The mystery of 'lost' rock genius Lee Mavers

By Shaun CurranFeatures correspondent

Just over 30 years ago, band The La's released their sole LP – a masterpiece that shaped guitar music. But its brilliant frontman has been elusive ever since, writes Shaun Curran.

Lee Mavers is the frontman, songwriter, and creative force of The La's, a British band from the northern city of Liverpool. The La's only made one album, enjoyed just one hit single and haven't released a note of new music since 1990. Yet the band's legacy and place in rock history supersedes their slim output. That single, There She Goes, remains as perfect a slice of guitar pop as anything since their Liverpool forebears The Beatles and is the crown jewel in a treasured canon that has become a touchstone for generations of bands. The La's helped to usher in the 90s Britpop era in British guitar music, led by the likes of Oasis and Blur – Noel Gallagher once declared that "Oasis want to finish what The La's started" – while their influence has stretched beyond that to bands from The Libertines to Arctic Monkeys and Fontaines DC. "It's like The Velvet Underground," says former La's guitarist Barry Sutton. "Maybe not everyone knows about The La's, but everyone who did went out and formed a band or was touched by [the music] in a really deep way". 

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It says everything about the scale of Mavers' talent that his reputation as a genius is based on such little recorded material. But his beautifully succinct songs, covered by artists ranging from Robbie Williams to Pearl Jam, have placed him in the lineage of classic songwriters, winning a devoted following and the admiration of music legends. In 1991, Eric Clapton told Rolling Stone that "the only thing I've really liked (recently) is a guy called Lee Mavers… he's got a stance and a style that I think is tremendous", while in 2013 The Smiths' former guitarist Johnny Marr told Q magazine that Mavers "is as good as everyone thinks he is".

Yet Mavers is now considered by many to be one of pop's great "lost" figures. Over the last three decades, he has steadfastly refused to release any of the songs he's written. Since 1991, Mavers has played just 20 official concerts, the last of which was nearly 10 years ago. His public appearances are so scarce that for some journalists, tracking him down became a holy grail: Matthew Macefield wrote an entire book, 2003's A Secret Liverpool: In Search of The La's, dedicated to his four-year quest to get an audience with Mavers, which he eventually did at his Liverpool home. His enigmatic nature is one reason why, with rock music currently lacking truly maverick figures, Mavers still holds the imagination of not just fans, but the press and industry at large: despite years of inactivity, his status is such that as recently as 2015, he was rumoured to be working on music with Liam Gallagher.

Recently celebrating its 30th anniversary, the La's self-titled debut is a cult album in the truest sense. It only reached number 30 in the charts and sold relatively few copies on release. Influenced by The Beatles, The Who, Love and Pink Floyd, its acoustic rhythms, 1960s sensibility and pure melodicism were at odds with the era's prevailing scenes of Madchester, grunge and shoegaze. But it is precisely that ageless quality that has weathered so well. Songs like Timeless Melody and the epic Looking Glass display a rare gift for songwriting that continues to endure.

Yet the album's legendary status rests not so much on its astounding songs as the bizarre and tortured nature of its recording, which involved Mavers and a revolving door of band members and producers. It is a recording that has only become more infamous over time, with many stories and rumours developing about Mavers' obsessive perfectionism and chaotic studio behaviour – one urban legend said Mavers would gather authentic 1960s dust to sprinkle on instruments in order to cultivate the right vibe.

The band's rocky evolution

For The La's fanatics, separating fact from fiction has always been part of the appeal. This is a band where nothing is ever as it seems. Despite being the main protagonist, Mavers didn't even form The La's (named after both the musical note and the Liverpudlian abbreviation of "lad"). That was musician Mike Badger, who started the band on his own in 1983 in a city of Liverpool that, in the midst of the Thatcher era, was "washed away on a tide of heroin, despondency and unemployment," according to Badger.

Badger and Mavers had briefly met in 1981, but reconnected after a chance meeting at the city's Everyman Theatre in 1984. They hit up a rapport, bonding over Captain Beefheart, and were soon working on each other's songs. "He was a very funny guy, very talented, very cool guy," Badger tells BBC Culture. "When he played guitar I was like 'there's no one like him'". After enlisting two other members – John Power on bass and Paul Rhodes on drums – the quartet started to gain a considerable following and put down demos of many of the tracks that would make up their debut album. "We'd done all the work, and that's when all the problems started," Badger says. Over time, Mavers had become less interested in Badger’s contributions, and increasingly confrontational. A pre-gig fight in December 1986 saw Badger leave his own group. "[Mavers] said to me 'your time’s nearly up in this band'. I was like 'what? It’s not your band mate!' I said 'I'm off', packed my guitar and got on the bus. I was gutted. Two years' work gone overnight".

As The La's songwriter and sole lead, Mavers now had complete control of the band. By 1987, they were newly signed to London label Go! Discs, and armed with great songs and a clear idea: capture the organic sound of their demos for a double album to be named Callin' All. But nothing, or nobody, could meet Mavers' exacting standards. The purity of his vision proved impossible to recreate. Producers, including John Leckie (The Stone Roses, Radiohead) and Mike Hedges (The Cure, Manic Street Preachers) were hired and fired, guitarists and drummers rotated at will. Sutton joined in 1988, and lasted a year. "I don't want to make Lee out as a bad guy, because he’s very funny. But the atmosphere he creates isn't conducive to people doing their best work," he says, reflecting on his short stint. "There's a lot of attention paid to the exact phrasing of parts, strange guitar tunings, a lot of pressure. My playing was suffering, I [was] deeply paranoid all the time. When I was sacked it came as a relief."

In December 1989, Go! Discs turned to producer Steve Lillywhite (U2, Simple Minds), who was initially blown away by Mavers' talent. "Give him an acoustic guitar and pound for pound he's better than anyone. He was dynamite, an amazingly creative person," Lillywhite tells BBC Culture. But familiar problems reared their head. "It was like a game of snakes and ladders," says Lillywhite. "At any point in making the album he heard something he didn't like, it was back to square one".

Go! Discs eventually ran out of patience, and asked Lillywhite to put the album together from the available tapes. Finally, after 12 studio sessions, 10 band members, seven producers, and three years of recording at an estimated cost of £1million, the album was released on 1 October 1990 to widespread critical acclaim. Mavers immediately disowned it. "I hate it," he told NME's Stuart Maconie at the time. "There is not one good thing I can find to say about it… it's like a snake with a broken back".

Lillywhite is philosophical about Mavers' criticisms. "When I listen to the album now I'm still happy, it has some magical moments. But he's the artist: if we didn't get the sound he wanted, we failed. I'll stand with him on this one".

A retreat from the public eye

The La's limped unhappily on before disintegrating following the departure of Power in December 1991. Power, who went on to enjoy success during the Britpop boom as the frontman of another band, Cast, had been a loyal lieutenant and harmonious musical foil. Without him, The La's as everyone knew them were over. Mavers retreated from the public eye, intent on re-recording the songs from their one and only album to his satisfaction. In his absence, the rumour mill in Liverpool – ever the storytelling city – went into overdrive. As detailed in A Secret Liverpool: In Search of The La's, the stories ranged from the amusing to the concerning to the ludicrous: he’d become a painter and decorator; he was a heroin addict; he had actually written Paul Weller's 1995 hit The Changingman. Perhaps best of all was the story that Mavers was living in a monastery, where monks had declared him as talented as Mozart.

These kind of myths are crucial to the cult of Mavers. But the truth is far more prosaic. Very few of the stories – sadly, not even the fabled 1960s dust – have ever been corroborated, while Mavers categorically denied the Weller story to Macefield. Even one that was true – Mavers did succumb to heroin addiction in the 1990s, as he confirmed to author Daniel Rachel in his 2013 book Isle of Noises: Conversations with Great British Songwriters – sparked off another myth, that There She Goes (with its "there she goes again/pulsing through my vein" lyric) was about the drug. Badger writes in his own book, 2015's The Rhythm & The Tide: Liverpool, The La's and the Ever After, that Mavers confirmed to him the rumour was untrue.

All the while, fans have waited expectantly for new music – but it has never arrived. Mavers has spent the intervening years assembling various short-lived incarnations of The La's, forever determined to rerecord that lone debut album while also working on his new songs. In 1999, there was even a secret reunion between Mavers and Badger. "His new songs are great," Badger says. "I gave it six months – but it was just same stuff, different year with his obsessive behaviour. I wish Lee well, but I just couldn’t go there." 

Not even an improbable 2005 reunion tour, with Power back in the fold, brought about the mythical second album. Mavers has barely been seen since, save some guest appearances with Pete Doherty in 2009 – a supposed plan to record with Doherty's band Babyshambles predictably never materialised – and a short stripped-back tour in 2011 with local Liverpool musician Gary Murphy. More than 30 years on, fans are left to infamous online bootlegs of La's songs never officially recorded to hear glimpses of a promised future. The chance of Mavers releasing new music looks more remote than ever. 

I attempted to contact Mavers for this piece but, with no record company or management, he unsurprisingly proved elusive – one person told me sightings of Mavers were so rare he was like a "Scouse unicorn". My email to the address on The La’s official Facebook page bounced back as the inbox was full. I asked interviewees and contacts in the Liverpool music scene for a lead: some were reluctant to help, others tried to contact Mavers through third parties. But promising trails led nowhere, which seems like an apt metaphor.

Separating myth and reality

There are numerous theories as to why he has been so reluctant to continue his musical career, publicly at least. Badger thinks that the omnipresence of There She Goes, covered by the US band Sixpence None The Richer, and a go-to track for romantic moments in film and TV, has been a curse for Mavers as well as a blessing. "It's the best thing that's happened to Lee but also the worst," he says. "He wrote this perfect song, but it's meant he hasn’t had to do anything because he has a constant source of income."

Rachel – the only person to have a sit-down interview with Mavers in the last 19 years, for his aforementioned 2013 book – believes Mavers' public inaction is the result of the extreme artistic integrity of a songwriter unwilling to release material that falls short of his specific ideals. "If he has a sound in his head and he doesn't hear that when he records, then that's a great travesty [for him]," says Rachel. "It's extraordinary to hold [yourself to such unforgiving standards] for this amount of time. There's no precedent for this at all in rock'n'roll history. But why should he compromise? He's not that type of artist".

Whatever the reasons for Mavers' decision to retreat from the music industry, perhaps it shouldn't be a surprise. The lyrics on The La's hint at a soul unhappy with his situation. Throughout the album Mavers sings of being lost, bound, chained, tied, looking for freedom, needing a melody to unblock the thoughts circling his mind. Some lyrics seem to predict what was to come: given his reported preoccupation with rerecording the album, the very opening lines "If you want I'll sell you a life story/about a man who's at loggerheads with his past all the time" now sound particularly prophetic. 

Yet the image of Mavers as the tortured artist needs reassessing. From Brian Wilson to Syd Barrett – to whom Mavers is often compared – the myth of the doomed musical genius suffering for their art pervades popular culture, perpetuating the idea that anguish equates to greatness. But Mavers has rejected that characterisation of him in the past. He told Rachel mockingly: "All the Syd Barrett [stuff]… thanks for giving me that card. I'll play it every time… I couldn't have invented it".

In truth, Mavers is happily living in a suburb of Liverpool, long since clean from drugs and a committed family man. "I'm a father now," he told Rachel. "I haven't done any of that [drugs] for decades… I'm just a fellow that's got four kids and just living and observing as anyone could". Mavers seems content with a quiet life, interested in music purely for its own sake, free from its commercial shackles and expectations. As much as the narrative of what might have been keeps fans interested, perhaps this remarkable talent has given all he wishes to give. "I don't think we’ve lost anything," says Rachel. "He gave me something that’s stayed with me all of my life."

Even as the concept of the reclusive genius gets closer to extinction in this oversharing, social media age, it is arguably to Mavers' credit that he remains as unattainable and unknowable as ever. But for all the myths and legends surrounding him, perhaps it's worth remembering what Mavers told Macefield: "I'm just a man, la. Just a person".

The La's Callin' All: 1986-1987 LP is available on Mike Badger's Viper Label.

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