When the 19-year-old Roger Meddows Taylor announced in the summer of 1968 that he’d decided to enrol on a dentistry course, there was some surprise within his peer group and the wider community of Truro in South-West England. It wasn’t that anyone doubted that the Norfolk-born Roger had the brains to become a dentist – unlike many British wannabe rock stars of his era, he’d prospered at school (though he didn’t enjoy studying), and there was no doubt he’d pursue a skilled profession of some kind. But until that summer, he’d never – to anyone’s knowledge – expressed the slightest interest in dentistry. A 1985 edition of Roger’s old school magazine revealed that his miraculous conversion to dentistry was triggered by the deputy head Dick Taylor, who’d advised him that there wasn’t much of a financial future in playing the drums. In fact, drumming was just one string to Roger’s bow – he’d started out playing the ukulele, then moved to guitar.
But drums became the fair-haired, blue-eyed Roger’s overriding love. Inspired by the early records of Little Richard and Jerry Lee Lewis, he was spurred into action by the arrival of the skiffle craze in the early-1960s. He wasted no time asking his dad for a drum kit, and soon began banging about in his parents’ garage. In 1963 he heard ‘Wipe Out’ – a seminal slice of percussive glory by the American instrumental band The Surfaris. The driving toms played by drummer Ron Wilson sent Roger’s head into a spin. Along with Sandy Nelson’s ‘Let There Be Drums’, ‘Wipe Out’ proved to be a pivotal influence.
Roger started gigging around Truro in a succession of bands, eventually becoming the drummer and lead vocalist of The Reaction, who are remembered as the town’s most legendary musical attraction. They won multiple talent contests, and even supported The Kinks at the Flamingo Ballroom: one of the area’s most prestigious venues. Not only had Roger carved a niche for himself as the most creative drummer in Cornwall, but his sparkling good looks also made him a local heartthrob. Rock-’n’-roll greatness surely beckoned.
Given that his sudden passion for studying dentistry involved transplanting himself to London – a city crowded with ambitious young musicians, managers, venues, recording studios and record labels – a suspicious soul might well conclude that Roger’s plan to move had an ulterior motive. His mother thought so, telling her son that when he got to London, he wasn’t to immediately start scouting around for like-minded, long-haired rock musicians to form a band with. Unfortunately for Mrs. Taylor, Roger was doing precisely that. Before the ink had dried on his London Hospital Medical College enrolment form, he’d begun auditioning for various bands, later remembering the unpleasant rigmarole of waiting in turn with ‘80 drum kits all in a row’. Eventually, courtesy of a note pinned up in the students’ union at Imperial College, he hooked up with Tim Staffell – a bassist/singer studying at Ealing Art College – and Brian May: an alarmingly tall, thin, pale Physics graduate who’d started a PhD on the nature of zodiacal light. When Brian wasn’t beavering away with his research, he was spending most of his time with Tim, rattling the walls with a rather unusual homemade electric guitar.
Having left his drum kit in Cornwall, Roger attended his initial Smile audition armed only with a hum
