The Session Man

Bluesky

The Session Man is a simple film with a simple structure: a linear progression divided into chapters, telling its story in chronological order. Just as simple melodies did in the hands of Nicky Hopkins, however, it sprouts little flourishes which persistently surprise and enchant, revealing hidden depths, giving it a satisfying richness.

Nicky was never famous, but his name is well known amongst UK and US musicians of the Sixties, Seventies and Eighties. A classical pianist by training, he made popular music with a couple of bands, gigging in pubs as part of The Savages, later moving up in the Cyril David All-Stars. It was Crohn’s disease that brought him down. It’s bad enough now, and back then there was very little medication available to manage the symptoms, very little known about diets that might help. Touring in that situation seemed impossible, so Nicky took up the offer of session work from a producer who was awed by his skills. He would go on to work with the Kinks, the Who, the Beatles and the Stones, as well as many more, and make a substantial contribution to music history.

Michael Treen’s film includes an interview with biographer Julian Dawson, who helps to flesh out the parts of Nicky’s life outside the world of music, and widow Moira Hopkins addresses both the creative and the personal. There’s also an impressive list of musicians he worked with, bulked out by archive interviews which are so smoothly integrated that you’ll barely notice. one of the most enjoyable things about the film is the way that those who happen to be sitting at keyboards casually recreate some of Nicky’s innovations, illustrating how thoroughly they have been integrated into the musical lexicon, yet marvelling at the difference they made.

Everybody here speaks of Nicky with admiration and love. Documentaries which verge on the hagiographic can easily become irritating, but this is so natural and sincere that it doesn’t feel like that at all. The good impression he made seems in part to have stemmed from his lack of ego, which meant he could get along with notoriously temperamental stars even when they were furious with one another. The presence of Harry Shearer, whose Derek Smalls is famously the lukewarm water between the fire and ice of Spinal Tap’s frontmen, seems all the more fitting in the circumstances (Nicky contributed to Tap’s Rainy Day Sun).

Nicky’s time in the US, touring with the Jeff Beck band during a period when his health was comparatively stable, is covered in slightly less depth, the film being quite UK-centric, but it’s still substantial enough to be of interest to fans – and when the subject is the music of that era, one can’t really complain about a heavy focus on London. This is very much a film for musicians, and the more familiar you are with the art of composition, the more you’ll get out of it. That said, it’s so well made, modest though it is – and so warm-hearted – that it’s hard to imagine anyone disliking it or getting bored.

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