldn’t face a white sheet of paper. I started having blackouts and things.
So I hitched my way back down to Shoreham by sea. Back to your parents? No. And I had a mate who had a houseboat.
I was too ashamed to see my parents. And I lived on a houseboat for a year. Did your parents know you were back in town? No.
You never told them you were back? No, no. I got seen a couple of times, but that was it. Eventually, though, of course, I did go back, you know.
But in the time that I was on the boat, I met a load of old friends and they were all in bands. Now, this is the time of what we called the blues boom. The John Mayall blues band, you know, had wonderful guitarists at first, Eric Clapton, then Peter Green and then Mick Taylor, who joined the Stones.
All of these guys were became big stars. And the band Cream started from Eric Clapton. Peter Green had Fleetwood Mac.
And we used to love these bands and we would emulate them. But I wanted to sing blues songs, but I didn’t want to sing about Chicago, where I’d never been. I wanted to sing about shore and by sea.
So we made up blues, me and a guitarist who came and stayed on the boat, Max Chetwind. And we wrote all these songs like with all about what we knew. So we were writing kind of like quasi blues songs about our area.
We went to an audition. First one was the Melody Maker Battle of the Bands. We came second.
So inspired by that, we saw an advert in the newspaper from Brighton and we went to an audition and we found out that the guy holding the audition, his father was a car salesman, but his father wanted him to do something, his son to do something legit. So he thought he’d give him the money to have to take the audition, start up an agency. But the kid, he’d been an ex drummer.
He’d worked with a guy called Adam Faith, who was a famous pop singer. What do you want if you don’t want money? What do you want if you don’t want gold? Say what you want and I’ll give it to you, darling. Wish you wanted my love, babe.
We won the audition. Opportunities were there for young people. Suddenly, young people ruled the world.
Gerard Sayre, or Jerry the Harmonica Player, was soon forgotten. I was known as Jerry the Harmonica Player for sitting in with bands in London, even the guys in Cream and Fleetwood Mac as well. They all knew me.
The audition led to Adam Faith also seeing me. But David Courtney and I started writing. I had a book of poems and I grabbed all the stuff out of the book of poems.
I mean, there was a song, One Man Band, which was about me getting run over in Notting Hill on the way to seeing all those artists, the folkies play outside the pub. I got run over my cab. So I wrote down everything and the words of One Man Band are exactly that.
Everybody knows down Grove, you’ve got to leap across the street. I wrote it down at the time and never thought it would go anywhere. But suddenly looking at the book with Dave playing music in the background, I’m going, hey, I’ve got something for that, Dave.
That’s how the song’s made. Well, everybody knows down like we’re grown, you have to leap across the street. You can lose your life under a taxi cab.
You gotta have eyes in your feet. You find a nice soft corner and you sit right down, take up your guitar and play. But then the lawman comes and says, move along.
So you move along all day. Well, I’m a one man band. Nobody knows nor understands.
Is there anybody out there wanna lend me a hand to my one man band? For three days now, I haven’t eaten at all. My, my, I must be getting so fat. Soon my cap won’t be large enough to drop a half a crown in.
That first album, Silverbird, is pretty much full and just a boy, pretty much full of poems and scribblings that I wrote and then turned into something. Solo, which is all about hitchhiking, S-O-L-O, I’m on my own going down the road, you know, and it’s, they all became usable, as it were, they became vehicles for my career. They’d started off as just your musings and then you set them to music and they’ve all become hits.
And they were very personal, you know, I mean, all the stories, you know, all the way from Orchard Road, Moonlighting, they’re all things that really happened. They were written from reality. They were autobiographical.
Right. The story of your life. Yeah.
So it was a wonderful way for a non-confident, shy guy to find his feet, to bare your soul, you know, to sing about stuff you knew, stuff you’d experienced, and also then to share it with the world rather than keeping it locked up. I can’t believe you say you were shy. You’re anything but shy these days, aren’t you? Probably that nervous breakdown.
I went through a transformation, what can I say?
This is a breath of fresh air with Sandy Kay3. It’s a beautiful day. I was very inward and then I became very outward.
So a bit like a butterfly, you were in as Gerry Sayer and you came out as Leo Sayer. How did you get the name Leo? Ironic that my record company was called Chrysalis, isn’t it? I love it. Where did you get the name from? Adam Faith’s wife, Jackie.
I had this massive head of hair, much bigger than it is now. I suppose that was my little rebellion. And she said, he looks like a little lion.
And there was a cartoon film in the early days of TV that was Leo the Lion. So that was it. It stuck.
Amazing. And you were happy with that. How does one then integrate a new name? Well, you know, to be thought of as a lion is an amazing thing when you think about it, you know.
And after meeting Bob Marley and doing his record company, Lion of Judah, you know, it was like, wow, that’s power. I remember meeting Bob many, many years later. We did some gigs together.
And he said, Leo, you took the name of the lion, man. And I told him the whole story. And he said, that’s amazing.
And he said, man, you transformed. Mr. Marley, to say that, who was the greatest, one of the greatest spirits I ever met, kind of justified it all, you know. Get up, stand up.
Stand up for your right. Get up, stand up. Stand up for your right.
Get up, stand up. Stand up for your right. Get up, stand up.
Don’t give up the fight. Leo, how did Roger Daltrey come into your life? Because Adam Faith wanted us to get on with a record. And we’re looking for a studio to record in.
And being all based in Brighton, because Adam was down there as well, Roger Daltrey had this country mansion. And he was building a studio. There was a guy called Keith Althorpe, a great music journalist.
He wrote the first article about me. He was representing The Who as a PR publicist. So he said, look, Roger’s built a studio.
And he doesn’t know what to do with it. So why don’t you go there? And we went. He listened to a couple of our songs.
He said, God, I like those. You’re pretty good. So he was encouraging.
He used to take me for walks around the farm and say, now, when you do this, won’t you address the mic? It was incredible. And Roger Daltrey was already huge in those days, wasn’t he? This is the voice of Woodstock, along with Sly Stone. They were the people who broke more than anybody else in Woodstock.
And they were playing stadiums. The Who was, oh, God, they were the masters. I’m a-gonna raise a holler In all summer just to try and earn a dollar When I went to the boss, get the cover and paper The boss said, no time, son, you gotta work late Sometimes I wonder what I’m a-gonna do But there ain’t no cure for the summertime blues They were performance art, because, you know, all the smashing up the guitars and all that stuff.
So they were an incredible example of where you could go, where you could end up, you know. So we started recording some songs. And he’d sometimes be at the control desk, and he ganged in on everything that we did.
And one day he just turned around and he said, look, Pete’s done a solo album, and I wanna do one. And I’m fed up with him getting all the glory. You know, that band, they were always fighting each other.
God, they’re so stupid. So he said, look, can you give me some songs? So David and I looked at each other, and we were very prolific, David Courtney and I. So we had all the second album lined up, just the boy. So we had a song called Giving It All Away, and another one called One Man Band, another one called Thinking, and we just gave him all those songs.
And Adam came in and said, right, look, I’ll produce Roger’s album, because Roger loved Adam, because Adam came from the same street. They’re both, you know, Shepherds Bush boys. And he came in at which Roger loved, because Adam was a hero to Roger.
Here we were with a dream package of Adam, David and I writing the songs, Adam and David producing the Roger Daltrey album, and it worked. Giving It All Away was a hit, and telling everybody about this young bloke that he’s found who’s this amazing talent, this new singer, songwriter, who’s written these songs, and wait till you see him, you think, oh, good, we are going. I paid all my dues, so I picked up my shoes.
I got up and walked away. Oh, I was just a boy. I didn’t know how to play.
Worked hard and failed, now all I can say Is I threw it all away. Oh, I was just a boy Giving it all away. Sail away.
Sail away. I probably made more money out of publishing of the songs, which means covers of other people as well as my own hits. I even make money out of my own hits for the publishing.
There’s two factions in here, you know, record sales and what they call mechanical sales, and then songwriting, publishing rights. So he picked up those songs. And ran with them.
Yeah, and a lot of those I released again on the Just A Boy album, the second album. We did the one-man band, that was a single, and Giving It All Away was there as well. So it was around that time that you started to look for an image for yourself as a performer, wasn’t it? Yeah, well, Roger Daughtry’s album came out and the lovely guy who was his cousin did the Daughtry cover, which was a splendid cover of Roger with all his mane of hair and the back of it was the back of the mane of hair.
And I loved the cover and Roger said, go and see Graham for your cover. Bang, I went up to Great Titchfield Street in Soho, walked into Graham’s studio. There were three characters on these photographs and there was a girl called Little Nell.
She was in the Rocky Horror Show. On the other side is one of the supermodels dressed in this beautiful kind of theatrical outfit and in the middle is a Pierrot. Now, I’d seen a movie when I was at art school that I absolutely adored and I adored it because the guy spoke in mime.
The character in it was just mesmerising. Pierrot the Clown, right? Pierrot, well, yeah, he’s not really a clown. That’s where they get it all wrong.
Pierrot is a character from the French theatre. He’s the opposite. His nemesis is Harlequin.
But the Pierrot in French theatre is the moraliser of the story. He tells the story. He’s an instigator of everything good, everything just.
And so here’s this picture of this character and he said, how do you see yourself? And I said, like that. I pointed to him and he said, right. Could you make Thursday? He said, then we’ll dress you up.
I went, okay. So there’s this wonderful New Zealand make-up girl, Kirsty Clymo, very famous. She comes in.
She says, I’m going to do the face. And Julian the Clown turns out to be this beautiful guy. He’s six foot tall.
That’s the only problem. He gives me his costume to put on. I put on the costume.
They put me behind a screen so I can’t see. And I’m not in the mirror. I look down, I’ve got black bobbles on and white shoes and gloves.
And I walk out to the mirror when it’s finished. And I went, yes. And that was it.
I was traveling down the road feeling hungry and cold. I saw signs saying food and drinks for everyone. So naturally I thought I would take me a look inside.
I saw so much food there was water coming from my eyes. Yeah, there was ham and there was turkey. There was caviar and long, tall glasses with wine up the yard.
And then somebody grabbed me and threw me out of my chair. Said, before you can eat, you’ve got to dance like Fred Astaire. I can dance.
We had a lot of image around us. We had Ziggy Stardust. We had Mark Bolan in makeup.
I think it was probably a year later we had Kiss. Peter Gabriel was dressing in strange things with his group Genesis. Because, you know, we didn’t have video.
We didn’t have much lighting even. But you’d want to kind of take an audience’s attention somehow. Here was an amazing vehicle.
So I had my first album with all these very unusual songs. So they’re the songs of a boy maybe 13 years old who’s writing down poetry. So I’m about to kind of enter into an almost out-of-body experience to express this album to people.
So here I’ve got a device. So I walk out on stage dressed like this. And there was absolute silence.
You couldn’t hear a pin drop. And I started to sing the songs and I didn’t say a word. I didn’t speak for about a year performing like this.
I just sang the songs and then just looked quizzical. And it was wonderfully weird. I felt like an art exhibit.
And it went over so well. Within a week the record was at number two. Adam told me Elton John jammed the station with Call just saying, Who is this person? So the mystique of who you really were played right into the hands of the audience too.
When I went to America, I’m the stable mate of Frank Zappa and Van Morrison and Randy Newman. Alice Cooper I think as well. You know, I’m suddenly there, you know.
I’m performing in America and I’m dressed as the Pierrot. And nobody knew what I really looked like. Because I would dress up at the hotel.
Janice, my ex-wife, she made the costume. She did all the makeup. My mad hair all pinned and tucked in.
White Leichner pen stick makeup that I sometimes had to wear for about 11 hours. And I used to walk down the corner of the road. I was fearless in this costume.
Cars were swerving all around me. I’d walk down. People would lie in the street.
Look at the clown. Look at the clown. They would shout out, you know, look at him.
What is that? You know, what is that white guy? And I’d walk in. The band would already be playing. And on a signal, they’d start the intro.
And I’d walk through the front doors, through the audience. So I’d get somebody to lift me on stage if it was too high. Do my show and then jump off the stage, walk out, get into the limousine.
I’d change into jeans, T-shirt. And I’d be outside the front of the theater dressed as a normal bloke. They didn’t know I was Leo because there were no photographs of me.
So I would stand there and go, hey, wasn’t that guy great? What did you think? It was an amazing year. Because after a year, I just suddenly said, when we get back, I’m not the Pierrot any longer. They sit at the same table every time.
The lights are low, but their eyes shine. Just digging the music from those sweet soul bands. She keeps him out of fights, holds on to his hand.
He whispers slowly, tonight’s the night. Months of planning, so it’s gotta be right. Under the table, her bag is bursting at the seam.
She made sure to bring everything. Moonlighting, they’re leaving everything. Moonlighting, they’re losing all their friends.
Moonlighting, it’s the only way. It’s frightening, but it means they’ll stay together. They’re gonna make it together.
Your instinct told you it was time to transform yet again. And I believe that Long Tall Glasses was the song that was all about your reaction to the success in America, right? It was about that. You’re dead right.
See, suddenly now I had my confidence. I was waiting to burst out from behind this. And I would want to talk on stage and I’d want to be me.
I felt sexy and confident, you know. But the first few gigs without the clown costume were scary. So I actually had another device.
I was dressed as the Greek Gatsby for a while in another white suit. But, you know, threw that off after a while and just, it’s stupid. Let’s get to jeans, you know.
So if that was the height of you, that was the peak of your career right around then, you were having hit after hit. Did you get carried away with it? I’ve never had that problem because the, well, a little bit. I mean, but the work has always been, look, there are two types of artists.
There are people who style is more important than substance. I am a bit of a show off, okay. But I think that substance is so important.
I can only show off if I have a good song. I mean, sometimes you can have something happenstance like you make me feel like dancing that comes out of a jam session. But usually it’s a lot of work to write a song, you know, and to construct it and to get it dead right.
I think I’d rather be judged on the music that I make. Like I say, of all the music that you were making then, and you were putting out album after album after album. I was so busy doing it, you know.
You were. You wouldn’t have had time for any sort of normal life. And constructing a stage show as well.
Yeah. You know, I became friends with Bruce Springsteen around that time. And we’d parry with each other over, you know, the way we did our shows because Bruce was just like me.
It was the story of his life as well, because all his songs were intensely personal. I never wanted to make the same record twice. I kept changing style and changing the pattern of the songs and things like that.
So I was too busy working it. And, you know, here comes another problem because I didn’t look at the business of it all. I didn’t realize that Adam was ripping me off.
He was really good at that. Probably better than his singing career. It was cool because I was learning my craft.
And I’m still learning today, I think, you know. Is there one song that’s closest to your heart of all those songs on all those albums? Giving It All Away usually comes up with that because it still feels relevant. Now all I can say is I threw it all away Oh, I was just a boy Giving it all away Sailing away Sailing away Oh, well I know better now I know better now I’m giving it all away Oh, yeah I know better now I know better now Out in the world, too much for my nerves With only myself to blame See, I was just a boy And there was nobody else to blame I was working with the greatest musicians in the world, you know.
The first band was Willie Weeks, who was the bass player with Aretha Franklin and Donny Hathaway. The drummer was Jeff Porcaro, who later formed Toto. The guitarist was Ray Parker Jr. The keyboard player in this band was a guy called John Barnes, who was Marvin Gaye’s pianist.
God, the band was amazing. They called them the A-Team. They were the guys making all the records, all the hits at that time.
We had another piece of luck. Steely Dan, the incredible band, had another amazing bunch of musicians. And they said, do you want to use the session? And we said, yeah.
We also cut How Much Love with them as well, another hit. And in a space of three hours, we had two lovely recordings.
This is a breath of fresh air with Sandy Kaye. It’s a beautiful day. That became kind of the cornerstone of the album, although there was When I Need You as well.
That’s right, that came out of that Endless Flight album too. That was my first real sort of platinum album. And yeah, two number one, two consecutive number ones out of that in America and a success all over the world.
And it turned around things for me. I mean, Rod Stewart had made Transatlantic Crossing, where he’d gone to America to make an amazing album where he suddenly, from an English artist, becomes an American artist. And we were doing the same, just a few weeks later.
So it was a transformation again into something bigger. And I enjoyed that role because all of a sudden, it was less taxing trying to find old lyrics to put to songs. It was a break for a moment.
Suddenly I could sing love songs and make up romantic lyrics and concentrate on the stage show. I hold your hands and I touch love There was so much love Keeping me warm night Miles and miles of empty space in between us A telephone can’t take the place of your smile But you know I won’t be traveling forever It’s cold out, but hold out And do like I do when I need you Just close my eyes and I’m with you And all that I so want to give you, babe It’s only a heartbeat away Leo, what were you doing with all the money that you’re pulling in? Were you buying yourself houses and cars and shares? Money? Adam was looking after all of that. Still.
I got in power of attorney to Adam Faith at the start of my career. He didn’t have to tell me anything. I had no rights of seeing what I earned.
Everything was controlled. You know, everything was handed out. I can’t honestly tell you.
I mean, I’ve never been bored in my life. I don’t know how to be bored. But at the same time from 1974 to 1979, I’ve never had a break.
In fact, I’ve never even had a house because I just rented or stayed in hotels. It was a constant moving staircase, you know. Was it exhausting? No.
I had bags of energy. You were just living on adrenaline. I killed it.
I killed it. Yeah, I loved it. I loved the challenge.
You challenge me, I’ll do it. Not a bit physically behind at the moment, but at this age, I knew I could do it. And Adam used that.
He said, OK, you’re going to play a gig in Poughkeepsie, far up near Buffalo in New York tomorrow night. But the next day you’re going to be in Miami. Yeah.
Whatever. He wasn’t afraid of wearing you down, of taxing you too hard? No. He just wanted the money.
Well, no, not really. He also wanted to see me succeed. He also was very proud of me.
I bet he was. And he had the right to be. Talking about proud of you, I mean, your parents were still around then.
What do they have to say now? Well, now I was doing things like I could buy them a house. Your dad hadn’t wanted you to go off in this direction at all. Did there come a day when he said to your son, you’ve done really well? God, yeah.
He was so proud. When he died, I was playing the Alice Springs Casino in 1984. I was the first pop star in there, you know.
So anyway, we were there. I got a phone call in the middle of the night. I knew my dad was sick.
He was dying of cancer. And it was my dad. And he was saying, look, whatever you do, don’t come home.
They’re all going to ask you to come home. I’m dying. But, you know, don’t come home.
I’m so proud of you there. More than anything, you know, stay doing what you’re doing. You’re the greatest achievement in our family.
And don’t worry about me. I’m so proud of you. That morning, I checked with the switchboard of the hotel we were staying at.
And they said, no, there was no international call. I managed to put a call through to my mother. And she said, oh, dad died two nights ago.
So I spoke to my dad. After he died? Yeah. And I wrote down the times and everything.
So that’s how proud my father was of me. That he’d speak to me from beyond the grave. In a way, everything that happened after that is like, you know, a continuance of Leo suddenly getting hold of his own life.
After all of this control. And, you know, I very happily got. And, you know, and that’s why I feel no bitterness towards Adam or anybody.
And boy, I’ve worked with some weird ones. Harvey Weinstein was my agent at one time. I worked shows with Bill Cosby.
The guy who was behind the Murdoch questions. And was advisor to the PM. Was my PR agent.
I’ve worked with some real rogues in my time. But look, it doesn’t matter. I always knew.
I had a feeling that my best would come at the end of my career. Or the later years. And that’s what’s happening now.
I’m finding I can make records. I make records by myself. They all sound great.
I’m building a legacy of music. And, you know, I’m very happy. And I’ve got money now.
I’m okay. You’ve had so many peaks of your career. And now in your mid to late 70s you’re experiencing yet another peak.
Australia absolutely loves you. And you’re about to hit the country again with your first tour in six years. Just tell us a little bit about that tour.
Why the first time in six years. And what we can expect from you. Well, some of it is not much confidence in Leo can sell tickets.
You know. And I always get that. Because sometimes I’m very private.
And I slip away and I don’t do all the obvious things. That’s cool. That’s cool.
Also it was COVID the last time we were out. And, you know, doing a proper tour. It’s just been weird.
It’s like I don’t want to have a big time manager. Because they’ll get you to do all bullshit rubbish stuff. I want to choose what I do.
I enjoy saying no. I say yes when it’s adequate. You know, when it’s the right thing to do.
I want to be special. I don’t want to be remembered as just this guy who just played every bloody show going. All my shows I look on.
I play every single one as if it’s my last show. And I don’t have a support act. You know, I’ve got two very loyal bands.
And, you know, I split everything at the equator. And I’ve got a manager over there and a manager here. And they know me.
I mean, I just won’t sell myself short. I do it absolutely 100%, 110% or nothing. Are you better than ever, Leo Sayer? I don’t know until I get on stage.
And that’s the weird thing, you know. Because you get to 77, as I was the other week. And you suddenly think to yourself, can I still do this? But the moment I get up there, all the aches and pains and bones creaking.
And, you know, if I’m worried about my voice. It just comes together, bang. Will you be nervous? Not really.
I feel comfy up there. I mean, somebody actually said, where do you live? And I said, between the drum riser and the front of the stage. The rest of it is filling time, you know.
So we’re going to see all the hits from you, aren’t we? Yeah, and I’m determined that if I have a heart attack and die, it’s going to be on stage. It will be in the middle of a gig. I want to go out with a bang.
I don’t want to kind of whimper and retire. That’s just crap, you know. Which song would you like us to go out on now? Oh, let me see.
I don’t think that was one of them. Giving it all away. I think that’s the one.
Yeah, yeah. Let’s play that. Because that song’s still relevant.
I still have, as I said, you know, this fighting element. You know, there’s still people that I want to prove things to. Why is that? I’ve got a worm in me that thinks that I haven’t done any of my best work yet.
It’s still to come. Could say everything and then say goodbye. Put your suitcase on.
Could say that’s the way it goes. You won’t know that I was blind. And stop.
Blind. And stop. And stop.
I tried. I tried. Are you still writing? Yeah, yeah.
Not too much. But because I’ve got 400 unrecorded songs that I’ve got to catch up with. Well, that should last you the next few years.
Well, last year I released an album called 1992. And it was a bunch of songs that I’d recorded, made, and produced at that time that never got a chance to come out because I couldn’t get a record deal. So last year I went to the record company and I just said, can I release this? And they said, yeah.
So I’ve got all this stuff and you wait until you hear the next stuff. You know, it’s great. The energy is still there.
Leo Sayle, what a delightful ball of energy you are. I have so enjoyed chatting with you and continued success. Congratulations on the most incredible career and just an inspiration to everybody listening and watching this because from where you started to where you’ve come, it’s certainly been a journey and it’s not all been on an upward trajectory.
The way you’ve handled it is just superb. Well, it shouldn’t be easy. It should be a challenge.
And we should always, eternally, every day have to be proving ourselves or else there is no worth. And that’s what I believe in. But I’m enjoying it.
I’m loving it. I love the challenges. And I really honestly, you know, there is so much more to come.
You wait. I’m waiting. I’m waiting.
Love you. Thank you very much. Lovely to talk.
Take care. Bye. Now, I know I asked Leo which song he’d like to leave us with, but you’ve already heard Giving It All Away, so I thought you might enjoy the single from the latest album, 1992.
It’s called Wonderworld. See what you think. Here on the hill Plants that give you no thrill In a spot like you Like melancholy Yeah, you came from the streets Took a ride to the coast To another love Now you’re bigger than most Come along where you can Just like those pilgrims do To the wonderland Where you may have got a king But it don’t mean a thing Nothing lasts, nothing So you’ll always see The wonder that ceases Just fade away, yeah Desires and loyals and such The letter she sent back Now she don’t stay in touch But it gave you hope I hope you’ve enjoyed hearing Leo Sayre tell his story and don’t forget, if you’d like to request a guest, just let me know through the website www.abreathoffreshair.com.au I’m not sure how he’s managed to maintain his boundless energy over the past five decades.
Maybe it’s simply that constant positive outlook. Anyway, I’ll look forward to being back with you again same time next week. Bye now.
Cause it’s a beautiful day You’ve been listening to A breath of Fresh Air with Sandy Kaye Beautiful day Oh, I bet any day that you’re going away It’s a beautiful day.