Gas Tank (UK TV show)
‘Gas Tank’ (1982–1983) was a refreshingly raw and energetic television music show that aired on Channel Four in the U.K. Hosted by Rick Wakeman, the program captured the spirit of early-1980s rock culture with an immediacy few shows of the time managed to achieve. Its format was informal and inviting: set in a bar-room style studio, Wakeman would interview guest artists over a drink or two, before they performed live with him and his house band in front of a small studio audience seated in groups at tables. The performances ranged from pre-arranged versions of classic songs to entirely new pieces created just for the show, giving each episode a unique and spontaneous energy.
What set ‘Gas Tank’ apart was its willingness to spotlight artists who lived on the edge of the mainstream — performers driven more by urgency and authenticity than commercial calculation. Rick Wakeman frequently cited the show as “the perfect opportunity for musicians from different bands to work together,” highlighting the collaborative spirit that defined the series. Notably, the episodes featuring Alvin Lee showcased his exceptional guitar work and enduring passion for rock and blues, offering viewers a rare glimpse of a seasoned artist still very much alive in his craft. These appearances added a compelling blend of veteran expertise and raw energy, perfectly embodying the show’s commitment to honest, unvarnished music.
Viewed today, ‘Gas Tank’ stands as a compelling document of its time: bold, unapologetic, and rooted in the belief that rock music works best when it is loud, honest, and slightly dangerous. Rather than smoothing out the rough edges, the show embraced them — and that commitment to authenticity, spontaneity, and musical camaraderie is precisely what gives ‘Gas Tank’ its enduring appeal.
EPISODES:
Alvin Lee at Gas Tank TV Show, Episode 5
playing with the house band feat.
Rick Wakeman – Keyboards
Tony Ashton – Piano
Chas Cronk – Bass
Tony Fernandez – Drums
Rock And Roll Guitar Picker / I Maybe Wrong But I Won’t Be Wrong Always
includes a interview with Alvin Lee
other guests are Suzy Quatro, Ian Paice and Steve Hackett
recorded at Ewart Television, Wandsworth, England, broadcast on Channel 4
Alvin Lee at Gas Tank TV Show, Episode 1
playing with Eric Burdon:
‘Trying To Get Back To You’ by Rose Marie McCoy & Charles Singleton in 1954, famous by Elvis Presley in 1956
Medley feat. ‘Lawdy Miss Clawdy’ by Lloyd Price in 1952 / ‘Be Bop A Lula’ by Gene Vincent & Bill ‘Sheriff Tex’ Davis in 1956
Alvin Lee at Gas Tank TV Show, Episode 3
playing with Chris Farlowe
‘Call It Stormy Monday (But Tuesday Is Just As Bad)’ by T-Bone Walker in 1947
‘Lucille’ by Richard Penniman & Albert Collins in 1956, famous by Little Richard in 1957
additions to the house band are Rick Parfitt (Status Quo) & Ian Paice (Deep Purple)
Alvin Lee ‘live in Austria’
May 13, 1982 – Majski Rock Blues Festival, Beograd, Serbia
Alvin with photographer Brian Rasic
photos: Brian Rasic
July 20, 1982 – Nyon, Switzerland
photos by the festival photographer (name unknown)
Musica & Som No. 74 July/August 1982 – Portugal
TRANSLATION (by AI):
## **ALVIN, THE MAGNIFICENT**
A certain expectation, tinged with excitement, hovered in the air. When the lights went out and he appeared on stage, red guitar in hand, the safety barriers placed in front of the stage were suddenly pressed in by the small crowd that moved toward the Pavilion of the Belenenses, on a warm June night.
Most of these kinds of scenes often happen without warning at Rock ’n’ Roll concerts, in their origins, usually when one finds a particular type of individual endowed with a certain presence, a certain magnetism that is difficult to define, but always effective. This time, that individual was called **Alvin Lee**. He carried with him the entire mythical charge of a guitar hero, a species in danger of extinction…
Lisbon, 1982, a warm Friday night. Alvin Lee is in the city and there is a certain expectation to see live one of the most silent legends of Woodstock. Calvin “Fuzzy” Samuel (formerly with Stephen Stills’ band and CSN&Y) on bass, and Tom Compton on drums, are ready. When the stage lights come on, Lee greets the audience vaguely and launches decisively into the first song of the night. A little cold.
As he takes the pulse of the crowd, still describing those vague faces that gather before him. From the very first note, well up high, as always outside, even in Ten Years After’s later days. In any case, that electrifying torrent of decibels seems to be an indispensable condition not only for the audience, perhaps, but above all for the guitarist himself. He is in his element, in his way of playing. In fact, Lee was never a musician capable of instantly reaching a transcendent level of feeling—indispensable in any kind of music.
However, with the precious help of the demolishing rhythm of the Samuel/Compton duo (with Ric Lee/Leo Lyons at other times), he progressively finds his way, laboriously building, note by note, so as to suddenly disarm the listener’s state of mind, allowing him to ascend to privileged moments, taking behind him his audience. At the margin of each theme, at the margin of each solo, a process parallel but autonomous in relation to the events unfolding around him, everything gradually passes in this way, until the climax.
He achieves it in full creative frenzy, swept away by the magnificent—a little god of excess. To conquer or die. To play until exhaustion. To touch the edge of one’s own limits. To find contact, to shape empathy, to establish communication before the final explosive and infernal outburst—until he reaches it.
And Alvin Lee reaches it. Quickly.
With the sensory effort of someone who is very used to doing it. In a short time, he grabs the audience, asserts himself over it, and leads it. With the first objective achieved, a second phase of the ceremony begins—to revive the memory of unforgettable themes, fabulously played. First, “Love Like a Man,” a classic composition from TYA, which definitely raised the concept to a higher level. A vague murmur in the room, when the first notes are heard.
It is important here to pause briefly to stress that, in certain aspects, Alvin Lee’s music approaches and evokes hard rock (or heavy metal, if you prefer…). It differs from it, however, due to the rare use he makes of distortion. Quite the contrary of the noisy channel of the aforementioned sonic plague (with evident envy), Lee has always preferred clarity and precision, filling space almost exclusively through the infinite multiplication of notes and not simply through their prolongation.
Undoubtedly, clichés and repetitions abound in Alvin Lee’s playing (although it may not appear so at first glance). But, curiously, the juxtaposition of accelerated and incessant clichés and repetitions produces a magnificent chain reaction, endowed with its own personality. It becomes curious, at times, to note that, suddenly, a note or a chord seems to be perfectly redundant and indispensable at the same time.
This is essential at a certain point in musical tissue; its exhaustive repetition by agile guitarist fingers ends up producing a result, creating an emotion. And that is precisely what, since the days of TYA, has led many people to wrinkle their noses—especially those sensitive to this strange and verbose game of guitar. For them, in short, everything is summarized, in Alvin Lee, as a matter of speed and the quantity of notes produced in a minimal space of time. And that shocks them.
It is known that, with Alvin Lee, much more than mere formalism or technique (which Lee had in abundance, no doubt), what matters above all is having the patience to establish with the musician a certain form of complicity, as valid, after all, as any other in musical terms. To believe, in short, that Alvin Lee’s music cannot be reduced to a simple set of easily recognizable effects, nor is it superficial, but above all a matter of attitude and language.
“Do you want to hear the blues?”, Alvin Lee asks a boisterous audience, definitively surrendered to that sonic whirlwind. I don’t know the name of the theme, but it quickly leads me back to the atmosphere of the first TYA albums.
In 1967, Ten Years After were scrupulously catalogued as a blues band, as were, moreover, groups such as Jethro Tull or Fleetwood Mac. This was called the “blues boom,” or “British blues.” The fashions needed labels, and new groups of all eras have needed the labels of fashions, whatever the quality of their music. Consequently, the TYA brand image was, for some years (1967–70, with the release of the album *Cricklewood Green*), that of a blues-rock band. Alvin Lee embraced themes such as “Spoonful” or “Help Me,” with interventions whose duration invariably led to astonishment and immediate admiration.
Alvin Lee and Leo Lyons had known other habits of the high-level rock circuit (London, Hamburg…), and had always felt attracted to strongly rhythmic and “felt” music, whether it came from jazz, blues, or rock. It is interesting to note that, even after the band’s break-up, TYA’s music was successively labeled as jazz-rock, blues-rock, and, behold, hard rock. As for the connection, however, the same elements were always present: rhythmic force, solos played at 100 miles an hour, emotional impact.
Now, it is true that the blues perfume was very marked in certain interpretations by the group, but let us be convinced: any amateur of B.B. King would easily do something similar. But at this point the label ends, to truly mark the musician.
In the case of Alvin Lee, in fact, one never hears a theme that aims to exactly reproduce what happened before; quite the opposite. There exists, in fact, a whole abyss that separates Alvin Lee from the old Chicago bluesmen. An abyss of context and of perspective. Nevertheless, the same happened to all the great British guitarists of the 1960s, from Eric Clapton to Peter Green, passing through Papa Mayall. Consequently, it is not on this side that Alvin Lee’s music can be attacked. He did no more than adapt to his type of music what he loved, attributing to it a very personal character.
“Convention Prevention,” one of TYA’s blues compositions, for example, only for a short time sticks to a blues rhythm, because quickly everything begins to change, to agitate, to accelerate. Ric Lee, on percussion, sets the engine running, and then, successively, Chic Churchill, Leo Lyons, Alvin Lee, at an increasing speed.
“Good Morning Little Schoolgirl,” an old bluesman classic by Isaiah Ross, also illustrates the special treatment given by Lee to his blues interpretations: the guitar quickly finds its path, riffs follow one another at breathtaking speed, the paroxysm increases—it is impossible to remain indifferent to that crescendo of devastation.
For all these reasons, perhaps, it is that TYA (and Alvin Lee) were never truly placed among the best of their time. Not because of lack of quality, but because of the exclusivity of the musician. In other words, if heavy metal is not the sheer volume with which it is played, but the mouthful of whoever currently plays it. Said and not said. Quite the contrary.
*Carlos Marinho Falcão*
—
## **MORE DIFFICULT LIVE**
Sooner or later it had to happen. And it did, at the end of ten years of criticism: practically all jazz manifestations in Lisbon—on records and live—forced me to begin my text by speaking of aesthetics.
Aesthetics—what is it? It is the theory of values applied to the so-called “artistic” manifestations (in fact, it is more than that, but for our case, it serves perfectly). Like almost all jazz lovers now in their forties, I saw the light of day born from the mouth of Charlie Parker’s saxophone. Whether I understood it or liked it when I heard it for the first time is irrelevant. I listened so many times, for so many years on end, that I could not help but eventually come to truly like it.
Everything I was later able to understand—backward or forward—came through bop. By refusing, conceding, marveling, or turning my back in boredom, it was always as if I were engaged in recognizing a new terrain, from which I always returned home. Incredible—
—
It was already well past two in the morning when this conversation with Alvin Lee began. He smelled of soap, not tired, professional and attentive, without concern for time limits, although he had to catch the train to Porto a few hours later. Outside, in the middle of the street, at the promoter’s insistence, he agreed to give an interview after hours, about 60 minutes after the fantastic show he had given at the Belenenses.
Scattered through the corridors and lounges of the hotel, completely deserted at that hour of the morning, the three of us—Carlos Marinho Falcão, Luís Ramos (photographer), and your servant—waited with some expectation for the elevator door to open and let this old Sixties superstar pass by, so charismatic and virtuosic. Newspapers and French publications always referred to Alvin Lee as “Le Beau Alvin,” an absolutely correct expression in this case. The interviewee is a specimen of the masculine sex of the most finished beauty, with a face not devastated by the years.
As soon as he left the elevator, he greeted us pleasantly, sitting in the only available place, on the sofa, next to Carlos, who immediately stood up to exchange places with me, settling him into the armchair opposite.
**Alvin Lee (laughing)** — Ah! That’s much better!
**M&S** — I’m still impressed by tonight’s show, by its strength and impact. Are your concerts usually like this?
**Alvin Lee** — Tonight’s concert was a good show. I think the others I do are similar. Today’s audience, however, was a rock ’n’ roll audience. Exceptional. The audience was absolutely devastating!
**M&S** — You were using the same guitar as at Woodstock, weren’t you?
**Alvin Lee** — I always play the same guitar. For me it is exactly like an old friend. I’m very used to it. For a guitarist like me, the older the guitar, the better it sounds. It’s an affective issue.
**M&S** — You were one of the biggest superstars of the 60s. From one moment to the next, you abandoned the race. Was that voluntary?
**Alvin Lee** — That superstar thing is an invention of the media and social communication. In America they started writing and saying that I was a rock star. I want to be known as a musician! I love playing guitar. As for being or not being a star, that is of little importance to me. Names and labels interest me little.
**M&S** — Currently, what is your composition method? Do you write alone or do the others participate?
**Alvin Lee** — I really like working with others. I don’t like composing alone. I like having someone close to me. That way my ideas become more balanced, with others’ collaboration.
**M&S** — Mick Taylor has played a lot with your band lately. How did that come about?
**Alvin Lee** — It happened naturally, without any special story behind it. He appeared in jam sessions at the studio, and we talked about playing some concerts together. But we never thought it would last long. We did it for the pleasure of doing it.
**M&S** — Do you prefer live albums or studio recordings?
**Alvin Lee** — There is a certain difference in precision between the two types of LPs. It’s very difficult to capture in the studio the freshness of live sound during a show. If you play a wrong note during a concert, it almost goes unnoticed. In the studio, you have to go back and redo it. People worry more, in the studio, about doing everything right.
**M&S** — What about future work—more precisely, your next album?
**Alvin Lee** — I think my last two works are okay, but I want my next one to be more ethnic. I want to do it more from an ethnic perspective… probably, very probably, it will be based on blues, rhythm and blues…
**M&S** — I imagine being a guitarist of your kind requires a very special effort…
**Alvin Lee** — Oh yes! It requires immense effort, a lot of work, a lot of self-discipline. To reach a reasonable level, it’s necessary to practice endlessly, 3 to 4 hours a day. I practiced a lot. I started as a kid. The issue isn’t what you play, it’s playing and gaining a lot of practice.
**M&S** — Do you think guitarists today worry much about acquiring the practice you talked about?
**Alvin Lee** — I think today’s guitarists want to look good, want to become stars at any cost. They’re more rock stars than musicians. I’m not very interested in being fashionable. I know what I can do with my guitar. The press oscillates a lot in its opinions about any artist.
**M&S** — How do you manage to endure so many years in such a wearing business? There were musicians who couldn’t take it, like Steve Winwood…
**Alvin Lee** — I love this life I lead. I have no other profession. I wouldn’t know how to do anything else.
**M&S** — How many years have you been doing this? Fifteen? Eighteen?
**Alvin Lee** — About twenty years. In fact, one of the reasons that led me to end Ten Years After was precisely the fact that they didn’t want to go on tour. I would get very nervous if I didn’t play for a few months, and they didn’t see that.
**M&S** — If you had to summarize the balance of an entire 20-year career in a few words…
**Alvin Lee** — Hmmmm… I can say, with conviction, that I’ve been very lucky over the years, and I’ve taken advantage of that luck. In the early days, I was always broke. In the first eight years of my career, more precisely. We felt happy just to play and to have an audience willing to applaud us. In fact, the little money we earned, we had no time to spend. We came straight from tours. The manager would say, “Look, here’s the money,” and we would immediately leave again, so we had no time to eat. I’ve always been someone who believed in dreams. And the reality of dreams has to be taken as a commitment. I always tried to assume my commitments. I think the fight for an ideal is valid and excellent. Everyone must have a goal and try to reach it. If they don’t, they become frustrated. And I think a musician owes a lot to his audience. The audience can do a lot for an artist. It can push him forward.
**M&S** — Why did you perform in Portugal with only two other musicians?
**Alvin Lee** — I think that in a band where there are only three elements, everyone has to work much harder. Our band is basically a rock ’n’ roll band. If there were more of us, we’d have more difficulty hearing each other.
—
**M&S** — I heard that for some years you stopped playing “Goin’ Home” live. Did the Woodstock festival and film influence that decision?
**Alvin Lee** — If I look back, I see that the film made us tremendously famous all over the world. After the film started circulating worldwide, the fame of *Ten Years After* reached a peak. We started to have a younger audience. Before, people listening to us were between 18 and 24. After the film came out, our audience included huge numbers between 13 and 20. We began to give shows for more than 20,000 people. Everything started to be done on a large scale, and things began to lose their grace. We liked playing in small clubs, feeling close to the audience. For three or four years, I refused to play the song that made me so well known. Then one day, one of the band members suggested the theme and I took it up again. It was Tom, my drummer, who was responsible for including the theme in live performances. I thought it was funny to play a theme like that, and from then on I decided to interpret it more often.
**M&S** — Do you think the lyrics of “Goin’ Home” have a special meaning, or are they just like any other lyrics?
**Alvin Lee** — To tell the truth, I’ve already written over 200 songs, and I can say that all of them correspond to a construction scheme in which arrangement and assembly play a role. I wrote the lyrics to “Goin’ Home” during a concert. The audience wouldn’t shut up — they wanted more and more. And *Ten Years After* had nothing else to give, so I started doing the number right there, composing it as I was playing. I think that in rock ’n’ roll, themes aren’t very important. Lyrics are a pretext for singing. They sound good that way, and that’s how a theme is built. In this type of music, lyrics don’t have very deep meaning.
With all this conversation, it was already almost four in the morning. Alvin Lee was still there, fresh and ready for another five hundred questions. A mime, it’s clear. My morale, which had last been seen around one in the morning, trying to hide under the carpet of the room, was completely gone. My smile was as worn out as a diplomat’s smile. Hunger was so strong that I couldn’t even hit the mark anymore. On top of that, the room was so cheerful that it felt like a catacomb. So all that was left was to make a dignified retreat.
**Overall impression** — Alvin Lee is one of the most sensational people I have ever met: an excellent musician, gentle, attentive, professional without tantrums or fuss, carefully weighing his answers. In short, any adjective such as marvelous, sensational, exceptional, and the like would fall far short of reality.
