The truth about my Dad and rock god Suzi Quatro
“She’s great that Suzi Quatro.”
It’s Friday evening at the end of the 70s and my dad’s watching Happy Days with me and my brother.
I say “watching” not “enjoying” because Happy Days was always lame as — one dopey situation after another glued together with canned laughter.
But I’m 7, my brother’s 10 and we’ve a grand total of 3 TV channels to choose from. So Happy Days it is.
In the middle of all the lameness arrives a creature from another universe.
Suzi Quatro is a growling rock hellraiser, a badass bassist in a black leather catsuit.
She opened the decade with a string of hits including Can the Can, Daytona Demon and 48 Crash, and closed it as Leather Tuscadero, a stomping Happy Days cameo who beats the Fonz at his own cool game.
Dad’s clearly taken. “If Suzi Quatro came and rang our doorbell, I’d leave your mother for her.”
Now 7-year-olds aren’t known for their sophisticated sense of humour — cartoons would make my brother and I crease up, as would anything to do with farts. Looking back I can see my dad’s always been a joker — but at the time I had no idea that he was pulling my leg.
So for weeks I dreaded Suzi Q strutting down the path to our home in Chiseldon, Swindon, taking a long drag from her Marlboro before pressing our bell with a black leather finger and luring my dad away.
Thankfully Suzi didn’t make it onto my dad’s Devil Gate Drive. So my childhood dread slowly subsided.
…
Happy Days, however, never went away. A few months later, the dubious teenagers Richie, Fonzie and Ralph Malph are back on our TV — and so is Leather.
“Suzi Quatro — great,” chuckles Dad, this time loud enough for Mum to hear. “I’d leave your mother for Suzi Quatro!”
Mum pokes her head into the front room to check what she’s being wound up about.
“You’ll be lucky!” she concludes. In a house filled with boys, Mum gave as good as she got.
Reeling her in, Dad once again pretends to confide in us that if Suzi Q came a calling, he’d be off like a shot.
Barely missing a beat, Mum responds: “You go off with Suzi Quatro if you want. I’m running away with David Essex.”
They both laugh about this for ages. I can’t see anything funny at all. Now not only am I on the lookout for Suzi Q, I also have to be wary of a certain gruff-voiced charmer whisking Mum away on his Silver Dream Machine.
Thankfully a couple of years later we move up the road to the posh part of Swindon — Mum and Dad still happily married, our lives unbothered by bell-pressing rockstars.
…
It’s Friday evening at the end of the 90s and my dad’s watching Top of the Pops with me and my brother, both on a rare visit home.
A kickass singer songwriter is performing the latest in a long run of UK hits, guitar strapped around her shoulder as she effortlessly beats the boys at their own game.
“She’s great that Sheryl Crow,” Dad declares.
“If Sheryl Crow came and rang our doorbell, I’d leave your mother for her.”
