The Kids Are Alright

3.7.98 for the Rock Electronic Telegraph (Issue1016)

As the rock stars of the Sixties and Seventies fade away, their offspring are stepping into the limelight with a lot to live up to. Neil McCormick reports on the new breed who are talking up their generation

YOU know you are getting old when policemen start looking young, politicians look quite attractive and the latest singer-songwriter to be heralded as the 'new Bob Dylan' turns out to be the son of the old Bob Dylan.

When Jakob Dylan's band, the Wallflowers, stormed up the American charts last year with their single, Sixth Avenue Heartache, it was hard to shake off a feeling that the times they hadn't a-changed that much after all: there was that familiar face topped by a mop of curly hair, a band that sounded like it had just revisited Highway 61 and a hoarse voice wrapped around complex lyrics about fate and destiny. 'The same black line that was drawn on you is drawn on me/And it's drawing me in,' sang Jakob, as if acknowledging that any resemblance to persons living or deified was purely genetic. The son has accepted the inevitable comparisons with good grace. 'The truth is I'm essentially applying 30 years later for the singer-songwriter job that he invented,' he remarks of his famous father. The father is more circumspect. 'He's had an amazing amount of success in a short time,' he says. 'I just don't want to see his heart broken in this business, that's all.'

The second generation of rock is well and truly upon us, as numerous offspring of Sixties and Seventies stars elect to join the family business - in some cases, quite literally. After the death of reggae legend Bob Marley in 1981, son Ziggy Marley appeared with his dad's backing band the Wailers, before forming the Melody Makers with brother Stephen and sisters Cedella and Sharon. Zak Starkey, son of Ringo Starr, is also a drummer, and has toured with his dad, presumably to give the old man a break from bashing the skins all night. And Sean Ono Lennon, son of John and Yoko, launched his musical career by playing guitar on Yoko's 1995 album and tour.

In fact, there are enough musical Beatle progeny to form a band, although perhaps not a very good one. James

McCartney, 20, appears as a guitarist on his father's latest album, Flaming Pie. And Julian Lennon (John's first son by ex-wife Cynthia) has been back in the studio, recording for the first time since attempts to follow in his father's giant footsteps limped to a halt in 1991. Having launched his career with the two-million-selling album Valotte in 1984, Julian's striking resemblance to John turned out to be more of a curse than a blessing, when critics unkindly suggested he had inherited his father's looks and voice, but his mother's talent. They have started saying the same things about Sean. 'Being John Lennon's son can be very taxing,' he has admitted. 'When people say I'm doing this and that the same way as my father, it gets to be too much. I can't do anything about it.'

Well, he might have tried another career. But, as Jakob Dylan jokes, 'Hey, plumbing looks pretty hard. People say I'm following my father, but it never really was that big an issue to me. I want what everybody wants, which is to make a living doing what it is they like doing. Which in my case is playing music. And if I couldn't have it as a job, I'd still be doing it.'

Of course, when it actually comes to getting a record deal and attracting the interest of the press, having famous parents can be a distinct advantage. Emma Townshend, 28-year-old daughter of the Who's leader Pete, has just released her first album, Winterland. 'Do you think I don't know how I got a record deal?' she says, with refreshing candour. 'I know so many people making good music and record companies are going, "Well, we like it but how are we gonna market it?" And I know perfectly well that when I went in through that door and said, "Here's my half-decent music. . . and here's me," they went, "Aha, gimme!" '

Before signing to East West records, Emma studied for a masters and history of science PhD, and taught undergraduates at Cambridge for two years. She is shameless about her reasons for giving that up. 'I know this sounds terrible, but it's crap money,' she says. 'And if you've grown up like I grew up and gone on really nice holidays, when you're working and you can't afford to go anywhere, you think, "I can't live on the amount of money you get paid for teaching!" '

Perhaps secure that her quirkily original, distinctly feminine music is unlikely to attract comparison with her rock'n'roll dad, she is happy to milk the family name for all it's worth. 'I was going to call the album Whose Baby, or Papa was a Rolling Stone, but that's probably laying the irony on a bit thick,' she laughs. 'I read Hello! magazine for Britain. I could read gossip professionally. And I am more interested in somebody if their dad's famous, so why on earth should I mind if someone else is interested in me because of it? I like my dad, and I think he's funny and very interesting, and he was a good dad. I still have a laugh every time I go round his house. So I don't mind talking about him.'

But unless the talent is unique or the ego unassailable, second-generation rockers are liable to be made to suffer by comparison to their famous parents. Singer-songwriter Louise Goffin has impressive credentials: the only child of Carole King and her songwriting partner, Gerry Goffin. Together Goffin and King composed more hits in the Sixties than anyone except Lennon and McCartney (including The Loco-Motion, sung by Louise's babysitter, Little Eva). After they split up, Carole King became the Seventies' biggest-selling female artist with her debut album, Tapestry. 'If I sat down and thought about what I have to live up to,' Louise once remarked, 'I would just give up.' But when she released This is the Place - a lyrically complex, melodically demanding album - in 1987, every review and interview focused on the family connection, and most found her wanting. 'What's good enough for other people,' she noted, 'isn't good enough for me.'

It prompted a long spell of soul-searching, during which she took backseat roles as a guitarist-for-hire, touring with Bryan Ferry and Tears For Fears. Now, once again playing gigs and recording as a solo artist, she is more philosophical. 'When Julian Lennon came along, people said he was like a teddy bear for people who missed John,' she comments. 'All you can do is completely ignore it. The most difficult element is the suspicion - you're never quite sure why people are responding to you the way they are. You never know if it's because of what you do and who you are in yourself, or because of who you're connected to by proxy. And I think that's a confidence stumbling block. It's like you're inheriting all this reaction and it takes time, awareness and maturity to sift through it all and figure out what's what. It gets really dull when one more person comes up to you when you're doing something you've really worked hard on and says, "Oh my God, I just love Tapestry!" '

Louise went to the same school in LA as Jakob Dylan, and sympathises with his predicament. 'Jakob gets it tenfold, you know: "I love your record, and I gotta tell you when I first heard Blowing in the Wind, me and my wife we got back together again," or whatever,' she laughs.

Louise has precious memories, of sitting on Aretha Franklin's knee when she was recording Natural Woman, and of Joni Mitchell sketching her backstage at a concert. Yet she is wary of mythologising her upbringing. 'I feel like my parents were the parents of my creativity in a way, but in terms of getting direction and learning how to take care of things, it was really not an environment where they could have a family responsibility. I was like a kid around other kids and it's been a long road figuring out how grown-ups actually function in the world.'

Although she admits she was uneasy with her mother's immense fame, Louise never contemplated any other career for herself. 'In a sense, I know no other way to be. I've come across so many second-generation people in LA. And actually I think, on a purely musical basis, it makes it easier, because it's so natural. You've been around it since you were so young, you saw people gathering together and having fun and exchanging all this creative energy, you've assimilated and heard and seen so much music, doing it yourself is about as difficult as falling off a log. But with that comes a lot of expectation.'
This particular burden is far lighter for the offspring of those whose names may have once been up in lights but never quite made it to the stars. It is only mildly diverting to learn that pop duo Alisha's Attic are the daughters of Tremeloe Brian Poole, dance maverick Adam F is the son of Alvin Stardust or that singer-songwriter Sam Brown is the daughter of Joe Brown.

Or you could take the approach of Donovan Leitch (son of folk star Donovan) and Jason Nesmith (son of Monkee Mike Nesmith), who formed the outrageously camp glam rock band Nancy Boy, playing music that defies parental comparison. 'I'm a huge fan of my dad's stuff and I'm really glad to be part of the same family,' says Leitch. 'And he is very happy for me. But our music is different from his. I can't quite see him in make-up parading down the catwalk.'

Alliances between members of the second generation are not uncommon. Chris Stills (son of Stephen, of Crosby, Stills and Nash) is about to release his own bluesy debut album, produced by Ethan Jones, son of the former Who producer, Glyn Jones. The sons of Miles Davis (Erin), the Doors' Robby Krieger (Waylon) and the Allman Brothers' Berry Oakley (Berry Jr) formed a very dubious association as Bloodline, where presumably they kept up family traditions by playing a hybrid form of Southern jazz/rock/boogie. The sons of two soul legends, Marvin Gaye Jr and Lou Rawls Jr, record under the modest designation Nu Breed: The Next Generation.

Otis Redding's sons (Dexter and Otis III) were even more shameless, forming harmony trio the Reddings with their cousin Mark Lockett and releasing their own version of (Sittin' on) The Dock of the Bay.

If imitation is the greatest form of flattery, many star parents have reason to be proud. Beach Boy Brian Wilson's daughters, Carnie and Wendy, got together with Chynna Phillips (daughter of Mamas and Papas John and Michelle Phillips) to record harmony-drenched pop as Wilson Phillips. And while you might have thought the late Frank Zappa's son would never have forgiven his father for naming him while under the influence of the Sixties (his daughter is called Moon Unit), Dweezil Zappa now plays noisy, avant-garde guitar highly reminiscent of you-know-who.

The saddest tale from the second generation of rock stars is that of Jeff Buckley. Abandoned as a baby by the gifted but self-destructive Tim Buckley, he never got to know his father, who died of a heroin overdose in 1973 at the tender age of 28. Yet when Jeff released his debut album, Grace, in 1994, there could be little doubt about whose son he was. Heralded as one of the shining talents of the decade, he had the same astonishing vocal range, an equally impressive guitar-playing gift and a similar melancholy in his approach to songwriting. Then last year, he followed his father to an early grave, drowning in a freak accident in the Mississippi. He was only 30.

Inevitably, there have been some rebels in the rock'n'roll dynasties - children who, despite having names that sound designed for album covers, have opted for a more conventional life (by their parents' standards, anyway). Jade Jagger (daughter ofMick) is in the fashion business, Moon Unit Zappa is an actress and Scarlett Page (daughter of Led Zeppelin's Jimmy Page) is a photographer. Zowie Bowie (son of David) even changed his name to the less spectacular Joe Jones. Emma Townshend is unimpressed. 'Me and my sister used to say, "Mother! How could you call us these boring names?" Especially me, because my sister's called Arminta. We used to go to gigs and we'd see Jade Jagger hanging out with Zowie Bowie and we decided we should have been called Tinsel and Tamla Mo Townshend.'

Of course, if you do carry the genes and the name of someone idolised by millions, simply opting for another career is unlikely to shield you from envy and accusations of nepotism, as the furore over the appointment of Stella McCartney as chief designer for the House of Chloe proved. Headlines such as 'All You Need Is Dad' accompanied harsh quotes from mocking pundits. Former Chloe designer Karl Lagerfeld said, 'I think they should have taken a big name. They did - but in music, not fashion.'

Her father, Paul McCartney, is having none of it. 'People may envy her for getting the job, fine, but there are better paid jobs in the world and boy, she's gotta deliver. There's no way she gets away with it. And she's aware of that. My kids got this from the age of five. There was no shelter for them. Kids used to follow them round the playground singing Mull of Kintyre, and they had to learn to turn round sharply and have an answer. So they've kind of lived with it.

But hey, you're talking to a proud dad here. My kids are the best in the world. They're sensational.'

Emma Townshend reports that her father always encouraged her to become a musician. You might expect a little resistance from loving parents contemplating their children entering a trade known for its association with sex, drugs and debauchery. Does Pete Townshend, a reformed heroin addict and alcoholic, really think this is any sort of life for his daughter?

'Emma has always been a bit of a star in the family,' according to Townshend senior. 'One of my cherished memories was a pushchair walk through a local park. She was mischievously wearing rock star sunglasses at two years old, but in the deadpan manner of a retired theatrical dame rather than a showbiz celebrity.'

He is full of praise for her music, which he finds intelligent, challenging and sometimes disturbing, even, at one point, using the word 'genius'. He does not, however, take all the credit, commenting that her songwriting draws as much from her mother's side of the family: Emma's grandfather, John Astley, was a television and film composer; her uncle, Jon Astley, is a producer; and her aunt, Virginia Astley, a solo recording artist. 'I believe she will be successful because she is so alive, so interested in the world,' Townshend says.

Paul McCartney professes to be sanguine about the whole business. 'People say to me, "Are the kids musical?" and I know what they mean. They mean, "Can we expect to see them on the stage shortly?" I always said I would never push the kids into showbiz and I never have. But James is a musician and would like to do music. I constantly talk to him and say, "You know, don't you, what they're going to do the first time they hear anything? You know you'll be directly compared?" He says, "It's cool, you're my dad, you did that, it's good. I don't think I have to compete." I think he's got a level-headed view of it. What are you gonna do if it's in your genes?'

McCartney laughs. As far as he is concerned there is only one solution: 'Obviously if you're a celebrity you just shouldn't have children.'