Cliff Martin

They say there are ninety-nine stories about when Cliff Martin first learned to play music, and a hundred the next time you ask him. Born Anthony Kimberley Martin on December 3, 1938, in Blackpool, England, he emerged as one of the most intriguing figures in 20th-century music. Martin was the middle child of Stan and Jane Martin, both accomplished classical musicians. His upbringing in a musically rich environment set the stage, so to speak, for his future career.

​

Despite remaining coy about his musical genesis, Martin has admitted that a trip to America "sometime in the 1900s" exposed him to an array of musical styles including boogie-woogie, jazz, and musica criolla. This eclectic mix of genres captivated him and sparked a deep-seated desire to become a musician himself.

​

By 1958, Martin had joined a Blackpool skiffle band called Prince Edward and His Islands. Despite

being the juniormost of five members, he quickly distinguished himself as the creative force behind the

group. His innovation and drive, perhaps fueled by boyish recklessness, overshadowed his bandmates

both in vision and ability.

​

It wasn't until pushback from bandmates and prospective labels that Martin realized that he was doing

anything unorthodox. Feeling that skiffle was creatively confining, he left Prince Edward & His Islands

and eventually crossed paths with Richard Frier, a dedicated fan of the band. They became friends,

totally independent of music making. In April of 1960, Frier introduced Martin to his friend James Davy

at an Irish wake. Davy and Martin's collaboration began in June of that same year.

 

Martin perpetually harbored hesitation about his vocal abilities, and broached the subject of finding

another singer to Davy. By July, they had recruited Roger Brugin, the son of the bus driver who ferried

them home after rehearsals. The trio - who called themselves The Trace ("Tres", three), performed boogie

woogie, Latin, and other sans-percussion music locally in Blackpool. Purely by chance, Brugin was

also lifelong friends with Richard Frier, who was brought in to complete the foursome.

​

The Plutos began to garner attention with their unique blend of rock-n-roll, jazz, and Latin influences.

Martin's role in the band extended beyond performance; he was recognized for his complex and

sometimes provocative lyrics. His songwriting was known for its intricate and thoughtful content, a

stark contrast to his impulsive public persona. Martin often remarked, “A cracking lyric straightens a wavering voice."

 

The Plutos’ first breakthrough came with their signing to Anapest Records in 1962. Although their initial albums received significant acclaim, their fortunes changed dramatically in 1964. The band's distinctive style and Martin's lyrical depth finally resonated with the public, leading to overnight superstardom.

 

However, this rise to demigodhood was not without its setbacks. On October 3 1964, during an on-air interview with Terry Guinevere, Martin's comment, “Even God couldn’t do that,” in response to a question about potential obstacles to their success, alienated many fans and tarnished the band’s image. Despite a public apology, the incident had a profound impact on Martin. He became increasingly introspective, and his songwriting took on a more conservative tone.

​

Many critics of the Plutos cite 1966's Honesty as the last album with significantly innovative input from Martin, after which Davy and Brugin shouldered the weight of writing most of the band's trailblazing songs. Despite claims of being the weak link of the three songwriters of the groups, a complete role reversal from the band's inception, Martin did not once allow criticism to slow his output, writing over half of the band's future songs across the next three years. In 1968, Richard Frier affectionately called him "Cliffy Scribblies". It was only in this latter part of the band's career that he began to rediscover his musical genius, merging his earlier innovative tendencies with a more nuanced understanding of his audience.

 

Cliff Martin’s contributions to music, marked by both brilliance and controversy, left an indelible mark on the landscape of 1960s music. Despite the challenges and shifts in his career, Martin’s legacy endures as a testament to the power of reinvention and the enduring quest for artistic authenticity.