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“He said ‘who the fuck are you?” so I said, “I’m the bass player”. And all he said was “Well, we’ll see about that, won’t we?” When Tubby Hayes arrived at the Hopbine, Wembley’s popular jazz pub, one evening in the spring of 1965, his career was in a state of flux; still topping polls and casting an impressive shadow over the British jazz scene, he nevertheless remained frustrated. The elongated free-flights of John Coltrane and Sonny Rollins now held his fascination and although actively search…