In the Summertime

On the 11th of July 1970, I went to the record store in Castricum, near my home in Bakkum, where I lived with my grandparents. The scent of sunscreen already hung in the air, a whisper of freedom as days stretched longer and school tests were behind us. Most weeks I would go to the store to pick up a copy of the Radio Veronica Top 40.

It was ironic that while they were an illegal Pirate Radio Station on the North Sea, you could go to a record store and buy their merchandise. I don’t think I managed to keep any of those weekly sheets, although I do have some Songster booklets with the lyrics in them that I used to buy in the same shop.

On this particular week, the number one hit was a song called In the Summertime, by a band that had seemingly come out of nowhere, called Mungo Jerry. The song hit number one in 26 countries and sold more than 30 million copies.

The band played their first major gig under the name Mungo Jerry only the week before at the Hollywood Festival at Newcastle-under-Lyme, Staffordshire, in the west midlands of England. They were a real contrast to many of the other bands on the stage, which included the likes of Ozzy Osborne’s Black Sabbath, the Grateful Dead, and Ginger Baker’s Airforce, who I would get to know and love when staying at an Auckland urban commune called Foul Farm (for reasons you will learn in a future chapter) 6 years later.

In the Summertime was fresh, a feel-good song. If you are of my generation, you will remember it. Ray Dorset was the leader and wrote the song, which just seemed to resonate and stand out from some of the heavier music, which I also loved.

So switch forward two years and I am back living with my parents in the bush in Titirangi, a great village in the west Auckland rainforest. On the 25th of January 1972, I went to Western Springs to watch, you got it, Mungo Jerry. I was excited as I followed the big line going into the amphitheatre with some of my Kelston Boys High School friends. It was summer and the music of the day continued to be awesome.

1972, a year where bell bottoms danced to the rhythm of change. Rock legends like David Bowie and Elton John painted the airwaves with sonic rainbows, their voices soaring from stadium speakers to AM radios nestled under dashboards. Meanwhile, soul sisters like Roberta Flack and Aretha Franklin poured their hearts into every note, weaving tapestries of emotion that still shimmer today. It was a year where every melody felt like a shared secret, a whispered promise of a brighter future, all wrapped in the warm glow of analog fuzz. Those were the days, friend, a golden age etched in vinyl grooves and singalong choruses.

These were still conservative times, although that was changing. These were the days when one of my idols Stefanne Grapelli would say in a concert in Auckland’s Town Hall, that the only thing open in Auckland on a Sunday, were umbrellas, and he wasn’t that wrong. For many years, a strong Christian influence meant Sundays were largely observed as a day of rest, with most shops and businesses closed. This reflected a cultural value placed on religious observance and family time.

So switch back to Western Springs and Ray Dorset is chatting to us between the songs, saying the usual things of ‘You are the best audience we have played to.” and probably in his mind, adding this week. But he did appear to be enjoying the visit to New Zealand.

He then told a joke, which was mildly funny. I remember it to this day. I stood reasonably close to the stage, in front of the concrete steps where people usually sat to watch speedway motor racing. It was a longish joke, but the crux of it was that a boy was saying to a girl, “I’ve got something you haven’t got.” To which the girl replied, “My mommy told me that with what I’ve got, I can get what you’ve got, anytime I want.”

We laughed, it was funny and corny at the same time. But some people didn’t agree. I can’t find any record of the news story, but this happened folks. A week later we heard on the news that the band Mungo Jerry had been banned from performing in New Zealand, I think for 3 years as a consequence of this joke. I remember thinking that the band would think this was a bigger joke than theirs and that they probably wouldn’t have been coming back all this way anyway.

I really enjoyed the Western Springs concert, and many more great bands, on their way up and towards the dying embers of their careers. But this one was a bit special, because it took me back to my little room overlooking the cobbled Dr Jacobilaan street, in the house where I was born in Bakkum, North Holland, listening to a transistor radio loaned to me by my uncle Tom, whose bedroom on the first floor of our home backed on to mine. The radio would sit inside the drawer of my wooden desk. I had experimented many times and found a sweet spot where the music seemed to be amplified and got a lot more bass from the reverberation coming from the desk drawer.

I had desperately wanted to stay in Holland, and not return to New Zealand, where I had bad memories from the break-up of my parents. I had good friends in Holland, lots of big brothers and sisters, and a home where I felt safe and secure. But on this day in Auckland, I felt great and the rest of the world slipped away as it does when you are living in the moment at a concert.

Remember Mungo Jerry? Not exactly rock gods, mind you, but they were entertaining. Did you ever catch one of their concerts, all smiles and sunshine even when the rain poured down? “Lady Rose” still gets stuck in my head, and wouldn’t you know it, I think your old denim jacket might still have a bootleg cassette stashed in the pocket. Spill the beans, did we groove to them together? Let’s rewind to those hazy, happy days!