If you’re old enough to remember LPs and the lost art of reading sleeve notes (let alone writing them), this one’s for you. The titular session man is the fabled keyboard player Nicky Hopkins, whose teeming creativity and dancing digits left their indelible mark across an extraordinary swathe of records from the golden age of rock’n’roll.
Among Hopkins’ most recognisable feats are his Jerry Lee Lewis-style romp through the Beatles’ "Revolution", contributions to several tracks on John Lennon’s Imagine including "Jealous Guy", rollicking ivory-tickling on George Harrison’s "Give Me Love", his sublime intro to Joe Cocker’s "You Are So Beautiful" and several muscular interventions on Jefferson Airplane’s Volunteers. He was a key sideman to the Rolling Stones at their peak, adding sepulchral chords to "Sympathy for the Devil", dropping haunting high-register ripples into "Monkey Man" and creating a magical prelude to "She’s A Rainbow", and popping up all over Exile on Main Street, not least on "Tumbling Dice". He played on The Who’s My Generation and Who’s Next, and the Kinks’ Village Green Preservation Society. He later became a close musical ally of Art Garfunkel.
The Session Man isn’t the most lavishly-produced or slickly edited documentary – indeed, the direction is merely functional, though it’s sad to learn that director Michael Treen died in April this year – and the technique of flashing up lists of the songs by particular artists that Hopkins played with is almost comically crude in this AI era. However, you can tell it’s a labour of love, not least from the credit-list of contributors who lobbed in their own money to help get the film made, and from the genuine affection and respect a roll-call of stars afford to Hopkins’ memory.
Keith Richards (pictured left) offers some perceptive and heartfelt comments (“I don’t think Nicky knew how good he was… he could entrance you”), and Mick Jagger pays uncharacteristically un-facetious homage. Benmont Tench, from Tom Petty’s Heartbreakers, observes how “he always brought something beautiful out of a song,” while producer Glyn Johns assesses Hopkins as “an astonishing musician, the like of which I have never come across since.” Harry Shearer (aka bass player Derek Smalls from Spinal Tap) recalls Hopkins playing on a recording session for their song "Rainy Day Sun", from Tap’s album Break Like The Wind, which almost reached the UK Top 50. Shearer would have rather liked Hopkins to join their band, but suspects “he would have been too good for us.”
The film radiates an atmosphere of benign, possibly smoke-filled nostalgia as it tracks Hopkins’ progress through the decades, and Treen and his crew have tracked down a remarkable roll-call of musicians and various scene-makers from (mostly) the Sixties and Seventies. These include record producer Shel Talmy, Bill Wyman, the Kinks’ Dave Davies, Mott the Hoople’s Morgan Fisher, singer PP Arnold, Chuck Leavell, Graham Parker, Nils Lofgren, Peter Frampton and Terry Reid.
A particularly interesting chunk of the film concerns Hopkins’ sojourn in California, after he’d found himself in the States as a member of the Jeff Beck Group, alongside Rod Stewart and Ronnie Wood. The Beck band would have played at the 1969 Woodstock festival had the frontman not rushed back to England after hearing a rumour that his wife was having an affair with their gardener. Instead, Hopkins was invited to join Jefferson Airplane at the historic hippy love-in at Yasgur’s farm (the Airplane’s Jorma Kaukonen and Jack Casady pop up to reminisce about him).
Hopkins spent several years in San Francisco’s Bay Area, working with the Airplane as well as Steve Miller, New Riders of the Purple Sage and the Grateful Dead’s Jerry Garcia. He also struck up a close rapport with Quicksilver Messenger Service (pictured above, Hopkins second right), particularly guitarist John Cipollina. For a time he was a full band-member, and played on several of their albums. He also got on rather well with Cipollina’s mother Evelyn, who’d been a concert pianist and piano teacher.
Hopkins had won a scholarship to the Royal Academy of Music in his teens, and the discipline of classical music helped underpin his all-purpose virtuosity. Apparently, he even considered himself to be the reincarnation of Frédéric Chopin, though how serious he was about this isn’t entirely clear.
Hopkins suffered from Crohn’s disease throughout most of his life, which caused him to undergo numerous operations, and died of a heart attack in 1994, aged 50. But he fitted much more than an average lifetime’s work into the time allotted to him. His belated admission to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame earlier this month was the least he deserved.
Add comment