Right before I folded Growing Old With Rock & Roll the first time, back in 2013, I wrote a four (really five, including an appendix) part series about Columbus, Ohio, rock & roll genius Willie Phoenix. I wrote that series because I couldn’t imagine NOT honoring Willie’s contributions to local Columbus rock & roll and – indeed – rock & roll in general before signing off Growing Old. If I hadn’t met and befriended Willie in February 1978 I wouldn’t be HALF the rocker I am today. I learned more from Willie about songwriting, about rehearsing a band, about attaining a sense of STYLE in rock & roll than from probably anybody else in my life.
That being said, it wasn’t like all that rock & roll education came as a chore. Willie – and the rest of Romantic Noise: Greg Glasgow, John Ballor & Dee Hunt – and I pretty much had a BLAST all through 1978. And it’s not like all this stuff is ancient history; my association with Willie continues to this day. I found the piece reproduced below just this week while researching an article I wrote for Pencil Storm – my good friend Colin Gawel of Watershed’s blog – about the vinyl release of a single by Colin’s project The Willie Phoenix Tribute Machine.
About that 2013 series: You really need to promise me you’ll check those blogs out in tandem with this one. Those were the meat & potatoes of the Willie Phoenix story, this blog is a dessert. Here’s some links: The Ballad Of Willie Phoenix – Part One / Part Two / Part Three / Part Four. (appendix to The Ballad of Willie Phoenix, the songs of Romantic Noise and The Buttons is also cool, and you should check it out.)
For the 21st century PC-minded among you, please keep in mind these stories played out in 1978: before sex could kill you; when being a member of a rock & roll band carried some weight; before FUN was disallowed in rock & roll. I have often said that the two greatest things ever invented in the United States are: 1) the electric guitar, and 2) the American teenage girl. In 1978 Willie and I had the utmost affection & respect for both, when we was kids.
(Romantic Noise, 1978)
(reprinted from Pencil Storm blog: Three Random Willie Phoenix Stories; March, 2015)
I
When I first met Willie in 1978, when he was leading Romantic Noise, the band (Willie, Greg Glasgow on bass & vocals, John Ballor on lead guitar & vocals, and Dee Hunt – the pride of Beckley, West Virginia – on drums) all lived together in a house on 4th Street, right around the corner from that little strip-shopping center on Summit, near Oakland, where Café Bourbon Street and The Summit are now located. (To be exact, I’m not sure Willie lived there all the time. As always, his living arrangements were and are a mystery to me, but he was consistently there whenever I dropped by to visit.)
Frequent visitors to the 4th Street house were The CookieBakers: three teenage girls – Erin, Kim & Cindy, by name – who came to all the bands’ gigs and, true to their name, baked cookies for the boys. It was all really quite innocent & charming; the girls really did bake cookies and bring them to the house. They weren’t groupies exactly, but Kim and Willie “dated” for quite some time and Erin later married and still later was divorced from Greg, so more than chocolate chips were exchanged, if you get my drift.
Anyway, one day in early spring ’78 we were all at the house and Erin was telling an elaborate story about something that had happened at high school that day. She was wearing a longish skirt, but the skirt was also really sheer and once the setting sun starting pouring in the picture window in the front of the house, she might as well NOT HAVE BEEN WEARING A SKIRT AT ALL. So Erin’s jumping around, acting out the story and the guys and I are all stifling laughs, just staring at her essentially naked from the waist down form, when Kim walks back in from the kitchen and yells, “ERIN, WHAT ARE YOU DOING??!!!?”
She pulls a confused Erin out of the sunlight while the rest of us just fall over laughing. Erin turns beet-red and flees the room, pulling her skirt tighter well after the fact and Kim soundly reads us the riot act: “That wasn’t funny, you guys, that was just mean.” I think she might have actually cuffed Willie on the head, and then she spun on me, saying, “I would have expected this from these guys, Ricki, but I really expected better behavior from you.” What the hell? Was my twelve-years-of-Catholic-school-upbringing really that apparent, even at that late a date?
“I’m just one of the boys,” I said to a livid Kim, “you’d best not expect that much of me.” That became only truer and more accurate as the year went on.
II
It’s after a Romantic Noise gig at either the Drake Student Union on the Ohio State campus or a club called Cafe Rock & Roll, I can’t exactly recall which. I’m packing up gear and Willie initiates a conversation with my lead singer & girlfriend Nicole, whom I’ve brought along to the show that night:
Willie – “Hey Nicole, why don’t we go out to my car?” Nicole (feigning naivete, she’s seen this Willie show before) – “What would we do in your car, Willie?” Willie – “Oh, we’d just talk and stuff. It’d be no big deal.” Nicole – “Well, we could talk right here, Willie, we’re talking right now.” Willie – “Yeah, but in my car, we could listen to music, or we could talk more private. Or do more private things.” Nicole (in a tone like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth) – “Oh, I’m not sure Ricki would like it if we did more private things, Willie.” Willie – “Oh no, Ricki would be cool with that. Ricki’s a cool guy.” Ricki – “WILLIE, I’M STANDING RIGHT HERE.” Willie (glancing briefly in my direction, and then totally ignoring the outburst) – “So, whattya say, should we go outside?” Nicole – “We’re not going out to your car, Willie.” Willie – “Okay, just give it some thought,” patting Nicole’s hand and walking over to a random girl standing by the bar, “Hey, why don’t we got out to my car?”
(Willie Phoenix & Dee Hunt: May, 1978)
III
Drummer Dee Hunt, Willie & I are having a bite to eat at that Wendy’s on High Street across from campus by where Schoolkid’s Records used to be and Willie starts telling us – apropos of not much – that the night before he scored with a Hare Krishna girl he picked up at the airport. Dee & I exchange a glance, and then Dee says, “You made it with a Hare Krishna girl?” “Yeah,” Willie says, nonchalantly, like this is an everyday occurrence in the little rock & roll circles in which we move.
“Didn’t it creep you out that she was bald?” Dee asked, in those long-ago pre-Sinead O’Connor days of the late 1970’s.
“Well, I made her wear a hat,” Willie deadpans, and I laugh so hard that some of my Frosty comes out my nose.
My sainted Italian father - Al Cacchione Sr. - died 50 years ago today, of a heart attack, at the age of 56, when I was 17 years old. I decided to re-post this blog - which originally ran June 30th, 2013 - today, in his honor, and to add a song at the end, in tribute to him. I miss him to this day.
Birthday Blog 2013
It's my birthday today. I'm 61 years old. I worked a rock & roll show today, serving as a roadie for Colin Gawel & The Lonely Bones, my good friend Colin's side-project band when Watershed is not taking the stage. That appearance was at Comfest, a local Columbus hippie fete that I have attended as an observer since its inception in 1972. In some capacity (roadie, performer, volunteer, stage manager, etc.) I have participated in Comfest since 1978 when - as a roadie for Romantic Noise - I helped bassist Greg Glasgow limp onto the stage after a forklift driver drove over Greg's foot at his warehouse temp job the day before the gig, and put Greg on crutches. (Ah, the glamorous rock & roll lifestyle.)
But that's not what this blog entry is about.
This blog entry is about my dad, traveling, hotels and growing old with rock & roll.
My dad was the greatest person I have ever known. He died of a heart attack at the age of 56 when I was 17 years old, in April of my senior year of high school. I myself am on my second cardiac pacemaker and have so far outlived him by five years, but only with the bonus benefits of technology.
My father gave me my whole world. When I was 13 years old in 1965, dad started to get me into the rock & roll shows he worked as a ticket agent for Central Ticket Office, an early forerunner of what Ticket Master would become. It was my father's nighttime job after his main occupation at Columbia Gas of Ohio. My mom and dad both worked two jobs. They were children of The Great Depression and carried to their graves a legacy and a fear of not knowing where their next dollar was coming from.
Dad saw how interested I was in rock & roll and started bringing me along with him to shows at Veteran's Memorial or the Lausche Building on the Ohio State Fairgrounds. I was an incredibly shy, introverted child and I think the fact that I was willing to leave the shelter/womb of our house on the West Side to see a rock & roll show heartened my dad so much he'd have brought/driven/conveyed me anywhere, let alone the three or four miles it was from home to Vet's Memorial.
At first it was package shows like The Turtles with Neil Diamond and Every Mother's Son ("Come On Down To My Boat") opening; or Paul Revere & The Raiders with The Standells and Sam the Sham & The Pharoahs. But then, as The Sixties got into full swing I saw Bob Dylan's first electric tour with The Band (when they were still called The Crackers), The Doors, The Jimi Hendrix Experience, Janis Joplin & the Full-Tilt Boogie Band, Cream and - most crucially - The Who on November 1st, 1969. (sidenote: Not one of those shows sold out the 3000-seat Veteran's Memorial. Dad would bring me to the show, wait for the opening acts to start, then pull me a single unsold seat somewhere. Advance sales to The Who show in 1969 were so slow that dad pulled me FOUR SEATS; one each for my best friend and our dates, a date I almost certainly would never have had but for the grace of my dad and of the rock & roll.) (Tickets for that Who show, by the way, were $3.50.)
Dad gave me other stuff: he instilled in me a love of traveling. In 1962, when I was 10, a coupla years before The Beatles first appeared on the Ed Sullivan Show and Changed Everything, dad had started to take my older brother and I to Cleveland Browns football games. This was in the Browns' heyday, when fullback Jim Brown was a true star of the National Football League and the Super Bowl hadn't been invented yet. We would stay at the Sheraton Gibson Hotel right off Fountain Square. The Sheraton Gibson, and hotels in general, became MAGICAL to me. You could LIE IN BED and watch television. You could TAKE SHOWERS. (Our bathroom at home sported only a claw-foot bathtub.) You could look out the 20th floor window and see all the lights of the city spread out under you. I felt like a king. (sidenote: When Pete Townshend's first solo album, Who Came First, was released in 1972 with a track called "Sheraton Gibson" I was BEYOND THRILLED that I had once occupied the same building, the same square footage, as my Number One Rock Hero of that time.)
I remember very clearly one night in 1965 on the way home from Vet's, when dad was explaining the concept of touring to me, that musicians had to be on the road all the time. I just looked at him wide-eyed and said, "You mean all these guys do is play guitars & drums in a different city every night and stay in hotels in between?" I was incredulous. I was dumbstruck. Dad couldn't have possibly realized what he had just done. He might just as well have stamped Unfit For A Normal Job Of Any Kind across my 13-year old forehead right at that very moment.
My dad never got to travel much: those trips to Cleveland, our family summer vacations to the likes of Cedar Point Amusement Park in Upper Sandusky, Ohio, an annual autumn trip to South Bend, Indiana, to see a Notre Dame football game with his Columbia Gas buddies. One time when I was 12 he took my sister and I to Florida. It was my first time flying and I was so nervous I threw up on the plane. I was such a miserable little kid. Dad, I wish I could have been better for you.
When my father died I think I had a little nervous breakdown. I can't really remember much of anything from April or May of that year, but by June 1970 when I graduated from Bishop Ready High School I had decided two things: 1) I was never ever going to have a job where I had to wear a suit & tie to work; and 2) I was going to travel and describe to dad all the things I saw.
It's my birthday today. I'm 61 years old. I accomplished the first goal by working in warehouses most of my adult life and discovering that bluejeans and a black t-shirt will get you through most days quite nicely. On most of my vacations from work I traveled to see rock & roll bands; to Massachusetts, to Texas, to California, to a lotta points in between.
I accomplished the second goal by becoming a rock & roll roadie in my 40's and crisscrossing the length & breadth of these United States (multiple times) with Hamell On Trial and Watershed.
Dad, you were with me every step of the way: every new sight out of every car, truck, bus, van & airplane window; every street of every city & town; every mile of every tour. This blog is for you. It's a happy birthday.
Except for the first verse - which I wrote in room 435 of an Austin, TX. Red Roof Inn in the mid-90's while attending the South By Southwest Festival - I wrote this song in the car on Father's Day, 2002, on a freeway near Virginia Beach. I couldn't slow down or stop to write down the lyrics, so I just had to try to remember them 'til I got to that day's gig, somewhere in the South that I can't/don't recall.
This blog originally appeared - in a slightly different form - on pencilstorm.com.
In the age of the internet, it’s possible to have a friend you have never actually met. Ricki C. and JCE are fast friends after years of correspondence, and one of the things they have always agreed upon is the greatness of Boston’s best band, THE NEIGHBORHOODS. After literally years of anticipating a new record, it’s finally here. Titled “Last Known Address,” the new ‘Hoods record is worth talking about, so Ricki C. hatched a plan to do just that. Below, he and JCE discuss the new record and The Neighborhoods in general, through a back and forth conversation. Here you go…
How did you first learn about the Neighborhoods anyway?
JCE: I went to school in Charlottesville, VA, and I lived there afterwards - pretty much all of the 1980’s. One day, probably in 1985, this guy named Maynard was tacking up flyers around town that said “Fire Is Coming” (the band’s then-current indie release). Maynard played in local bands, managed a band and booked shows for bands he wanted to bring to town. Anyway, I had never heard of The Neighborhoods until that day.
RICKI C.: My high school best friend & bandmate Dave Blackburn (who taught me more about music and rock & roll than anybody else in my existence) moved to Boston in 1972 after intentionally flunking out of Ohio State University. My visits to Dave in Boston over the next couple of years is what launched my love of Boston rock & roll. That love affair started with The Modern Lovers, who Dave saw play at a high school – with a young up & coming band called Aerosmith OPENING the show – pretty soon after he got to Boston. Said love affair continued through the 1970’s with Willie Alexander, The Real Kids, The Nervous Eaters and about twenty more. (see appendix A below)
In mid-1980, on one of those visits, I happened on a new magazine called Boston Rock that featured The Neighborhoods on the cover of its debut issue and it was literally love at first sight. I sent away for their debut single on the Ace Of Hearts label – “Prettiest Girl” b/w “No Place Like Home” – when I got back to Columbus and the rest is history.
The Neighborhoods 1980: David Minehan, guitar; John Hartcorn, bass; Michael Quaglia, drums
What’s been your experience seeing them play—how many times have you seen them?
JCE: I saw that show in Charlottesville when I first heard of them, at a place called the C&O, I believe. After that I was hooked. I’ve seen them in their hometown of Boston at Bunratty’s, I’ve seen them in Richmond, VA Beach, at least twice in D.C. and probably at least three other times in Charlottesville. One time I even saw them at a frat party at Washington & Lee University in Lexington, VA. My wife (fiancé at the time) and I lived in Charlotte, NC, for a year. On our last night there, before we moved back home to VA, we saw The ‘Hoods play a club called The Pterodactyl. All the boys in the band were wearing matching black t-shirts that said “Fuck You, We’re From Boston” on the back. I’m forgetting some, so I would say I’ve seen them about 12 or 13 times. They are so spectacular live that me and my friends in Charlottesville would never miss them if we were within a couple of hours. My friends’ band 98 Colours opened for them sometimes and they slept on the couches and floors of people I knew on multiple occasions.
RICKI C.: Oh man, this live category has GOT to be the one where I’m most jealous of my long-distance compatriot, JCE. Virginia & Washington being on the East Coast means he got ‘Hoods live opportunities WAY more often than this Midwest/Ohio boy. I had to FLY to Boston to see The Neighborhoods in the early years. (see: Flying to Boston To See The Rock & Roll) Luckily, from 1980 to 1984 I was working in the stockroom of Ross Laboratories here in Columbus, and it was simultaneously the HIGHEST-PAYING and EASIEST job I ever had, affording me the cash to indulge myself in live ‘Hoods.
I never got to see the John-Hartcorn-on-bass era band but I know I saw the Tim-Green-on-bass Neighborhoods twice. I was still drinking heavily AND smoking pot in those early-80’s days, though, so those shows are kinda hazy. I don’t even recall what clubs they were at, but one seemed to be in a strip-shopping-center with a carry-out and maybe a laundromat or tanning place in it. For sure it wasn’t The Rat, which I had been to a few times earlier in the 1970’s.
By far my favorite place to see The Neighborhoods in Boston was The Channel, a 1700-person capacity bar near Boston Garden, right on a subway line, really easy to get to from my Commonwealth Motel Boston home base. As much as I’ve come to enjoy seeing bands in small (50-200 capacity) clubs, I dearly LOVE seeing rock & roll bands kick out the jams in big-ass bars, auditoriums & theaters like the shows I grew up on in the 1960’s: Veteran’s Memorial (capacity 3172) and later the Columbus Agora (still in operation, now called The Newport, capacity 1500 or so).
The Neighborhoods @ The Channel, 1982: Minehan & Quaglia; Lee Harrington on bass
The Neighborhoods only played my home town of Columbus, Ohio, once, in May of 1986. This is a review I did of that show for The Noise, a Boston fanzine I dearly loved back in the day. (Along with Boston Groupie News and the short-lived Frenzy.) All tolled I probably saw the guys maybe 7 times, i.e. not nearly enough.
Tell me about the best show you ever saw them play…..
JCE: That’s impossible. The show I saw in Richmond had my friends as the opener and The Neighborhoods had a guest guitarist that night. It was this guy from a Richmond band called The Good Guys. He was great and Dave Minehan loved him. He invited the guy, right there on stage, to officially join the Neighborhoods as a second guitarist, but the offer was declined. I honestly believe it was a serious offer though. Another good one was at a club in D.C. called 15 Minutes. They announced that they were calling it quits and it would be their last show. They played with a vengeance that night (the Dave, Lee and Mike lineup). Afterwards I got a CD signed by them and Dave wrote “Neighborhoods, R.I.P.” under his name. It was heartbreaking. All the shows in Charlottesville were good, because all my friends were always there and they knew us. They would take the stage and my friend Tracy would start yelling for them to play her favorite song, “Shake” before they even played the first note.
RICKI C. I’ve gotta say one of The Channel shows in either 1982 (when I went to Boston to spend my 30th birthday alone, when I was first sobering up), or 1985 were the most rocking shows I ever saw from David, Lee Harrington & Mike Quaglia. But that Columbus show in Stache’s - capacity 85 people (though the club owner once sold 300 tickets to a Dream Syndicate show there) - was the BEST show. When you pack the sheer excitement of a band like The Neighborhoods - who regularly played 1700 capacity venues in their hometown - into a tiny rock club roughly the size of some rich guy’s frickin’ LIVING ROOM, the magic was just OVERWHELMING.
Plus that show was the only time I ever got to talk to & hang out with The Neighborhoods. It was a real bonding experience for me, and I treasure that rock & roll memory TO THIS DAY, 33 years later.
Rank their records from best to worst.
JCE: Reptile Men, The High Hard One, Last Known Address, Hoodwinked, The Neighborhoods, Fire is Coming, The Last Rat.
Hoodwinked and The Neighborhoods have mostly the same songs. Hoodwinked has that amazing cover of “Southern Girls” by Cheap Trick. Also, I am one person who happens to absolutely love the version of “Prettiest Girl” that is on the self-titled Atlantic release. A lot of people would disagree.
RICKI C.: Wow, their recorded output is a place we really diverge on The ‘Hoods. My best to worst: The High Hard One, Fire Is Coming, The Last Rat, and Reptile Men are the great ones. I haven’t absorbed Last Known Address enough yet to drop it into the canon, but I gotta think it’s gonna slot between Fire Is Coming and The Last Rat. Further, I find Hoodwinked and the self-titled Atlantic CD almost unlistenable. (Indeed, that Brad Whitford-produced record is why I couldn’t ever get people to take The Neighborhoods seriously when I pronounced them my “favorite Boston band ever” and “better than The Replacements” in blogs like this one, The Neighborhoods “Cultured Pearls.”)
Then again, in the first decade of this 21st century I was lucky enough to be supplied – courtesy of Eric Law of Boston and Vic Gagnon of Ann Arbor, MI. (among others) – with a couple dozen live sets of The Neighborhoods from all over America stretching from 1979 to well into the late 1980’s, and any number of those live sets just MIGHT be better than any of the ‘Hoods official releases.
Let’s (finally) get to the new record. Review it in 1,000 words or less.
JCE: Well, I obviously love it, since I have it ranked right after The High Hard One. First off, there are no clunkers on it whatsoever. It starts strong with “Half Life” and if every song was about that good, I would be happy. But it gets even better. I really get fired up starting with track two. “ByGone Era” is a killer, probably my favorite or second favorite on the record. I love the sort-of play on words, and the sentiment: is it ‘good bygone era’ or is it ‘goodbye gone era’? The answer is both.
Tracks 2-5 are my favorite, I think. Track 3, “I Go Dark” is strong. For track 4, we get “Billy the Kid” which is maybe my third favorite on the record. I like the slow, melancholy start and then the way it kicks into gear. Tracks 5, “Don’t Look Down,” is excellent and probably my second favorite. Track 6, “In Case of Creeps” is great. Unfortunately, it has this section that is just talking/noodling that goes on way too long and ruins the song. I cured that by using iTunes to clip the song at the 1:45 mark. That way it’s short, but it’s perfect. Tracks 7-10 are very good, maybe not great. Track 8 is called “the Stowaway” and it is my least favorite. Track 10, “The Parasites” is a song most ‘Hoods fans already know. It’s never been a favorite of mine but it’s still damn good.
Track 11 jumps up a notch. It’s called “The Tiled Room” and it has a Replacements vibe to me.
The record winds down with track 12, “We Are All Alone.” It’s a really cool slower song. I really like this one a lot, but I think because it is so repetitive that it would have been better if it were four minutes long instead of 5:26.
Overall, it’s just so good. After all these years I feared the possibility of disappointment, but to the contrary, this exceeded all my expectations. I will say that the CD packaging is really weak, but hey, it’s about the music, right? Still, after all these years some liner notes or lyrics would have been nice.
RICKI C.: I concur about the CD packaging. Artists & labels these days just seem NOT TO CARE at all about CD’s as a physical product, everything is just about downloads: Spotify and Rhapsody rule. I really miss jewel-case CD’s with cool covers and inside booklets with credits and lyrics, like JCE said. (I suspect that’s all just about economics in the indie world, and I FAILED Econ 101 in school all those decades ago.)
Musically the record is BEYOND solid: crunching guitars, cool bass, kick-ass drums, great vocals; what else and what more is a rocker gonna ask for these days? Plus, lyrically the songs are actually ABOUT something, and how many places do you get that in 2019, where every band I hear writes maybe two verses and then just bores us with a chorus until the (sometimes merciful) conclusion of the tune? “Half Life,” “Bygone Era” and “Billy The Kid” are my early standout favorites. (And are you gonna find lyrics as sharp, heartbreaking AND insightful as “Standin’ here as sad as birthday candles blown out so long ago / If you could only tell us not to worry, ‘cuz everything is beautiful / We’d let it go” from “Billy The Kid”about a departed compadre on a rock record this year? I kinda doubt it.)
So the entire disc is kinda like a supercharged Cheap Trick rumbling with The Jam in a dark alley in Boston sometime in 1979, only with WAY better lyrics and I’m gonna leave it at that. David Minehan is absolutely one of my top 10 rock & roll songwriters of all time and bassist Lee Harrington comes up with a couple of solid tunes & lead vocals on this disc. Buy it, or download it, NOW!
The Neighborhoods, 2010: Minehan & Harrington; John Lynch on drums
Final words or stories?
JCE: I would just say that this has been a long time coming. I discovered a website called Hoods Online years and years ago. At one time, they would post a live show once in a while. I started getting emails from an email list I signed up for, and at one point, they were promising not only a new record, but the release of an apparently finished record called “Last of the Mohicans.” Neither ever came out, that was like eight years ago, or more. Then this one started being teased and there were even little clips of the songs on that website for a couple of years. Guitarist & main songwriter David Minehan is obviously a busy man, but it was so worth the wait. I hope I can see them play live again. I saw Dave play with the Replacements a couple of years ago and he is still just the best to watch.
Oh yeah, and thanks to you, Ricki C, for asking me to do this. You are a real friend, a great writer, and you have pretty decent taste in music. And thanks for the GIANT pile of live Neighborhoods CD’s that you gave me!
RICKI C: I can’t think of a better Christmas present for the rockers on everybody’s list than Last Known Address. It’s on Spotify & all that, or you can order from my favorite Boston-related merch outlet QRST’s Store, linked here…….Neighborhoods & Boston rockers merch.
Appendix A: track listing of Ricki C.’s homemade-from-vinyl Best of Boston Rock & Roll
(note: The Modern Lovers, The Sidewinders, The J. Geils Band, Aerosmith, Reddy Teddy, The Cars, The Neighborhoods, Mission of Burma and 'til tuesday all have individual "best of" CD's in my collection. These are all the other Boston bands that I love.)
CD-1 / Boston Rocks / 1975 – 1977
1) Kerouac
2) Mass. Ave. – Willie Alexander, indie single, ’75
3) Holiday Fire – Marc Thor
4) Boystown Boize – The Boize, split indie single, ’75
5) Prized Possession – Fox Pass, indie single, ‘76
6) Loretta – The Nervous Eaters, indie single, ’76
7) All Kindsa Girls
8) Common At Noon – The Real Kids, indie single, ’77
9) Lift Up Your Hood – DMZ, indie ep track, ’77
10) You Looked So Pretty When – Willie Alexander, indie single ’76
11) Boys & Girls
12) Romance – Reddy Teddy, album tracks, ’76
13) Hot For Teacher – Thundertrain, indie single, ’76
14) Pup Tune – Willie Alexander & The Boom Boom Band
There are a TON of bands & songwriters that I love: The Dave Clark 5 and The Kinks and The Who and Paul Revere & the Raiders and Buffalo Springfield and Joni Mitchell and The MC5 from the 1960's; Mott The Hoople and Blue Oyster Cult and The New York Dolls and Richard Thompson and Patti Smith and Nick Lowe and about a hundred others from the 1970's, my all-time favorite decade of rock & roll. There are a LOT of rock & roll acts I love - you've seen them sprinkled through the pages of this blog - but there are only THREE that have actually changed the way I look at the world: those three are Bruce Springsteen, Elliott Murphy, and The Modern Lovers. I've covered Bruce and Elliott extensively in the past, today we'll be discussing The Modern Lovers.
I initially heard about The Modern Lovers from my first rock & roll best friend, Dave Blackburn. (For an entire entry about Dave, back at the very beginning of this blog, please click here: Dave Blackburn.) After Dave flunked out of Ohio State University (on purpose, mind you, he was WAY too brilliant to not hack a state school like O.S.U.) in 1972 and moved to Boston, one of the first letters he wrote me was about seeing The Modern Lovers in a high school gymnasium somewhere out in the Massachusetts suburbs. (With youngsters Aerosmith opening the show, by the way, more on them later.)
I am in no way suggesting this image is the exact show Dave saw, but I love this picture.......
He wrote me that they were one of the five greatest bands he had ever seen. And, mind you, he and I had seen The Who, the Jimi Hendrix Experience, The Doors, Cream, and Janis Joplin - among many others - together by the time we were 18 in 1970. Plus Dave had seen The Velvet Underground at Columbus' Valley Dale Ballroom in November, 1966 before we even knew each other, so that five greatest bands thing was nothing to be taken lightly. He wrote me that The Modern Lovers wore matching cashmere sweaters & brand-new jeans onstage that night, and this was in the middle of the oh-so-woeful-get-back-to-the-country-patched-jeans-'n'-flannel-shirts hippie heyday of 1972.
He further wrote that the band sounded like "The Beach Boys crossed with The Velvet Underground." Huh? What? Did Jonathan Richman, Ernie Brooks, Jerry Harrison and David Robinson enact sunny four-part harmonies on tunes about heroin & femme fatales? That description puzzled me for the entirety of the next three years, until I sent away for Beserkley Chartbusters Volume 1 album in 1975, and finally got to hear some Modern Lovers songs.
The day it arrived in the mail I put it on my turntable and my head exploded. There's no real way to explain lead singer Jonathan Richman to the uninitiated, so just give me two minutes, and listen to this.
Jonathan Richman (backed by The Rubinoos) playing "The New Teller"
In 1975 all of my standards of rock & roll BAND professionalism were based on Aerosmith. The Who were long gone from my radar, I'd seen The New York Dolls at Vet's Memorial in 1974 and they were a woefully WEAK live band (THAT night at least), punk hadn't hit yet, and I didn't see Bruce Springsteen & the E Street Band live until April of 1976. At that point Aerosmith was my yardstick/touchstone for rock & roll bands.
When the needle of my stereo touched down on "The New Teller" that afternoon in 1975, my first thought was, "Oh no, this is TERRIBLE." I had been waiting YEARS to hear The Modern Lovers, and here was leader Jonathan Richman: out of tune, out of time, singing about the new teller at his bank (?), backed by handclaps and acoustic guitars. I had been waiting for Velvet Underground drug-fueled noise aggro, for N.Y. Dolls decadence, for Aerosmith power & swagger; what I was getting was a song about waiting in line at a bank. By thirty seconds in, though - right around the lines, "There's only three in the other line, but in my line, well I count eleven / Well that's fine, 'cause I'm in heaven" - I said out loud to myself, "Wait a minute, this is GREAT."
And then "Roadrunner" came on, and nothing was ever quite the same again.......
Jonathan Richman (backed by Earthquake) playing "Roadrunner"
"Hold on," my 23-year old rock & roll brain said, "what if 1970's rock & roll doesn't HAVE to be just about drugs and honky tonk women? What if it could be about drivin' past the Stop & Shoppe with the radio on? What if I could think back past heavy metal and singer/songwriters and psychedelia and The British Invasion to riding in the back seat of my dad's Oldsmobile when I was 5 years old, trying to figure out what planet Buddy Holly and Chuck Berry were broadcasting from? What if there could be some Essential Innocence in rock & roll again?" (All of a sudden the Beach Boys side of Dave's equation came clearly into view. And when the largely John Cale-produced Modern Lovers' demo album was released on Beserkley in August 1976 (see below), The Velvet Underground side clicked firmly into focus.) And the biggest "what if?" of all: What if Warner Brothers records had released The Modern Lovers' first album in 1973 as they were slated to do before they realized, "We have NO FLIPPIN' CLUE as to how to present & promote these guys to a rock & roll industry currently salivating for the likes of Black Sabbath and Van Morrison." And what if - in one of those scenarios I only come up with given my early childhood addiction to "Imaginary Stories" in DC comic books - it was The Modern Lovers who scorched out of Boston and became the biggest American Band in the Land rather than Aerosmith? (As much as I LOVED Aerosmith it wasn't exactly like they were visionary thinkers, ya know?) What if "Roadrunner" and/or "Hospital" had become the FM & AM hits that "Walk This Way'" and "Dream On" did? What if corporate-rock NEVER HAPPENED? What if short, fast, hard, loud, INNOCENT rock & roll tunes took precedence over ponderous 10-minute guitar solos (and half-hour drum solos, God help us) in songs about coked-up musicians fucking groupies on the road? What if songs about walking to the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston, "to the room where they keep the Cezanne" held sway over Styx tunes about spaceships or Kansas encouraging/validating stoners to consider themselves just "dust in the wind"? What if The Modern Lovers had naturally set the stage for The Raspberries, Blue Ash, Big Star, Elliott Murphy, The New York Dolls, The Dictators, The Patti Smith Group, The Ramones, The Clash and about a hundred others? What if KISS never got signed because they were recognized as the painted-up clowns recycling old Deep Purple and Uriah Heep riffs that they really were? What if the great blue-jeaned masses of the Midwest went around proudly singing "I'm Straight" rather than "Rock & Roll All Night?" What if they didn't swallow qualludes like they were penny candy and stare glassy-eyed at Foreigner or tap their feet to Journey? What if Lee Abrams and Big Business never took control of rock & roll, strangled the radio, invented classic-rock and kept Baby Boomers forever chained to the yoke of Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd and The Allman Brothers? What if we never had the albatross of a 70-year old Mick Jagger running around the world singing "Satisfaction" and making babies with 30-something year old models hung around our necks? Was it Elaborate Rock Fantasies like these that kept the bands I formed and led in the 1970's from ever becoming popular in Midwest rock & roll? Hell, yes. Does that syndrome extend to this day? Damn straight it does, and I couldn't be prouder. Radio on.......
BONUS EXTRA CREDIT LISTENING
The Modern Lovers / demos recorded 1971-1973 / released August, 1976
The Modern Lovers / Live @ the Stonehenge Club / Ipswich, MA / 1970-1971
RECOMMENDED FURTHER READING
There's Something About Jonathan / Tim Mitchell / Peter Owen Publishing, 1999
Growing Old With Rock & Roll is not solely an excercise in nostalgia. I still play gigs. To illustrate that point, tonight we update an interview that originally appeared on Pencilstorm a coupla months ago, when I was opening a show here in Columbus. I'm rerunning it here because I'm playing the Midgard Comics Reunion Show this coming Friday, April 7th, at the CD 102.5 Big Room Bar. (For more on Midgard Comics, check out the blog linked here from December, 2013.)
Ricki C. Interview - by the Pencilstorm Editorial Board
P/E/B - You’re the only rocker of our acquaintance that will be eligible for Medicare this year: Why do you still do this? And can you remember your first gig?
Ricki - My first gig was in 1968, at my classmate Ermogene Delewese’s birthday party, in her parents’ basement rec room. It went great. The first song I ever sang in public was Steppenwolf’s “Magic Carpet Ride.” That’s not a bad beginning. I’m seriously thinking of trying to find out Ermogene’s birthday, booking a gig on that day in 2018, and quitting the music biz forever exactly 50 years after I started. (I haven’t seen or spoken to Ermogene since graduation in 1970, so that birthday bit might be tough.)
And, why do I still do this? What else am I gonna do at this point, become a brain surgeon?
P/E/B - After almost half a century in rock & roll, after seeing literally hundreds of bands, can you name your top three performers/songwriters off the top of your head?
Ricki - Absolutely! Those three are The Who, Bruce Springsteen and Elliott Murphy. It’s not even close. Lou Reed would be fourth and he trails by a wide margin. No, maybe Ian Hunter (originally of Mott The Hoople) would be fourth, because he’s still alive and putting out great records. Anyway, after the Top Three, things get kinda sketchy, due to Rock & Roll Alzheimer’s.
Plus, The Who comes with a caveat: it’s The Who from 1965 to 1972, from “I Can’t Explain” to the Who’s Next album. After that, from Quadrophenia on, there’s a big drop-off in quality. And I won’t even consider the notion of any band not containing Keith Moon to actually BE The Who. There might be a band out there containing Pete Townshend & Roger Daltrey calling itself The Who, but without Keith, it don’t count. (Not to mention John Entwistle.)
Bruce Springsteen and Elliott Murphy – on quite the other hand – are still fucking brilliant. They’re both only three years older than me, but I fear that someday I might inhabit a planet that does not contain them, and I don’t know if I wanna live on that sphere.
“The smart people won’t listen
And the stupid people don’t wanna know
After love, hope & dreams
All that’s left is a Trump presidency and classic rock radio”
- Ricki C. / 2016
P/E/B - There’s a fair amount of politics in your rock & roll; given the demise of The MC5, do you think that’s wise?
Ricki - Yeah, I do. Plus I think my political songs focus more on people than they do politics. When I first stumbled on the solo acoustic rock & roll act in 1990, my idea was that I would be the Billy Bragg of Columbus, Ohio. I’ve lost a lot of the agit-prop aspects of the Ricki C. show, I think now it’s more focused on individuals than causes. That being said, I will never set foot in the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame again EVER in my life after they inducted Journey this year OVER The MC5. Some sins can never be forgiven.
P/E/B - Nowadays, you’re almost better known as a roadie than as a performer, how did that happen?
Ricki - When Hamell On Trial hired me as his road manager after I opened a show for him at Little Brothers in the late 1990’s, it put a real crimp into the amount of gigs I played. Then I joined the Watershed road crew in 2005 and that cut even further into my playing time. Make no mistake, I wouldn’t trade one minute of those tours: Hamell & I criss-crossed America five or six times in the first decade of the 21st century, I got to see 44 of the 48 contiguous United States; and the good times (and beach vacations) in the Watershed van are irreplaceable. Plus, truthfully, I’m probably a better roadie than I am a rocker. I’m too OCD to be a rock & roll star. I'm not really cut out - given my shy Catholic-boy upbringing - for snorting cocaine off of groupies' stomachs. I'm much more inclined towards wanting the gig to start on time and for none of the wires to be crossed.
Also, I’m really, really lazy. I never seek out gigs anymore. They just fall in my lap. Somebody asks me to play, and I play. Otherwise I just stay home, feel sorry for myself and write Pencilstorm blogs about The Neighborhoods and The Dictators.
P/E/B - Tell us about the gig this weekend.
Ricki - I'm playing the Midgard Comics Reunion gig at the CD 102.5 Big Room Bar (1036 South Front Street / 614-449-9612) this Friday, April 7th, 2017. The superlative Mr. Keith Cousineau - former owner of Midgard and Keith Cretin to you - put this bash together. Doors are at 7 pm, music starts around 8, goes to midnight or thereabouts, $5 admission. I would think I'm opening, and the other acts on the bill are Joey74, Robots Revenge, godawfuls, and Mummula. Plus I think Keith's playing a solo set in addition to fronting Joey74.
There’s much worse things you could do with your Friday night (like binge-watching some crap T.V. on Netflix or Hulu), you should come out.
The Sean Richter Chronicles will appear occasionally in Growing Old With Rock & Roll. They are an adjunct to I Love Distortion (a rock & roll novel in 12 chapters) that played out in the blog throughout 2013. Part one predates I Love Distortion: future installments will involve prequels, sequels, and incidents that took place during the story that weren’t portrayed in those 12 chapters. (This piece originally appeared in the Pencilstorm blog in a slighly different form.)
Sean & Becky and 920-am
920-am is an oldies radio station in Columbus, Ohio. And we’re talkin’ OLDIES here, boys & girls, NOT classic-rock. We’re talkin’ all the way back to the Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, Al Martino era, but then strangely forward all the way through the 1960’s (Beatles, Kinks, Gerry & the Pacemakers); the 70’s (James Taylor, Gordon Lightfoot, anything no louder than Bread and nothing as loud as Bachman-Turner Overdrive); and up through the likes of Josh Groban and Norah Jones.
Sean & Becky were each other’s first date, first kiss, first boyfriend & girlfriend. That first date was to go see Canned Heat and Blood, Sweat & Tears at Veteran’s Memorial on the West Side of Columbus, Ohio, in January or February of 1969. They split up later that year, right around the end of August, just before Sean’s senior year of high school and Becky’s junior year. Sean was the lead singer of a garage-rock band; Becky was a sweet girl from Grove City, Ohio.
One warm afternoon in spring, 1969, Sean & Becky were lazily kissing on Becky’s parents’ patio in Grove City when “Love Can Make You Happy” by one-hit wonders Mercy came on WCOL-AM – Columbus’ Top 40 radio station of the time – and Becky said dreamily, “Oh, I love this song. Don’t you think this is OUR song?” The dreamscape kinda got shattered as Sean replied, “No, I decidedly DO NOT think this is ‘our song.’ I hate this song.” Realizing he might have gone a little overboard as tears started to glisten in Becky’s eyes, Sean said, “Maybe ‘You’ve Made Me So Very Happy’ by Blood, Sweat & Tears could be our song, since we saw them on our first date.” But the damage was done. Sean doesn’t think Becky ever forgot that slight. It might have been Sean’s first definitive moment in a life as a Rock & Roll Snob of the First Order.
Today in 2017 they both have wound up listening to 920-am: Sean because he's tired of trying to stay allegiant to an alternative rock scene that would embrace the likes of Mumford & Sons and Imagine Dragons as its standard-bearers; Becky because she just wants to hear some sweet, sad songs that remind her of when she was a young girl.
One late summer Friday afternoon Sean hears The Beatles’ “Eight Days A Week” on 920 and thinks, “This constitutes a savage, pounding rocker on this station,” while humming the riff to The Clash’s “Clampdown” to himself. Two songs later – on the same afternoon – Becky hears “You Were On My Mind” by We 5 while braiding her granddaughter’s hair and she wistfully tells the uncomprehending little girl, “One time a cute, brown-haired boy won me a stuffed animal at Cedar Point, and this song was playing.”
Sean & Becky were really very happy at the start. They went to movies. They got burgers & fries at the Sandy’s drive-in by Sullivant & Demorest Avenues. Becky went to see Sean’s band play at parties & dances. Sean would drop by Becky's babysitting gigs and charm the kids with ridiculously elementary magic tricks. They were two mourning doves on a power line. But Sean knew from the time he was 16 years old – possibly even before the first time his lips ever met Becky’s – that he never wanted to have any kids. Nobody on the planet took that Bob Dylan lyric/admonition, “You’ve flung the last fear that can ever be hurled / The fear to bring children into this world,” more seriously than Sean. And Becky had wanted a big family since she was 10. Becky broke up with Sean in a phone call, because text messages hadn't been invented yet. They never even shared a goodbye kiss.
Sean went on to work in warehouses and to play in rock & roll bands for the next 15 years, then as a solo act for the 25 years after that. Becky got married right out of high school and had four kids by five years after graduation.
Sean has read a ton of books over the years: at home; in motel rooms, dressing rooms & vans on the road; at airports & bus terminals and once in a police holding cell. He sometimes thinks the most profound literary quote he has ever encountered is, “Your name and mine inside a heart upon a wall / Still find a way to haunt me, though they’re so small,” from The Left Banke’s “Walk Away Renee.” He hears that song about once a month on 920-am, and he thinks of Becky every time. First loves are like that.
Becky saw one of Sean’s later bands at the Westgate Park Bean Dinner in 1978. She was there with her husband and kids when they heard a racket from the music stage over by the duck pond. “This is that punk-rock crap everybody’s talking about now,” Becky’s husband growled as they got closer, “let’s get out of here.” “No, I wanna watch a minute,” Becky said. Sean looked great, Becky thought. He was still skinny, his hair was long but cut kinda cool and he was wearing a tie around his neck over a sleeveless black t-shirt. Becky had put on 30 or 40 pounds when she had the kids, hadn’t been able to shed the weight, and couldn’t remember the last time she had bought a new dress. Or the last time she felt cool.
Sean didn’t sing lead anymore, now he played guitar and sang back-ups, and – in fact – the girl who did the singing in the band didn’t look much older than Becky had been when she & Sean were a couple. The songs they played were all really noisy & fast and Becky didn’t think she had ever heard any of them before on the radio. Just then Becky overheard the guy in front of her in the crowd say, “Sean writes all these songs.” The guy had hair down to his shoulders & a scraggly beard and as he passed a joint to his buddy next to him, he concluded with, “Sean has always been an elitist asshole, now he's an elitist asshole who thinks he’s Joe Strummer.”
Becky didn’t know who Joe Strummer was and didn’t think she’d ever known anybody who made up their own songs before. She wondered idly for a moment if any of the songs were about her, but they were all so angry & aggressive she wasn’t sure she wanted them to be. Her littlest girl had her hands over her ears, yelling, “Mommy, TOO LOUD, TOO LOUD.” Becky’s husband said, “Let’s go, Rebecca, they’re scaring the kids.” Becky turned, took little Lee Ann’s hand in hers and “Love Can Make You Happy” was playing in her head as they walked back to the picnic tables in the evening dusk. She turned to wave goodbye to Sean, but he couldn’t possibly have seen her, in the crowd, through the stage lights.
visual aids………
I consider myself something of a devotee of bad late-1960's rock & roll exploitation films and even I can't claim to have ever caught the movie - Fireball Jungle - this clip is lifted from. Judging by the fact that the producers allowed the film to grind to a halt for the entire 3:20 run-time of one-hit wonders Mercy, however, I have to ask the question: "Which member of the band had an uncle who was an under-assistant West Coast promo man?"
(blogger's note, 2022; The original Fireball Jungle clip was recently deleted,
so I had to replace it with this one, the original recording of the song.)
inspirational verse: "Your name and mine, inside a heart, upon a wall / Still find a way to haunt me, though they're so small" - Michael Brown, 1966
Okay, so it's fairly painfully obvious that the cats & kitten from We 5 have got "1960's Folk Club Refugees" written all over 'em, and readers have probably figured out by this juncture that Ricki C. was likely NOT enamored of the Folk Club Kidz back in the day. Entirely correct, but goddamn I have always loved this kind of folk-rock tune, and I had a HUGE crush on We 5 lead singer Beverly Bivens when this song was fresh and new in 1965, and so was most of the world around me.
This piece originally appeared on www.pencilstorm.com, the blog I now write for regularly, after I folded Growing Old With Rock & Roll back in December 2013 (see Goodbye blog). I recently decided to start bringing some Pencilstorm entries over to this blogsite, and maybe to start working up the occasional brand-new original material for Growing Old With Rock & Roll.
I bought Elliott Murphy’s debut album – Aquashow – at the Discount Records store across from the Ohio State University campus in late November or early December, 1973, the same week I quit college, moved out of my mother's house and got my first apartment. I didn’t know it when I bought it, but the first verse of the first song on Aquashow – “Last Of The Rock Stars” – contains the lines, “I got a feeling on my back like an old brown jacket / I’d like to stay in school, but I just can’t hack it.” It was a rock & roll match made in heaven.
I started buying records in 1964, I continue to buy them now in 2017, and Aquashow remains to this day my favorite album of all time. I bought Aquashow largely because of the blurb in this article about New York Rock, written by Dave Marsh in the December 1973 issue of Creem magazine, my Rock & Roll Bible of the time……
I conducted the following long-distance interview with Elliott Murphy via e-mail in February, 2017. We're running it today - March 16th, 2017 - Elliott's 68th birthday. He will be playing two birthday shows at The New Morning in his adopted home of Paris, France, this Friday & Saturday, March 17th & 18th. We encourage any of our Continental friends to attend. (I wish I was.) Details on those shows, pertinent info about ordering all things Elliott Murphy - CD's, books, etc. - and a host of Elliott's prose writings can be found at www.elliottmurphy.com. You should check it out at your earliest convenience.
THE PENCILSTORM ELLIOTT MURPHY INTERVIEW, WINTER 2017
1) You've recorded 35 albums since your debut, Aquashow, in 1973: do you know how many songs? Also, what are your five favorite songs you've written, and - in as many words as you want/need - why?
I don’t really know how many songs I’ve recorded and that’s a job better suited for a true archivist than myself (any volunteers?) but I suppose it’s around 300, and maybe I’ve written another 100 that I never recorded. And the saddest part is that I’ve probably started another 500 that I never finished. When asked about my favorite songs it always comes down to those I’ve written and those I’ve recorded. Songs that stand that test of time like LAST OF THE ROCK STARS are essential to me but there are a few songs from my upcoming album PRODIGAL SON that I’m particularly fond of, such as LET ME IN and ABSALOM, DAVY AND JACKIE O, which is an 11-minute opus of a dozen verses. I think my favorite recorded song is ANASTASIA, because for me the production is as close to perfection as I can imagine. But I’d have to throw COME ON LOUANN in there too, as well as YOU NEVER KNOW WHAT YOU’RE IN FOR..… and on and on.
2) The first prose piece I ever read by you were the liner notes to the 1969: Velvet Underground Live album, released back in 1974, and still to this day in 2017 I consider it one of the five best essays I have ever read on the subject of rock & roll. How did your authorship of those notes come about? (And, while we're on the subject: tell us a Lou Reed story we've never heard before.)
I first met Lou Reed in 1971 at a Mitch Ryder show at the Café au Go Go in NYC. (Mitch had covered Lou’s "Rock and Roll" with his band Detroit.) The Velvet Underground had such an avant-garde reputation and a menacing ambiance of sadomasochism in songs such as "Venus in Furs" that introducing myself to Lou took all the courage this 22-year-old nascent rocker could draw up. But I had just returned from a European sojourn, so I had a certain hip bono fides under my belt, having busked in the Paris Metro and appearing in Fellini’s film Roma. But to see Lou standing there in that Mickey Mouse T-shirt, chatting amiably with music business heavyweights didn’t fit the picture of the legend I had heard about. Come on, this was the composer of "Heroin"! The only thing I remember saying to him was that I too was from Long Island. “Oh really?” was his dead-panned response.
A year later my great discoverer, the late Paul Nelson - legendary rock critic and friend of Bob Dylan - who was then an A&R executive at Mercury Records asked me to write liner notes for Live 1969, the posthumous live VU album. Remember that all of this was months before I even began recording my own first album Aquashow, and still to this day fans bring me that VU album with my “It's one hundred years from today …” notes to sign as if it was my very own record and indeed I’m honored.
I guess you could say that those liner notes contained hints of the suburban fear & loathing that was apparent all over the lyrics of Aquashow and befittingly, I wrote them on the Long Island Rail Road. Paul Nelson passed on my liner notes to Lou for his approval and - much to my delight - Lou liked them a lot, because shortly thereafter he actually called my mother and had a fairly long chat with her, as I wasn’t home at the time. At the end of the conversation my mom told him how excited I would be to hear from him and Lou asked her why.
“Because he’s a great admirer of yours,” said my mother.
“Isn’t everybody?” Lou responded.
My mother - who is in her nineties - still remembers that conversation and I still remember seeing Lou in the Mickey Mouse T-Shirt at Cafe au Go Go, so I guess you could say that Lou made a big impression on all those he came into contact with. When Aquashow came out critics imagined Dylan's Blonde on Blonde as my great inspiration but the truth was I listened to the Velvet Underground's Loaded over and over before daring to even put my toe in the rock 'n roll sacred waters.......
By the end of that tumultuous year 1974, My life had irrevocably changed; not only had my first album exploded on the scene garnering rave reviews from Rober Christgau (Village Voice) and Bob Hillburn (L.A. Times) and Paul Nelson himself (Rolling Stone) but there was my name for all to see on an actual Velvet Underground album. It was almost too much to handle! Or to quote the title of The New York Dolls’ second album – Too Much Too Soon!
The last time I really spoke to Lou was when he came to Paris in the early 90’s and called me out of the blue and we had a café and we were crossing one of the bridges of the Seine and it was windy and Lou had his collar up and a passing French woman thought he was a priest! Lou didn’t like that. Then we stood on the bridge and Lou asked me what had happened with my life and career and I told him how it got difficult for me in the US during the 80’s and I moved to France and got married to the love of my life and now we have a son together, Gaspard, and my career took off again in Europe and Lou put his hand on my shoulder and said “So it all worked out okay, eh?” like a benediction from a priest!
3) Who was the biggest influence on your prose writing? (And, I guess while we're on the subject: on your songwriting?)
When it comes to songwriting I’m just a product of my generation: step one was watching Elvis on the Ed Sullivan show; step two The Beatles conquered America; and, step three Bob Dylan changed the possibilities of lyrical content in a rock song forever and ever. In my case, my father brought me to a lot of Broadway shows when I was a kid so I was introduced to the story telling aspect of songwriting right away. When it came to prose the first “important” book I read was EAST OF EDEN by John Steinbeck when I was 12. I had seen the James Dean film on TV and then searched out the book and it was such a larger universe than the film. After that there was of course F. Scott Fitzgerald and I related to GATSBY especially because it took place on Long Island where I grew up and also because I shared some of his romanticism, or as Scott said, “Show me a hero and I’ll show you a tragedy.” But there were so many other writers I admire all the way from Graham Greene to Kerouac to Raymond Chandler to Joyce Carol Oates to Hemingway to Wallace Stevens to John Cheever….. the list could go on and on. But honestly, I can’t say that any of them ever consciously influenced my style, they just showed me what great writing could be and how important it was to get it right.
4) In your early career (circa 1973-1977) you made it a point to dress above/apart from your hippie rabble contemporaries (sharp white suits as opposed to patched bluejeans 'n' plaid flannel shirts): What was the worst fashion mistake you ever made onstage?
I think I avoided the worst mistake when Polydor Records hired an ad agency to promote Aquashow and they came up with the brilliant idea that I was the “prophet of my lost generation” and should wear long robes. I could live without seeing a few of my Miami Vice 1980’s shirts but aside from that I don't have many sartorial regrets. And my boots were always correct, which is the most important thing!
5) How hard was your decision in 1989 to leave New York for a new home and life in Paris?
It was more gradual then you would imagine. I first played in Paris in 1979 and by 1989 I’d say most of my career was Europe-based. I had a good record company in France -New Rose - and I was touring all over the continent and in Scandinavia. I didn’t know how long I would last here because there are legal matters like visas and working papers, but then when I married Françoise everything worked out. She has been my guide through the French bureaucracy so it’s been fairly smooth even if I get stressed out like any immigrant. But leaving New York was not so hard; I had a bad memory on every street corner and it was time for a second act.
6) Were you already playing guitar when The Beatles appeared on the Ed Sullivan Show in February, 1964? And what was the very first rock & roll song you sang in front of an audience?
I started playing guitar when I was 12 (around 1961) and the folk boom was happening, so I think the first song I performed in front an audience was "This Little Light of Mine" by the Kingston Trio. When “Murphy went electric” in 1964 my father bought me a Kent guitar (same guitar as Bruce S. had!) and my band did mostly surf music instrumentals. So probably “Walk Don’t Run” or “Wipeout” was the first rock ‘n roll song I sang. For a guy best known for his lyrics it’s ironic wouldn’t you say?
7) Circa 1975, after the split of Boston bands The Modern Lovers and The Sidewinders, you hired Ernie Brooks, Jerry Harrison and Andy Paley as your backing band: What or who was your Boston connection?
Well, let me see..…when I came back from Europe in 1972 and was hanging around in Max’s Kansas City there was a lot of talk about The Modern Lovers although very few people had actually heard them play because they were really a Boston band. Then they opened for the NY Dolls on New Years Eve at the Mercer Arts Center (I played there a week later) and I think I said hello to Ernie Brooks and we became friends. The touring bands I had for Aquashow and Lost Generation never really worked out because they weren’t the same musicians who were playing on the albums and that was frustrating for everyone. So when I started to plan Night Lights I thought I’d get a band together, do some shows, and then go into the studio, which is kind of what happened. Ernie introduced me to Jerry Harrison (who 10 years later produced some cuts on my album Milwaukee) and also to Andy Paley because, I think, he had gone out with his sister. We opened for Sha Na Na in Canada, which had to be the worst pairing of acts in the history of the music business. But we did go into Electric Lady Studios and record quite a few songs, including "Diamonds By The Yard."
l > r: Elliott Murphy (guitar), Ernie Brooks (bass), Andy Paley (drums), Jerry Harrison (keyboards)
8) As with Bob Dylan and Bruce Springsteen, your career is no exercise in nostalgia, you’re constantly recording new records and playing shows, what new releases do you have coming up?
I was actually writing a lot of songs and making demos and about ready to start a new album right before we decided to do AQUASHOW REVISITED (wherein I re-recorded the songs on my first album in a new way and through the ears of my son and producer Gaspard Murphy), so I gently put those songs aside and dug back into my past, like Proust searching for lost time. And then, when I revisited these new songs again after letting them lay dormant for about a year or more they had..… improved! Or at least that was the impression I had when I went back to the demos, and so I thought OK it’s time to put together that album again. I was haunted by this idea of working with a gospel choir and Gaspard found four great singers and a wonderful young piano player by the name of Leo Cotton who played like Leon Russell. We're looking toward a spring release. I don’t know how any artist can live in nostalgia-land.
9) Tell us about Jorge Arenillas documentary The Second Act of Elliott Murphy; any idea when we will see it in America?
I first met Jorge Arenillas when he was involved in some kind of futuristic horror film as a writer, I think, and the director wanted me to play a role in the film as a crazy rock star living like a hermit in a haunted house. That film never got made but when Jorge directed his next film - Another Summer – he asked me if he could use my song "Summer House" (from Just A Story From America, 1977) over the end credits, so I went into the studio with my son Gaspard and we made a new version of "Summer House" that went into the film. It’s a great film, by the way, about a haunted man who is trapped in his memory of a summer romance. Anyway, following that Jorge said he wanted to make a film about..…me! I was shocked and doubted that he could pull it off, but you know what? He did! Jorge started following Olivier Durand (my great French guitarist) and myself around on tour in Spain and soon we became used to his presence, almost like he was haunting us. He filmed a concert in Bilbao, where I’ve been playing for over twenty years, and it really was a magic night. So the film was finished and was even shown at one festival in Spain but Jorge said it needed something else. I asked what? He said … Bruce Springsteen. So I called Bruce and asked him if he would agree to be interviewed for the film and being the generous wonderful man that he is, he agreed. And then it just so happened that I was back in touch with Billy Joel around this same time because I came across a photo of Billy, Doctor John, and myself backstage somewhere and sent it to him. So I asked Billy if he would agree to be interviewed as well and being the generous wonderful man that he is too, he agreed. Jorge jumped on a plane and interviewed Bruce in New Jersey and Billy in Florida and voila!
The film is available on DVD but in PAL, and will have its U.S. premiere at the Stony Brook Film Festival on Long Island this summer.
Hopefully a release on Netflix or Amazon will follow……
10) Tell us Ohio boys about a spring Parisian twilight………
The best part for me is always to be crossing one of the beautiful bridges that span the Seine on my Vespa scooter at twilight and to see the Eiffel Tower in the distance and all those gold-domed buildings and just the wonderful Parisians themselves all decked out, each in their own universe and to pass all those cafes and think of Hemingway and Fitzgerald and Picasso and even Jim Morrison and to know that you are really at home. At least that’s my story from America.….
