The artist Phil Collins helped when nobody else could: “At least if I do it, I know no-one else can ruin it”
The stereotype is that becoming a rock star effectively kneecaps any sense of empathy, kindness and understanding you might have had previously. You may have been a total cherub to begin with, but stick a telecaster in your hand and an ocean of screaming fans in front of you, and suddenly, everything changes. You’re now a screeching prima donna, demanding that all brown M&Ms be removed from every Tesco in a five-mile radius, for whom fidelity is a concept as outdated as the telegram, and other people are precisely as valuable as the amount of cocaine on their person. Then, you get a guy like Phil Collins.
Let’s be real here, the ‘In The Air Tonight’ megastar and erstwhile Genesis drummer has all the natural charm of a Madame Tussauds wax model and the authenticity to match. However, there are enough stories of his good grace going around to show that underneath the try-hard showbiz exterior beats the heart of a man who still knows what the right thing to do it and still tries to do it.
For one thing, he’s one of the very few rock stars of his age with a (fairly) good relationship with his ex-bandmates, having played on a few of Peter Gabriel’s solo albums upon his split from Genesis. More importantly though, he’s one of the few rock stars to have taken it upon themselves to revitalize a fellow musician in need.
Trent Reznor credits David Bowie with showing him he could be creative and relevant without the need of drug and alcohol abuse. Stevie Ray Vaughan did the same for Bonnie Raitt. Michael Stipe was in the process of trying to convince Kurt Cobain to move from Seattle to Atlanta and make a record with him before the Nirvana frontman’s tragic passing. For Collins, his project was the legendary folk guitarist John Martyn.
Why did John Martyn need the help of Phil Collins?
During the 1970s, Martyn was one of the most exciting and esoteric guitarists of his day, picking up the baton left by close friend Nick Drake and using it to make folk music as welcoming as it was experimental. By the end of the 1970s, his marriage had broken down, and he threw himself into a deep, black pit of alcohol abuse. His then-wife Beverley alleges protracted domestic abuse at his hands at the time.
Collins, a die-hard fan of Martyn’s music, had struck up a friendship with him in the late 1970s. Upon going solo, he decided to use his influence to help a friend in dire need of assistance. At first, Collins played the drums on his 1980 divorce record Grace and Danger. Collins was in the process of turning his own divorce into his debut solo record, Face Value, so he could relate. For Martyn’s follow-up album, though, 1981’s Glorious Fool, Collins took even more control than before.
Not only was he the sticksman once more, he also produced the whole album, a process that he talked about in an interview with Sounds in 1982. When asked about his upcoming projects, Collins talks about making an album with Abba’s Anni-Frid Lyngstad and collaborating with Daryl Hall, before saying, “I’m a huge fan of John Martyn – and the main reason l produced his Glorious Fool album was so that no-one else could f*** it up – I thought, ‘At least if I do it, I know no-one else can ruin it!’”
Collins is being typically facetious here. Martyn was in dire need of help and Collins was there to give it. The records helped Martyn through a genuine life-threatening period of self-destruction, one that left scars that remained for the rest of Martyn’s life. They weren’t the only thing that remained though. In 2008, one year before his passing, Martyn received a lifetime achievement award from the BBC Radio 2 Folk Awards. Phil Collins was present to present the award to him.
