In 1983, Brian Eno released 'Apollo: Atmospheres and Soundtracks', a belated soundtrack to accompany the original film footage of the 1969 moon mission. On the album sleeve, Eno explains that as a young man watching the landings live on television, he felt the poor quality of the images and overbearing commentary detracted from the majesty of the proceedings. In a 2009 interview with The Guardian, he confirmed:
"I remember it very, very well. I watched it in the house of my painting tutor at art school, and I remember the very eerie sensation of watching on his little black and white television and then looking up at the moon and being absolutely shocked at the idea of what was happening there at that moment in time. It was one of those strange moments when time closes up on you and something that seems fictional and fantastic suddenly becomes real".
Seven years previously, the launch of the communication satellite Telstar 1 saw the first live public transatlantic television feed. An impressive, multi-national endeavour between France, USA and the UK, it heralded a symbolic bridging of continents in co-operation to create a smaller, more harmonious world to live in. It’s an event that would have fascinated producer Joe Meek, a man with a long held obsession for the space race and the idea of life on other planets who’d already recorded ''I Hear a New World - an Outer Space Music Fantasy' back in 1959. Eno could afford to be sober and sedate in creating his own ambient soundtrack in hindsight but Meek would have felt the excitement of a child on Christmas morning; with the musicians and means at his disposal, he didn't need to wait 16 years to produce his tribute to a new world that everybody would now be able to hear.
Unlike Eno's languid re-imagining, there is nothing majestic or awestruck about Meek's tribute to technology; 'Telstar' opens with electronic discord, a clatter worthy of Stockhausen until a 'Johnny Remember Me' beat gallops through the maelstrom and an ascending countdown paints Meek as mad scientist, throwing sparking switches in his laboratory to give life to his creation before the main theme kicks in with a race to a better future. The excitement is palpable, of a new chapter in humanity playing out over our heads and played out to a tune buzzing from out of a Clavioline (first heard back on 'Runaway') infused with joyous wonder and rousing celebration in a way that sounds as if it was being beamed down from the satellite itself or from somewhere even further afield. Then, just when you think you've heard it all, Meek inserts five quick skips before a simple key change at 2:23 and we're back scraping the sky again.
The Tornados are credited, but it's Joe Meek and his imagination that are the true stars here; 'Telstar' is a bold undertaking created in the most unfuturistic circumstances possible – a very earthbound flat at 304 Holloway Road with his landlady downstairs badgering for the rent and banging on the ceiling with a broom when all things Meek got too loud. Not for nothing was this the first British single to top the American charts; there’s a universal appeal at work that’s not confined to Anglo interests, and if 'Telstar's tone now sounds as quaint and rough and ready as an episode of The Thunderbirds, it still produces a valve warmth of Rediffusion nostalgia for an optimistic age where technology promised a better life for everybody.
And so it's bitter to report that all royalties would be held up pending a plagiarism suit from Jean Ledrut which meant Meek never earned a penny from the song during his lifetime. The rent never got paid, desperation took hold, tragedy ensued.
"I remember it very, very well. I watched it in the house of my painting tutor at art school, and I remember the very eerie sensation of watching on his little black and white television and then looking up at the moon and being absolutely shocked at the idea of what was happening there at that moment in time. It was one of those strange moments when time closes up on you and something that seems fictional and fantastic suddenly becomes real".
Seven years previously, the launch of the communication satellite Telstar 1 saw the first live public transatlantic television feed. An impressive, multi-national endeavour between France, USA and the UK, it heralded a symbolic bridging of continents in co-operation to create a smaller, more harmonious world to live in. It’s an event that would have fascinated producer Joe Meek, a man with a long held obsession for the space race and the idea of life on other planets who’d already recorded ''I Hear a New World - an Outer Space Music Fantasy' back in 1959. Eno could afford to be sober and sedate in creating his own ambient soundtrack in hindsight but Meek would have felt the excitement of a child on Christmas morning; with the musicians and means at his disposal, he didn't need to wait 16 years to produce his tribute to a new world that everybody would now be able to hear.
Unlike Eno's languid re-imagining, there is nothing majestic or awestruck about Meek's tribute to technology; 'Telstar' opens with electronic discord, a clatter worthy of Stockhausen until a 'Johnny Remember Me' beat gallops through the maelstrom and an ascending countdown paints Meek as mad scientist, throwing sparking switches in his laboratory to give life to his creation before the main theme kicks in with a race to a better future. The excitement is palpable, of a new chapter in humanity playing out over our heads and played out to a tune buzzing from out of a Clavioline (first heard back on 'Runaway') infused with joyous wonder and rousing celebration in a way that sounds as if it was being beamed down from the satellite itself or from somewhere even further afield. Then, just when you think you've heard it all, Meek inserts five quick skips before a simple key change at 2:23 and we're back scraping the sky again.
The Tornados are credited, but it's Joe Meek and his imagination that are the true stars here; 'Telstar' is a bold undertaking created in the most unfuturistic circumstances possible – a very earthbound flat at 304 Holloway Road with his landlady downstairs badgering for the rent and banging on the ceiling with a broom when all things Meek got too loud. Not for nothing was this the first British single to top the American charts; there’s a universal appeal at work that’s not confined to Anglo interests, and if 'Telstar's tone now sounds as quaint and rough and ready as an episode of The Thunderbirds, it still produces a valve warmth of Rediffusion nostalgia for an optimistic age where technology promised a better life for everybody.
And so it's bitter to report that all royalties would be held up pending a plagiarism suit from Jean Ledrut which meant Meek never earned a penny from the song during his lifetime. The rent never got paid, desperation took hold, tragedy ensued.
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