Jan Akkerman of Focus: The ClassicRockHistory.com Interview

Feature Photo courtesy of Jan Akkerman

Growing up as a child accordion player in Amsterdam, Netherlands, Jan Akkerman couldn’t have known that one day, with a Les Paul in hand, he’d change the course of rock history. To that end, as far as progressive rock goes explicitly, groups like Pink Floyd, Genesis, and Jethro Tull get the lion’s share of attention. And that checks out, considering David Gilmour, Steve Hackett, and Martin Barre changed the game six ways to Sunday.

Back in the late-60s and early-70s, genre expansiveness was the name of the game, and few did it better than the above, save for one outlier, Jan Akkerman, who, with Focus, unassumingly interweaved jazz, classical, blues, and hard rock into a technicolor tapestry. Albums like Focus Plays Focus (1970) and Focus II, aka Moving Waves (1971), were game-changers, as was their uber-underrated live record, At the Rainbow (1973).

Still, one song in particular, “Hocus Pocus,” from Moving Waves, earned the most attention. “The thing with ‘Hocus Pocus’ is that after paying it five million times, I got fed up,” Akkerman tells ClassicRockHistory.com. “For a moment, I said, ‘No more ‘Hocus Pocus,” because I felt there were other things in the world. I liked the idea of that song, but other people really loved it beyond that.”

Akkerman stuck with Focus for two more three records, Focus 3 (1973), which featured another unexpected hit in “Sylvia,” Hamburger Concerto (1974), and Mother Focus (1975), before hitting the road for a prolonged solo and session career. At the time, he paid no mind to the fact that he’d aided in changing the game. And to a degree, still doesn’t. “I never thought about it in that sense,” he admits. “For me, music is music.”

He continues, “If it’s progressive, or whatever they want to call it—that’s fine. They can give it that name. But I never stick to one form of music; I don’t identify with only progressive things. If it has that name, that’s great. But it’s very important to me to make music that has unity and is diverse.”

In the years since leaving Focus, Akkerman nabbed a Dutch Edison Award in 1976 for his solo record, Eli. He implemented everything from parallel fifths to guitar synths, reunited with Focus in the mid-80s, and found himself in the studio with Jack Bruce, Phil Collins, Paco de Lucia, Ice-T, and B.B. King.

A nasty back injury via a car accident in ’92 nearly took him out of the game for good, but Akkerman not only came back but hit harder than ever, rattling off ten studio records and eight live records, with more on the way. “For me, new music is an open field,” Akkerman says of what’s next. “I’d maybe like to get more into early folk music, I think.”

“I’d also like to get back into theaters in 2024 and play more Focus music,” he says. “Maybe I’ll do that this year. There are many Focus songs I’ve never played live because they were stepping stones to the so-called ‘famous songs’ that were state-of-the-art, so I’d like to dive into a different side and add another twist to the whole thing. That’s my greatest challenge, but I look forward to it.”

What initially inspired you to pick up the guitar?

I started by playing the accordion and was very into that early on. But once I heard Django [Reinhardt] play “Gypsy Camp, that was it—I was sold on guitar. When I heard that, and Arthur Smith’s “Guitar Boogie,” that was the stuff that really did it for me.

Did your early background with the accordion impact how you approached the guitar?

Oh, of course. I was into the accordion until I was five, six, or seven. I wasn’t in an accordion orchestra or anything, but that’s what I played first. Then, I became acquainted with Italian music, like opera and rusticana. So, for some reason, the accordion and those other things really influenced me enormously—especially with Focus and the homological textures of the songs.

Can you remember your first guitar and some of the first things you learned to play?

While I was still playing accordion, a blacksmith worked on the corner near where I lived, and he had a guitar hanging in his shop. That was the guitar that I learned some early things on. When he began teaching me, I truly fell in love with the guitar. And like I said, later, songs like “Gypsy Camp” began to creep in. I was learning accordion and guitar simultaneously for a time, but the guitar won out.

And one of your first bands was the Friendship Sextet, right?

Yes. That was a lot of modern R&B songs where most of the guitar licks were more bluesy. I liked that kind of stuff, but I wasn’t so acquainted with blues players like John Lee Hooker, for example, or the other guys. But later, I learned much of that stuff, which extended the things that influenced me heavily beyond the other things I mentioned. How could it not?

Not long after that, you dove headfirst into classical music. How did that impact your guitar playing?

I guess it kind of led me to grow up. For some reason, I was very curious about things. I think that’s a good way for everyone to be, you know? I was very interested in discovering more types of music, instruments, etc. I ended up going to school [Amsterdam Music Lyceum], and I found that I’d rather be learning about new things all the time. That’s how it was with music; it was beautiful.

How did you first meet Pierre van der Linden?

I had gotten sacked by a band I was with called Brainbox, which wasn’t so bad as I was only in the band for six or seven months. For some reason, probably because of envy, jealousy, and all the other feelings one has in this world, I got kicked out. But before this, I was in a band with Pierre called Johnny and his Cellar Rockers, so I knew him from there.

Before the formation of Focus, you were in The Thijs Van Leer Trio, which led to Focus. How did that go down?

The bass player said, “Hey, we need a guitar player,’ and that evolved into me getting the chance to come and jam with them. This was the start of the band that would become Focus, but like you said, it was not called Focus yet. This jam session was how Focus came into existence. I believe we came up with the name of the band because there was a magazine called Focus, which was about photo gadgets, and we said, “That sounds good; why not?” It felt like a good opportunity because it was the best move toward growing, and I was right.

I’m sure that as you began to blend jazz, classical, and rock, you weren’t aware that you were aiding in creating a new genre of music in progressive rock.

Oh, of course, we didn’t know. It’s funny because I’ve seen films and documentaries about this, but music is about evolution. It seems stupid to say, but what we were doing was just an example of that evolution. We certainly did not realize that what we were doing would cause the shit to hit the fan!

What did your guitar and amp setup look like in those early days?

I didn’t really use any effects in those days, and it was mainly Fender amps. I also had a Fender Telecaster that I liked, and I used that a lot on the first Focus record. But the first guitar that I truly fell in love with was a Gibson Les Paul Black Beauty. That was the thing that kind of lifted me to a higher level, I guess.

Do you remember what vintage your Tele and Black Beauty were?

I had gotten the Telecaster while I was Brainbox, so it would have been a ’68 or a ’69, somewhere from around that era. It was a black Telecaster, and like I said, I used that on the first Focus record. If you listen carefully, you can tell I’m using one. As for the Black Beauty, that would have been a 1954.

Given the amalgam of genres present in Focus’s music, how would you best explain your approach?

I never had a clue as far as what I was trying to do [laughs]. I just went for things that sounded pleasing and that everyone felt sounded great. I liked sounds that melted and glued things together. For some reason, Telecaster and the Black Beauty did that for me. But the Black Beauty spoke to me because it gave me more sustain, and I liked the sound of the pickups a lot in the beginning.

What’s the story behind the pickups in the Black Beauty, as they didn’t appear to be stock?

During the pre-Brainbox/Focus period, I played the Gretsch White Falcon, a gift from my father, in 1963, until the Focus days, when I started to use the Tele and the Black Beauty. I loved the sound so much of my Falcon that I took the pickups from the Falcon in my Black Beauty but rewired the pickups wrongly and triggered this whole Di Marzio/Duncan customize thing into a mega business. So, that was another successful failure of my playing.

Focus II, also known as Moving Waves, ended up as a pillar or prog. What are your memories?

In those days, even before Focus, I listened to a lot of John Coltrane, Django, and all sorts of things. And with “Hocus Pocus,” I remember I was listening to a lot of The White Album by The Beatles. I loved the craziness of that album, and I’d be listening to that with one ear while having the other fixed on the television while sitting on the floor with a guitar. I’d come up with a heavy lick, and through that sort of process, tracks like “Hocus Pocus” and that album came together. That album has a lot of different influences layered in.

By then, was it still Fender amps and your Black Beauty?

Yes, in those days, it was mostly just my Les Paul. At first, I used big solid-state Fender amps, but the studio was too small, so I found smaller 30-watt amps for the recording. But I still felt like I needed amps with more sustain, so I went for a walk in London to Shaftesbury Ave, where there were they had a lot of music shops, and I found some great gear.

Like what?

While I was there, I saw this thing called Colorsound [Supa Tonebender Fuzz], which had boost, treble, and bass; instinctively, I felt that gadget would do the trick and it did. The problem later when touring the States was that I had every radio station in the neighborhood because this thing not only boosted the guitar sound but also worked as an inductor. I worked with some great technical engineers and got it to where the highs, mids, and lows were better.

Did the success of that record take you by surprise?

Well, in a way, yes. I guess it did alright in the polls, right? It’s a funny album because there’s a lot of heavy rock on there, but also yodeling to the point where it’s almost half opera [laughs]. It was kind of like a big opera-type story; the only thing missing was stabling a knife in each other’s back, but that happened later anyway.

“Hocus Pocus” gets a lot of attention, but I’ve always loved the fifteen-part suite, “Eruption.”

With “Eruption,” that was kind of this weird, patched-together thing. It was a true conglomeration of ideas. That’s the nice thing about fusion, jazz, and even rock—there’s things you can’t calculate in advance, but sometimes, in the right place, or at the right time, they come together.

Another big hit was “Sylvia” from Focus 3.

Funnily, the only thing I remember about recording “Sylvia” was that I added depth with a second guitar part to make it sound like a Doppler effect, or something odd like that. I didn’t want to use effects, so I just played the part a second time, doubled it, and got what I wanted. It was easy and only took me maybe five minutes. I never expected the song to be so popular; I thought it was a song with a nice melody, and that was it.

Focus’s live record, At the Rainbow, doesn’t get enough attention. Did your mindset change while playing live?

No, I didn’t care about those sorts of things. I didn’t like playing live more than the studio, or vice versa. It was just a different discipline; that’s all. Playing the guitar is playing the guitar, but what I did like about playing live and doing the live record was it gave me more room to be creative. In the studio, sometimes you overthink things, but live, if you make a mistake, you don’t pay it as much attention, and you’re on to the next thing. It’s like life in that way [laughs].

Considering how much you loved your Les Paul, what led to you hooking up with Framus for one of the first-ever signature guitars, the Akkerman?

Well, I liked the Framus because I designed it myself. It’s a similar shape to a Les Paul, and they were making them at a good factory, and they weren’t broke, so I felt good about it. I loved my Les Paul, but I also loved my Tele and my Broadcaster, so I liked guitars that were less about luxury. At the time, I was very happy with my Framus and played it as much as possible.

You added more guitar synths after leaving Focus as a solo artist in the ’80s. What led to that?

My experimental period! It goes back to what I said earlier—I like to experiment. At the time, those things were fairly new to Europe, where it was almost like the Renaissance in the 14th or 15th centuries, you know? I even got into drum machines and, like you said, guitar synthesizers because I liked the sounds that came out of them and that I could make with them. It’s like, “Oh, I can make a cow’s moo on a guitar,” which was an example of something I never thought possible but also thought was funny [laughs].

Along with your solo work, you worked with Ice-T, which must have been a particularly interesting session.

I can play on anything from European opera to French or Dutch music; whatever. Artists tend to think about a lot of the same things, and they’re mostly very polite and nice to work with. But while that’s happening, they poison each other and maybe sing about things like putting a knife in one’s back, which is different from what I was used to. Sometimes, I get called to do things; even if it’s not my thing, it can be fun. Regardless of what it is, what I bring is always kind of the same because I can’t really do anything else than be me.

Having said that, what was it like working with B.B. King?

Oh, it was great. He was fantastic. He kind of invented that type of blues, right? While playing with him, I realized that I had picked up more things from him over the years than I ever realized. So, that was strange because, like you said, his thing was the blues, like typical blues, and that’s different from me. Working with a guy like him was like learning a new language, but one which makes you wiser, though not luckier [laughs].

How did your car accident in 1992 impact the way you played after that?

It’s always difficult to overcome a sickness or injury. I had broken my back in several places and found myself in a wheelchair. The recovery was slow to the point that I felt like I could only move maybe a tenth of a millimeter, and if I did so the wrong way, I’d never walk again. But after some time, I was able to move around again, which was amazing. It was hard, and I couldn’t play for over a year. To that, I always say, “Thank God it’s over.”

What finally got you back on the road again after not touring for a long time?

I got to a point where I just wanted to get out there again. That’s a very human thing. I’m a musician first and foremost, and I wanted to get back out and play for people again. I’ve always considered it a privilege to play for people and be in front of an audience. I missed that and was ready to get back out there.

When you look back, which record you’ve been a part of means the most to you?

It sounds cliché, but they’re all good! They’re all good, man. The problem for me is not in the music. Let’s put that upfront. I love the music of Focus. The problem is the right or wrong synergy—or whatever you want to call it—that’s involved. I said earlier that envy and jealousy are factors, and those feelings are often underestimated. So, that’s the stuff that factors in for me rather than how good the music was—it’s all good. Every album is like one of my babies.

I don’t suppose a Focus reunion is in the cards.

No, no, no. I mean… the idea is, of course, very tempting, but there are plenty of other tempting things in life, too. Life is full of temptation. Life is basically one big risk after another. So, for me to get involved in that again, part of me thinks that would be crazy. You don’t have to be crazy to make music, but maybe it helps a little!