My memories of 'well-mannered' Jimi Hendrix when he popped into legendary West Midlands club for a drink

With a shock of hair that appeared modelled on an explosion deep in upholstery, he strolled on to the lager slick stage and began to play. What came from his guitar was disjointed and rambling – a stream of electric consciousness.

But what unfolded in the next hour now has a place in rock history. It is music folklore from the “summer of love” year when some tripped the light fantastic with the aid of acid trips.

The date was Thursday, April 11, 1967, and The Beatles’ “All You Need Is Love” topped the charts. The venue, Wall Heath’s legendary Kingfisher Club.

And the man draped in garish jewellery, ruffles and crushed velvet? Guitar god Jimi Hendrix, looking to unwind after his gig at Wolverhampton’s Gaumont Cinema. That was the Black Country leg of a 25 date concert tour featuring a line-up that could kindly be described as diverse. Unkindly as simply incongruous.

Jimi and his band The Experience, who had hit the big time with “Hey Joe” and “Purple Haze”, shared billing with chart-toppers The Walker Brothers, housewives heart-throb Engelbert Humperdinck, Cat Stevens and local band The Californians, seen as Bilston’s answer to the Beach Boys.

As professional and polished as The Californians were, their time on the local circuit revealed Bilston didn’t have a definitive answer to the Beach Boys.

However, they played their part in a magical moment described on scores of websites as “the night Jimi jammed at the Kingfisher”.

To the world, Hendrix was rock’s wild man, an untamed individual who burnt the candle at both ends – the flames blindingly bright, but short-lived. Jimi succumbed to a hellfire, hedonistic lifestyle in 1970 aged only 27.

Those who had read the headlines, then met Hendrix in our patch were shocked to be confronted by a quiet, polite and courteous individual: a man more likely to apologise to staff for spilling bourbon on the bed than trash his hotel room.

“Jimi Hendrix, bloody nice bloke.” That is how survivors of the Kingfisher jam remember Jimi.

Music historian Brian Nicholls, who played in a number of local groups, has played his part in ensuring the impromptu performance is not lost in a purple haze of false anecdotes and urban myths.

He has interviewed those lucky enough to be present and come to a conclusion: “It was absolutely unbelievable!”

Now 79 and living in Alveley, near Bridgnorth, Shropshire, Brian told me: “He had such bloody good manners – ‘yes, ma’am’, ‘please, sir’, ‘excuse me’. He was one of those very obliging types.”

Hendrix, considered one of the greatest guitarists, didn’t extend himself. “It was 12 bar blues,” said Brian. “If you’re jamming over a 12 bar it’s actually quite easy. You can’t really make a mistake, you can improvise in it.

“If you’re going to try to improvise to Hotel California, you better do your homework.

“At one point, Hendrix asked if anyone had a slide and, of course, no one did. So he asked if anyone had a steel comb and actually played guitar with a steel comb.”

That may mean someone possesses a tantalising auction lot: the very comb used by Hendrix.

Brian admits to being underwhelmed by the American’s back catalogue: “I don’t like that sort of guitar playing – barking and screeching and setting fire to your guitar. What he was was a showman and he was superb showman.

“You read about him being permanently ‘out of it’. I don’t think he was ever out of it. It was all part of the act.”

At the Kingfisher, Tony Perry, head of well known Wolverhampton showbiz agency Astra, met a pop star who minded his Ps and Qs. Hendrix was neither aloof nor arrogant.

On Midlands music site Brumbeat.net, he recalled: “Upon arriving at the club, he asked my wife, ‘what can I get you to drink ma’am?’ She settled for a large gin and tonic.”

Hendrix’s unscheduled appearance at the Kingfisher has been distorted by American writers in a bid to ramp-up the romanticism. It has been portrayed as akin to Bob Dylan walking into a working men’s club and whipping out his mouth organ.

In reality, the Kingfisher, transformed into a restaurant in 2015, was a key music and cabaret venue that hosted a long list of very big names, including The Beatles.

In its pomp, luminaries such as Hendrix were the norm, not an anomaly. As Brian Nicholls put it: “It wasn’t just another club, it was an institution.”

As a teenage boxer, I remember the landmark for a different reason – fight nights. Yes, it served up rhythm and blues and blood and bruises in equal measure.

The Californians were the key to Hendrix’s unannounced, unofficial performance.

“They were part of the tour,” said Mr Perry, “and after the last Gaumont show they were booked to do a spot at the ‘Fisher’. I drove Jimi, (bassist) Noel Redding and (drummer) Mitch Mitchell to the club. Jimi was an extremely polite and well-mannered man, far removed from his wild man persona on stage.”

The Walker Brothers, Cat Stevens and Engelbert tagged along, too. In an age before selfies, the evening must’ve been an autograph hunter’s dream.

It certainly wasn’t a faultless musical extravaganza, despite the VIPs who crammed on stage, The Californians’ lead guitarist Mick Brookes stressed.

The 77-year-old, who lives in Wednesfield, said this week: “The main reason was the stuff we did – The Four Seasons, Beach Boys – required loads and loads of rehearsals to get it as near perfect as we could for an audience.

“None of us were great musicians, we had to work really hard. Jamming wasn’t our thing. We were never up to do things like that.

“At the end of our spot we were joined by John Maus (of the Walker Brothers), who was a good guitarist, for a jam session.

“We were soon joined, too, by Jimi’s bass player Noel, drummer Mitch, then Jimi himself got up to play.”

It wasn’t a magical mix. Brumbeat described what followed as “a dirge of three-chord bashes”.

“Four lead guitarists from four entirely different backgrounds trying to compete with each other,” Mick explained. “But the crowd loved every bit of it, so that’s all that matters. It’s still a talking point when I say Jimi Hendrix actually played with The Cali’s.”

Mick didn’t speak to Hendrix on the night. In truth, they rarely exchanged words during the long, nationwide tour – despite being on the same bus.

“John Maus was the nicest bloke on the tour, a really lovely bloke,” Mick said. “Scott Walker was in his own little world, as was Hendrix, to a degree.

“Noel Redding and I had a great rapport, Hendrix just sat there. He never had much input. I couldn’t say I knew him. He was respectful to most people he met through the tour – ‘sir’, ‘ma’am’, I suppose that was his army background. He was that sort of guy.

“But I never heard him get involved in any deep conversations.”

Mick still strongly believes Hendrix let down fans by straying from the script when on stage. “He’d just stop what he was doing and start playing something that hadn’t been rehearsed even by himself. Noel Redding would just look at him.

“He’d start playing Wild Thing out of the blue. It was a mess what he was doing on stage.

“His ability was incredible, but he had no control. He’d experiment in front of an audience and you don’t do that.”

Hendrix’s rise and fall is well documented. The Californians’ journey has been near lost in the mists of time.

They were big, very big in the Wolverhampton area, and gained a reputation as very accomplished live performances throughout the UK.

In his book ‘N Between Times, a history of the city’s 1960s music scene, Keith Farley wrote: “From the start, the group was very popular in the local area because of their clean-cut image and because they made a very pleasing sound.”

They were signed by big labels, appeared on the cusp of chart success, but found fame elusive. The Californians, like so many other bands, are filed under “nearly made it”.

I caught up with drummer and vocalist Robbie Lee, still performing at the age of 74, after a gig in west Wales.

Those brief years with The Californians were sunshine days, Robbie stressed.

“From 1966 to 1970, we had a great ride,” he told me. “Unfortunately, we didn’t have the right management, in my opinion, but we had a terrific following all over the UK.

“I was only about 17 – it was a great learning curve, you learnt a lot about life. In the West Midlands, you had a lot of incredible musicians.

“One day you could be playing in Glasgow, the next in Truro. You’ll never get another decade like it. And that’s what upsets me – young people don’t have the outlets we had, like pubs where you had bands on every night.”

He added: “Life is too short to be bitter. Life is about learning.”

Mick Brookes also only sees Californian sunshine: “It would’ve been nice to have done more, but we had a good life for a few years and, looking back, we did some great stuff. We also didn’t have the pressure those who made it did.”

Brian Nicholls believes The Californians didn’t reach their full potential for one reason. Geography. They were too tied to Wolverhampton.

He should know. The singer and guitarist’s host of local bands included Varsity Rag who shared billing with such major artistes as Fleetwood Mac, The Animals, The Searchers and The Nice.

“The Californians should’ve done more,” he said, “but back then you had to move to London if you wanted to get anywhere, the exception being Brian Epstein.

“Locally, you had to play the town halls. If you could get the Gaumont, you could be sharing the bill with Buddy Holly. If you could get the Civic Hall, that was making it.”

Despite the arduous working schedule of his rock n roll years, Brian is also free from regret. He’s also still performing as one part of musical duo Andrew and Brian.

He added: “It was working seven nights a week, three gigs on Saturday, three on Sunday, but it was beyond joyous.”

And it spawned a whole volume of joyous, big stories.

For any ageing rocker, “the night I played guitar with Hendrix” must rank as the biggest story of them all.