Back in the 60s and 70s, Jim Nairn was known across much of Europe as James Royal — a blue-eyed soul-singing dynamo whose howl was his ticket to work with some of music's biggest stars.
Now a retired cabbie in regional Queensland, the former rocker is spilling his secrets about wild nights with The Who, Johnny Cash's tour bus and drinking with Jerry Lee Lewis.
James Royal had a reputation as a livewire performer who could switch from lubricious warble to bloodcurdling caterwaul in the space of a snare drum's backbeat snap.
But first glance at Jim Nairn doesn't exactly scream "rock star".
The 81-year-old sports a push-broom moustache, prescription glasses and thoroughly sensible jeans.
Then, with a spirited cockney lilt, he mentions amphetamines and The Who.
"We were all sitting in the dressing room, Pete [Townsend], Roger [Daltrey], John [Entwistle], Keith [Moon], me and my boys," he says.
"Mooney said to me, 'You look a bit knackered, Jim.'
"And out came this little bottle with these little pills, what we used to call purple hearts.
"The next day when I started the drift down from that high … I felt the lowest scum on earth.
"So that taught me, thanks to Keithy, I don't need that rubbish."
Skiffle to soul
Jim Nairn was born in the borough of Ealing in 1941, just months after the end of the German blitz reduced much of London to rubble.
He finished school and enlisted with the Royal Air Force but left after three years of service, and was soon roped into joining a mate's skiffle band.
Word about this explosive new singer got around London and he was introduced to Mervyn Conn, a music mogul who staged massive shows with the likes of Johnny Cash, Dolly Parton and The Beatles.
"Being star-struck like I was, I sillily followed him … because he really was no good," Jim says.
The French connection
With new management and high hopes, Jim formed his own band called the James Royal Set and hit the studio to lay a handful of tracks from 1965-67, including his breakout number, Call My Name.
The recording session went well but weeks passed and he didn't hear a peep, until one day CBS Records' A&R man came calling.
"He said, 'James … what sort of a time have you? We're getting some kind of reaction in France'," Jim recalls.
The company flew its rising star first-class to Paris, where was mobbed by paparazzi as he climbed off the plane.
"I came down [hearing] 'pop, pop, pop, 'alo James, what's it like to be number one in France?'" Jim says.
"I didn't have a clue."
London nights
Jim was joined at the hip with The Who's John Entwistle and Keith Moon during those early days, and knew he was in for a long night whenever they were back in town.
"[John] would say, 'Hey. I've got a case of Jack'," Jim says.
"I'd look through the letterbox, give him a shout, and I'd be faced with a huge Irish wolfhound.
"Then Keithy would come around, and poor old Keith, he was always on the go.
"He was just lightning, and such a generous guy as well."
That generosity was on display when the ill-fated guitarist heard that a boy's club in South London was looking for a drum kit.
Jim says he bunged a brand-new Premier kit in the back of his Rolls Royce and drove straight to the club.
"He got to the door and the kids were all out there … and he said, 'Well do you want it?'"
Algerian mail bags
Call My Name was a European hit but never quite struck the big-time in the UK.
It climbed the charts in South America, Spain, Germany and Belgium — or "the continent" as contemporary music writers often commented.
The single was so popular in Italy that Jim was whisked into the studio to cut a new version with Italian lyrics.
"I got a whole bag of fan letters from Algiers," Jim laughs.
James Royal wound up recording five albums between 1964 and 1973, and cutting 20 singles including House of Jack, Carolina and Work Song — all of which became belated mod-revival cult classics after his star had faded.
It was an exhilarating ride, and he got to play with some of music's guiding lights along the way.
Jerry, Johnny and June
It was a dream come true when Jim landed the opening slot on Johnny Cash's 1968 UK tour with wife June Carter and Carl Perkins.
He found himself sitting in the back of the Man in Black's tour bus, trading yarns with Sam Phillips – the legendary Sun Records producer who discovered Elvis Presley.
"From my experience with Johnny Cash, what a complete and absolute gentleman he was," he says.
"We all shed a tear on the last day, and he took us to a fabulous Chinese restaurant – we just had a ball.
"OK, he'd not been Mr Perfect in his early days … but who was?"
A 17-show tour with Jerry Lee Lewis in 1972 was a similarly surreal experience.
Jim recalls a stage manager at the London Palladium desperately pleading with the Great Balls of Fire star not to stand on the pristine Bechstein piano.
"In the audience were such faces as Elton John and Eric Clapton … so I felt a right prawn when I walked out," Jim says.
"And then Jerry came on and the crowd went bananas.
And of course, he climbed on top of the piano.
"Many a time, I had his roadie knock on my door, 'Hey, The Killer would like to know … ya wanna come for a drink?'" Jim says.
"Drink? My God. I could never handle what Jerry handled."
Love at the Lyceum
Decades of touring, a marriage breakdown and a steady diet of booze and cigarettes had taken a toll on Jim's frazzled nerves.
He says repeated attempts to chart in the UK and US were stymied by his manager's lack of enthusiasm and refusal to release him from his contract.
"People didn't like him. I had radio producers try their damnedest to get me up, but there were never enough records pressed — and that was because of Mervyn," Jim says.
In 2016, the 81-year-old Conn was sentenced to 15 years' jail on historic rape and sexual assault convictions, but the sun had set on James Royal's pop career long before then.
"I was stuck," he says.
Then he met Christine, a beautiful Australian girl who was working at the Lyceum Theatre when James Royal was performing.
The pair promptly fell in love, married and packed up their lives to move to Australia.
A different world
Toowoomba in 1984 was about as far from London as you could get — and not just in a geographical sense.
It had about 74,000 residents to London's 6.7 million, and adjusting to life on the Darling Downs didn't come easy.
"Oh my God, I missed home, I missed me mates, I missed this, I missed that," Jim says.
"But then I started getting accustomed … I started learning the language.
"Now I'm almost a native, except I don't want to lose me accent, of course."
Jim made a few attempts to rekindle his James Royal career in Australia, but they never panned out.
He earned a wage as a taxi driver and has lost count of how many thousands of punters he would have driven across the Garden City up until his recent retirement.
These days, life is about being a grandad to four beautiful kids – but he still makes occasional appearances at open-mic blues nights and is working on plans for a regular gig.
"We've got some musicians in Toowoomba that would make your pants fall down … but there's no venue for them, bless their hearts," he says.
"Age is nothing. I'm lucky that I've still got my voice."
