The story of The Move is as mad, bad and dangerous as any rock'n'roll tale gets. The cast includes four loutish hot-heads, one shy songwriter, and a scheming, Mexican 'tached manager. And let's not forget one furious British Prime Minister. Travelling with the band in the back of the van is one nasty looking axe and a case of thunder flashes and smoke bombs. Chasing them out of the nation's clubs and ballrooms is a queue of fist-waving venue managers demanding explanations for the crowd disturbances and destroyed stages.

That's hardly the start of it. There's a quite brilliant procession of cheerfully psychedelicised singles that helped create a second golden age of British pop. Secret service agents loitering menacingly in the shadows. Acid-induced breakdowns. Boozy blackouts. A High Court appearance decked out in granny perms, floral jackets and dark glasses. Probably the most notorious and costly postcard ever produced. High jinx with Jimi Hendrix. Chicken-in-a-basket cabaret circuit lows. Endless rows, punch-ups and changes in personnel. And, quite possibly, the most protracted split in pop history.

"There's unfinished business," said Carl Wayne, the band's frontman, prime-mover and spokesman in 2003. "The Move is one of the greatest myths and cults of all time because it broke up before it did too much damage to itself," he continued, adding, hopefully, "getting back together is always a possibility". But there's no real likelihood of that, especially as Carl Wayne, the only man who was ever really capable of bringing the group together, is no longer with us…

On a happier note, The Move's work has never been so highly regarded, and this latest, career-crunching 4-CD collection, the sovereign set in Fly Records / Salvo's continuing programme of releases, presents the band in various hues. From Who-influenced mod mavericks to beat group harmony specialists, flower power opportunists to power pop sophisticates and psychedelic jamming band to progressive and hard rock pioneers, The Move are revealed here as a defining example of late '60s pop era eclectics.

Problems plagued The Move, none more so than the predicament of trying out too many ideas, rarely focusing on one long enough to make it stick. This worked well in the fast changing world of the pop singles market, but it brought confusion in the concert and album markets, so much so that even the band members found it difficult to work out what they were and where they were headed.

There was little sign of that back in October 1965, when five disgruntled stalwarts of the Birmingham beat scene quit their various club combo jobs to form the city's first supergroup. "We were all in the top Birmingham bands, and that's where we would have remained," says drummer Bev Bevan. "But we wanted more than that. We had ambition. Let's go down to London and make it big time. It was all Ace and Trevor's idea."

"Ace Kefford and I were the young bucks," says guitarist Trevor Burton. "I was with Danny King, and Ace was playing bass with Carl Wayne And The Vikings." And one night, at the Cedar, club central for Birmingham's beat scene, the pair had a conversation with a visiting R&B singing unknown named Davy Jones. "That was Bowie with a mod bouffant, long before he was famous," Burton recalls. "We told him what we were thinking, and he told us we should do it."

First to get the call was Roy Wood, a young guitarist with Mike Sheridan's Lot (formerly Mike Sheridan And The Nightriders) who had just started to write his own songs. Next up was Kefford's old employer, Carl Wayne, a Brumbeat veteran who, while not as vocally gifted as Danny King (also considered for the job) was a big draw around town and had good managerial skills. Birmingham big-hitter John Bonham was first in line for the drum-stool but turned the gig down, leaving the path free for another ex-Viking Bev Bevan.

"It felt different instantly," insists Trevor Burton. "From the first rehearsals we knew we had something special. We'd done our apprenticeships, six nights a week, two gigs a night. We knew we were gonna make it. We just didn't know how."

Enter Tony Secunda, a merchant navy bad boy and wrestling promoter turned pop entrepreneur. "He was brilliant," says Ace Kefford. "Without Secunda, no one would have heard of The Move." Secunda had, with producer Denny Cordell, already helped transform one Brum Beat combo, The Moody Blues, into national stars. Now, in March 1966, he was moving in on The Move.

"Shortly after he'd taken us on, he'd arranged this day of press for us in London," remembers Bev Bevan. "We strolled in about half an hour late and didn't think anything of it. He literally screamed at us, gave us such a bollocking. We'd never experienced anything like that before. From that moment on, we were frightened of him."

Secunda inspired fear and, reckoned Carl Wayne, provided the group with a father figure. "We were a wild bunch and none of us really had any fathers," he said. "Trevor's father was dead, Roy's was a nice chap but wouldn't say boo to a goose. My father was no longer married to my mother. Bev's father had died and Ace's was a bit crazy. Secunda, and later on Don Arden, became surrogate fathers to whom we would completely and utterly capitulate. No wonder we were fucked!"

Preview extract taken from 'The Move Anthology 1966 - 1972' liner notes by Mark Paytress

PHOTO CREDITS:
All photos © Robert Davidson except 'Ace Kefford' © Napier Russell