‘I want to be nobody,’ mused the inebriated man, ‘…because then.’ he added thoughtfully, ‘I can become anybody,’ and he picked at his teeth in solicitous contemplation. ‘And if I’m anybody then I’m in the perfect position to be,’ he continued, and this really made him smile, ‘…the somebody that I always wanted to be.’ And at that he laughed, and as he laughed a gust of fragrant wind swept about him and took away his words forever.

Frank Travis was the man who lived for music. He was a 'Rock and Roll' renegade and the very antithesis of a corporate music company executive. He was a man of harmonious vision and for three decades had been the pop world’s mr fixit. He was also a chain-smoking, womanising alcoholic whose best selling book ‘The Philosophy of Decadence.’ had made him a millionaire, and earned him the reputation of being one of the most controversial figures in contemporary media. It was in the very early hours of a Sunday morning that he found himself compelled to leave his luxury apartment and take a stroll along the North bank of London’s river Thames. He was somewhere between Tower bridge and Canary Wharf (and somewhere between drunkenness and sobriety) when he decided that his life should take a drastic change. Thirty years ago he’d walked the same walk, except then he’d been on the verge of bankruptcy. A couple of disastrous business ventures had left him penniless and homeless. Fate dictated that he share a squat with several out of work musicians. He recognised their talents and encouraged them to play. He got them gigs and publicity and by sheer bloody-minded perseverance (and not without a little luck) a recording contract.