Author: rokritr

Steven P. Wheeler is an award-winning journalist who wrote about the music industry for a variety of publications–both in the offline and online worlds–from 1985 to 2003. After a few years of full-time freelance writing, he found a home at the bi-weekly Hollywood-based Music Connection Magazine; serving as Columnist, Associate Editor and Senior Editor from 1989 through 1998. In 2000, after starting his own short-lived political/entertainment magazine, L.A. Vision, he expanded his creative role as a writer to include video production and entered the online world as Vice President of Content Programing & Marketing for Tonos Entertainment (founded by legendary music figures David Foster, Kenneth "Babyface" Edmonds, Carole Bayer Sager, and former Warner Bros. Chairman Bob Daly) until the company closed its doors at the end of 2003. Throughout his music industry career, Wheeler was an in-demand moderator for industry event panels and he was also the producer of the "American Rock Connection" concert showcase; a monthly live event held at the legendary Palomino Club in Hollywood, which resulted in publishing deals and recording contracts for some of the handpicked talent that performed at his shows. He joined the online division of Warner Brothers in 2004, and is now the Senior Content Producer for that division where he is responsible for creating and programming all content for WarnerBros.com, and an endless stream of other related WB sites, applications and initiatives. Born in 1963, Wheeler maintains his residence in Southern California, where he lives with his wife, Maggie, and a seemingly endless series of feline adoptees.
John Paul Jones: Led Zeppelin’s Secret Weapon

John Paul Jones: Led Zeppelin’s Secret Weapon

By Steven P. Wheeler

For 12 years, from 1968-1980, Led Zeppelin dominated the rock world with an unparalleled blend of brutal thundering power and shimmering acoustic beauty, an intoxicating balance of darkness and light. From their explosive self-titled debut to their final and most diverse studio album In Through the Out Door (released 40 years ago today), Led Zeppelin would rapidly expand the boundaries of rock music into new realms.

John Paul Jones, Robert Plant and John Bonham in the studio adding some percussion elements to the classic “Whole Lotta Love” in 1969.

“Stairway to Heaven,” “Whole Lotta Love” and “Kashmir” alone represent the closest thing to Biblical Tablets music fans may ever find on the Mount of Rock; each unique unto themselves, each a fascinating mind-expanding journey that no band had dared embark upon before.

Selling an estimated 300 million albums around the world, Led Zeppelin—guitarist Jimmy Page, vocalist Robert Plant, bassist/keyboardist/multi-instrumentalist John Paul Jones and drummer John Bonham—and their flamboyantly intimidating manager Peter Grant broke all the existing rules of the music industry and all concert records along the way. And Zeppelin did it all without the support of mainstream music critics who largely despised them and their phenomenal success.

Led Zeppelin was truly the definition of a people’s band until it all came to a screeching halt on September 25, 1980 with the tragic death of drummer John Bonham—12 years to the day they began recording their first album.

Jack Black’s introduction speech of Led Zeppelin at the 2012 Kennedy Center Honors.

In early 2000, I sat down with John Paul Jones: Led Zeppelin’s Secret Weapon; the Quiet One who enabled the quartet to be totally self-contained as he was not only rock’s finest and most innovative bassists, but also a master keyboardist and someone who could literally play any instrument he laid his hands on. During his time with Zep, the former London-based session musician, composer, producer and arranger not only (officially) co-wrote half of the band’s tunes but also, just as importantly, he added the textures and layers that truly made Zeppelin unique.

“Ramble On” from Led Zeppelin II contains one of the most famous and intricate bass lines in rock history, just listen to John Paul Jones switch flawlessly from melodic beauty to rapid power and back again.

While Plant sang and blew a little harp on occasion and Page bounced from acoustic to electric guitars and Bonham propelled the band behind his drum kit, JPJ laid the rhythmic foundation with his bass playing mastery while adding piano, organ, clavinet, mellotron, synthesizers, mandolin, banjo or any little ingredient that would complete a particular Zeppelin stew. His amazing and versatile musicianship also allowed Zeppelin to bring their texture-ridden studio work to the stage.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-cfc3rCQOuU

Led Zeppelin never once had supporting musicians join them in concert, keeping the magical diamond of musicianship within the four. This was due to Jones, whether playing keyboard and bass pedals concurrently or pulling out his triple-neck during the band’s now-famous acoustic sets in the middle of their legendary three-hour performances.

JPJ with his triple-neck during Zeppelin’s acoustic set on the 1977 tour.

Whether composing “No Quarter” or writing the riff of “Black Dog” or arranging the horns and strings on “Kashmir,” the importance of John Paul Jones to Led Zeppelin cannot be overstated. Without the classical, jazz, blues, pop and rock pedigree that this only child and musical prodigy from Kent brought to Zep, the band would never have achieved its status as one of rock’s most influential and successful acts in history.

Jones came up with the riff for “Black Dog” and the innovative and complex time signature.

Quietly Busier Than Ever

Jones’ vast array of abilities remain just as in demand today as they did all those years ago. Since his Zep days, Jones has played, produced and/or arranged for such mainstream superstars as R.E.M., Heart, Peter Gabriel, Lenny Kravitz and Paul McCartney while also showing off his love of musical diversity by working with lesser known acts like goth-rockers The Mission U.K., punk act the Butthole Surfers, and the avant-garde powerhouse Diamanda Galás. Not to mention his two solo albums in 1999 and 2001, Zooma and The Thunderthief, as well as some film scoring on the side.

In fact, over the past ten years, Jones, who turned 73 this past January, has been busier than most musicians half his age, including his hugely successful stint with the trio Them Crooked Vultures, which he co-founded with Nirvana/Foo Fighters’ Dave Grohl and Queens of the Stone Age/Kyuss frontman Josh Homme.

Them Crooked Vultures’ 2009 self-titled album rocketed up the charts, hitting #12 on Billboard, and their raucous live appearances around the world left fans wanting more. Grohl, Homme and Jones all continue to say they will record another album together once each of their busy schedules allow.

Them Crooked Vultures doing “Scumbag Blues” on stage in 2010, featuring a powerhouse solo from Jones, who also provides some backing vocals.

More recently this master of his trade has recorded and played live with the American bluesman Seasick Steve, including on SS’s 2011 Top Ten U.K. album You Can’t Teach an Old Dog New Tricks, not to mention playing live as part of the jazz trio Tres Coyotes with celloist Anssi Karttunen and pianist Magnus Lindberg. And just last month, Jones announced his latest act Sons of Chipotle, in which Jones will move to piano along with Karttunen and experimental musician/producer Jim O’Rourke who worked previously as a member of Sonic Youth. They will be playing live next month in Japan.

JPJ playing with American roots artist Seasick Steve in 2013.

Meet Mr. Baldwin

Born John Richard Baldwin to a musical mother and a piano-playing father who was also a big band arranger in the ’40s and ’50s, like his future Zeppelin band mate Jimmy Page, the teenage Baldwin would become one of the most in-demand session musicians in London during the 1960s. The musical whiz kid was merely 16 when he went on the road in 1962 as the bassist for Jet Harris and Tony Meehan of the Shadows, who had formed a duo and recorded the chart-topping U.K. hit, “Diamonds,” which, ironically, featured Page on guitar.

With Meehan’s help, Mr. Baldwin began an amazing career as a session musician and arranger. At one point, in 1964, he even released his own solo recording, an instrumental called “Baja,” under his newly christened stage name: John Paul Jones, which came at the suggestion of Rolling Stones’ manager and producer Andrew Loog Oldham.

The instrumental single “Baja” by the teenage John Paul Jones in 1964 on Pye Records.
Teenage session musician and future member of Led Zeppelin John Paul Jones in a London recording studio circa 1965. (Photo by Mark and Colleen Hayward/Redferns)

Over the next several years, Jones would work with such major pop and rock acts as the Rolling Stones, Donovan, Jeff Beck, Cat Stevens, Tom Jones, Herman’s Hermits, Lulu, Dusty Springfield, and countless others. During a December, 1965 Donovan session, Jones would work with Page on “Sunshine Superman,” which hit #1 in America.

Recorded at the tail-end of 1965 with session players Jimmy Page on guitar and John Paul Jones on bass, “Sunshine Superman” topped the American charts and hit #2 in the U.K.

The following year Jones would also do the arrangement for Donovan’s other classic hit “Mellow Yellow,” and in 1968 Jones and Page would work together again on his #2 hit, “Hurdy Gurdy Man.” Jones played the bass, handled the string arrangement and booked the session players, including Page.

The “Lead Balloon” Session

In May of 1966, Jones took part in a fateful recording session for Jeff Beck—Page’s former band mate in the Yardbirds. The musicians on this now-famous recording of “Beck’s Bolero,” were Beck, Jones and Page, along with Who drummer Keith Moon and legendary session pianist Nicky Hopkins.

Although the track wouldn’t be released as a single until the following year, it was what happened during a break in that 1966 session that planted the seed for what would take over the lives of Jones and Page two years later. When someone mentioned that these five musicians should all form a group, Moon is said to have replied famously: “Oh no, that would go over like a ‘lead balloon’.” Apparently, Page remembered the joke and would dub his eventual new band: Led Zeppelin.

The result of the famous recording session that featured Jeff Beck, Jimmy Page, John Paul Jones, Keith Moon and Nicky Hopkins. During the 1966 session, someone mentioned that this quintet of talent should form a band to which Moon responded that such a band would be a disaster and go over like a “lead balloon” from which Page derived his future band’s name.

In late 1967, producer Reg Tracey brought together session players to back his vocalist discovery Keith De Groot. This track featured the nucleus of the musicians on the “Beck’s Bolero” session a year earlier: John Paul Jones on bass, Jimmy Page on guitar, and the late great Nicky Hopkins on keyboards who also wrote this particular track, “Burn Up.” These recordings were never released until the mid-‘70s to ride the Zeppelin wave of popularity.

Arranger Extraordinaire

Early in his studio career, Jones branched out rapidly from his bass and keyboard work and quickly became a highly sought after string arranger as well. One of Jones’ most famous arrangements was one he did for the Rolling Stones in 1967.

“She’s a Rainbow” was not a huge hit at the time, but it is incredibly popular today with it being used in TWO seemingly incessant TV ad campaigns—one for Acura and one for Dior. With those two commercials, the song from the Stones’ Their Satanic Majesty’s Request sessions has been brought back into the spotlight. The Stones even brought the song out of the closet and have played it during their 2019 tour.

JPJ’s creative string arrangement is featured on this lost Stones classic from 1967.

All these work-for-hire gigs at the time had their drawbacks as Jones recalled with a laugh: “Back in the ‘60s, I did an arrangement for Herman’s Hermits and there was one particular arrangement I did for a song called ‘There’s a Kind of Hush’ [for their 1967 album of the same name].

“It was a big hit for them, but it was an even bigger hit for The Carpenters [in 1976], who, more or less, used the same arrangement I did back in the ‘60s for which I was paid about 80 dollars,” he said with a hearty laugh. “So things have changed for me a bit because of that; my fees are a lot higher now,” he noted with a smile. “In those days they got a lot of value for their 80 bucks.”

“When I did the arrangements for R.E.M.’s Automatic for the People, Michael Stipe wrote me this really nice handwritten letter saying, ‘We really like what you do’ and he wrote down little things like ‘can the strings come in halfway through ‘Everybody Hurts’”

(Interview By Steven P. Wheeler)

When it comes to his work as an arranger, Jones pointed to charting the strings for the R.E.M. classic, “Everybody Hurts,” 25 years after his work with the Stones, as a guide. “I like doing arrangements because they’re quick and they’re usually a lot of fun,” he said during our conversation. “People will seek me out because they like the arrangements I’ve done before, so they’ll send me the tracks and leave me to do what I do. The most direction I’ll get is maybe something like, ‘We’d like the strings to come in halfway through the song,’” he laughs, “that’s the most instruction I tend to get.

“It’s like when I did the arrangements for R.E.M.’s Automatic for the People [in 1992], Michael Stipe wrote me this really nice handwritten letter saying, ‘We really like what you do’ and he wrote down little things like ‘can the strings come in halfway through ‘Everybody Hurts’ or on other songs maybe something like ‘please watch out for the guitar line that we would like to keep,’ so just little things like that. And that was it.

JPJ’s memorable string arrangement on R.E.M.’s immortal 1992 hit “Everybody Hurts.”

“I wrote out all the charts and arrangements, turned up and booked the Atlanta Symphony Orchestra,” explained Jones. “We had a great time for two or three days; had dinner, hung out and it was over.”

A few years later, in 1995, Jones served as the producer and arranger for The Road Home, a live “unplugged” styled album by hardcore Zeppelin devotees Heart. Jones not only helmed the project but also did the orchestra arrangements and played piano, bass and mandolin at the concert.

Heart’s guitarist Nancy Wilson recalled when the sisters met JPJ for the first time: “We had our first meeting at the Sit ‘n Spin, this laundromat/diner/bar across the street from Bad Animals Studio in Seattle. We had a pint together and we were just so beside ourselves at the excitement just to meet him. We were trying to act all nonchalant and natural around him and he just mentions in passing, ‘You know, I might just, perhaps, pick up a guitar now and then.’ It was, ‘Are you kidding, of course!’ We’d been afraid to ask. He’s so gifted.”

JPJ’s orchestral arrangement on this revamped version of Heart’s 1990 Top Ten hit. Jones appeared on the CD version of The Road Home album, but he is not present in this video.

Heart vocalist Ann Wilson recalled: “He really knows how to give himself to a situation. He’s had all these experiences in his life and these incredible levels but he can still come to Seattle and totally immerse himself in it and be cheerful and sincere and write these great string charts and play the mandolin and sit around afterwards and have a drink and tell stories.

“He spent a big weekend in his hotel room where he locked the door and just wrote all the string charts,” the singer said, “and I envisioned papers just flying through the air and pots of tea and stuff. It was so great. It was a great experience, top to bottom. And people around here are still talking about it.”

Back to the Beginning

By 1968, Jones was working an insane schedule of two or three sessions per day, six or seven days a week, and doing some 50 string and/or horn arrangements a month. While toiling away non-stop, it left little time for anything else in his life, musically or otherwise.

At only 22 years of age, he was feeling trapped by his own success. “I didn’t have a manager in those days,” Jones told me. “I did the work and my wife ran the diary. That was pretty much it. We did it together. In the pre-Zeppelin days I used to go at it tooth-and-nail, and accepted so much work.”

In search of and desperate for change, Jones said he needed out of the studio for his own sanity, and at the suggestion of his wife, Maureen, who he had just married the year before in 1967 (and, yes, they are still married 52 years later), he approached his old session mate Jimmy Page in the spring of 1968. Maureen had heard through the grapevine that Page was said to be forming a new band out of the ashes of the Yardbirds, who he had joined in 1966.

Page recalled that the chance meeting happened during a Donovan session in April of 1968: “I was working at the sessions for Donovan’s Hurdy Gurdy Man, and John Paul Jones was looking after the musical arrangements. During a break, he asked me if I could use a bass player in the new group I was forming. He had proper music training, and he had quite brilliant ideas. I jumped at the chance of getting him.”

With two of London’s most talented session players together, the “veterans” Page (all of 24) and Jones (only 22) were eventually joined by two completely unknowns only 19 and 20 years old, respectively—a raw blues wailing vocalist named Robert Plant and his mate and drumming powerhouse John Bonham.

As legend has it, the four gathered together in a small basement room on Gerrard Street in London in mid-August of ’68—just days before Plant’s 20th birthday—to see if there was any kismet between them. By the time they had finished a rough run-through of “Train Kept A-Rollin’,” it wasn’t so much magic as a musical epiphany!

Right from the get-go in August of 1968, John Paul Jones and John Bonham formed, arguably, the greatest rhythm section in rock history.

Jones described that first jam to me in one word: it was nothing short of an “explosion.” None of the four members had ever heard so much power and intensity coming from three instruments and a vocalist. They knew it then and there. This was new. This was magic. This was Led Zeppelin.

First “Zeppelin” Recording

The rest of the world would have to wait a few more months to hear this new sound as the quartet first had to fulfill some concert dates in Scandinavia under the name of the New Yardbirds in September of ‘68. What many Zep fans may not know is that just before hitting the road, Jones had been booked as the arranger at Olympic Studios for a session backing P.J. Proby for his album Three Week Hero.

As a way to get his new band familiar with the studio, Jones simply hired Page, Bonham and Plant as the band for the session. The result was that this would be the very first time the future Led Zeppelin quartet would be recorded in a studio together.

“Medley” from P.J. Proby’s Three Week Hero album is the first time the members of Led Zeppelin were recorded in a studio, mere weeks before recording their debut album.

Zeppelin Arrives

After the Proby sessions, they were off to Scandinavia for a series of gigs that brought the four together even more intensely, both in sound and focus. Upon their return to London, on September 25, 1968, the newly christened band once again entered Olympic Studios. This time it was to record their own album. Tight, rehearsed, and brimming with new confidence from their tour, the self-titled debut was recorded and mixed in less than 40 HOURS.

The intro of the first cut on that now classic album perfectly illustrated the dynamic arrival of two new words on the music scene: Led Zeppelin.

First cut on the first Zeppelin album clearly demonstrated the arrival of something new.

The Sound That “Shook” the World

When it comes to Led Zeppelin, it’s hard to explain in this day and age just how much they changed the sound of recorded music. One of the biggest innovations that Zeppelin brought to the world of music was a mic’ing technique that captured an in-your-face gargantuan sound, which dwarfed the often-muddled sounds that came before, especially in the area of drums.

Much of this could be attributed to the years of studio experience that both Page and Jones had put together. As Jones noted, unlike most session players who would take a tea break or read books during the inevitable down time, he and Page were studio nerds who would spend that time in the studio watching and learning about sounds and techniques from the engineers and producers, and with Zeppelin this knowledge and their own experimentation all came to fruition.

Take this example of Willie Dixon’s blues classic “You Shook Me” by the Jeff Beck Group with Rod Stewart on vocals (and a certain John Paul Jones on organ) from Beck’s iconic Truth album versus the recording of the same song by Zeppelin on their first album.

Note that both of these recordings took place at Olympic Studios only four months apart. And while both are classic renditions in their own right, the studio sound captured by Zeppelin was truly groundbreaking in 1968 and brought an all-new dimension to rock recordings.

It’s also interesting to hear the vastly different organ solos from John Paul Jones. There is the controlled, concise and safe approach under the direction of producer Mickie Most on the Beck version and the no-holds-barred, break all the rules approach that was Led Zeppelin.

The Business of Zeppelin

Without a record deal when they went about recording their first album, Page and the band’s legendary manager Peter Grant paid all the studio costs for their debut in just the first of many examples of how Led Zeppelin would change the business of the music industry forever. By paying for the album themselves, they would be literally selling the band and their album to a record company, which they ultimately did with legendary Atlantic Records’ co-founder Ahmet Ertegun.

“[Peter Grant] would always say, ‘You take care of the music and I’ll take care of the business.’ It was a simple division. He certainly revolutionized the touring business. It was a 60/40 split before Zeppelin came along. Peter straight out told promoters that if they wanted Zeppelin it was 90/10. He knew that the artist was getting ripped off by just about everybody and he wanted to change it.”

(Interview By Steven P. Wheeler)

From that point forward, Zeppelin would retain control of their own destiny; free of record company interference in their artistic process as Grant would handle everything outside the music. And in so doing, he would single-handedly change many of the archaic systems of an industry that benefited everyone but the artist. In Grant’s mind, he worked for the band, not the other way around, which had often been the conventional thinking.

Jones on keyboards and also playing bass with his feet, during “Misty Mountain Hop” at this 1973 Madison Square Garden concert in New York.

Jones had nothing but the highest praise for their late manager, noting that the physically intimidating ex-wrestler was perfect for the band. “In terms of Zeppelin, what Peter Grant did for us was he kept everyone away. He would always say, ‘You take care of the music and I’ll take care of the business.’ It was a simple division.

“He didn’t say anything about the music, other than ‘that’s great,’” Jones said, jokingly, “but he would keep everyone away from us so we could get on with creating and making the music. We didn’t even have a management contract with Peter Grant for many years. It was all on trust, and you can’t buy that kind of thing.”

Although Jones snickered as he recalled that eventually the band did have to draw up an agreement with their manager at the behest of their record label who eventually discovered that fact. “Of course when Atlantic Records found out that we didn’t have a contract with Peter a few years after we signed with them, they made us put one together.”

JPJ shows one of his new musical toys to Zeppelin manager Peter Grant.
Grant died of a heart attack in 1995 at the age of 60.

When I mention that no matter how great Zeppelin was, it seems that they would have never achieved their landmark success without the involvement of Grant. Jones enthusiastically agreed: “Oh yes, absolutely. I absolutely agree with that. He was a brilliant manager.

“He certainly revolutionized the touring business. It was a 60/40 split before Zeppelin came along.” With a smile at the memory, Jones continued, “Peter straight out told promoters that if they wanted Zeppelin it was 90/10, and that’s kind of how it’s been ever since.” Promoters soon realized that with the amount of business that Zeppelin pulled in, 10 percent was better than nothing at all and they all fell into line.

“Peter really did single-handedly change all of that,” Jones explained. “He really and truly believed that the artist should get their due. He knew that the artist was getting ripped off by just about everybody and he wanted to change it.”

Led Zeppelin’s intimidating manager Peter Grant goes ballistic backstage after discovering that the facility had fake vendors selling bootleg Zeppelin posters and ripping off his band.

As for his reputation as a brawler and intimidating businessman, Jones noted: “Peter Grant was a very fair man and if you played ball and were fair with him, he’d be fair with you. There must have been a lot of concert promoters who hated his guts, but there were a lot of promoters that we worked with who really respected him and knew that his word was very honorable.

“Ahmet [Ertegun, the co-founder and president of Atlantic Records] said to Peter: ‘You have got to have a single. If you put out a single, you’ll easily sell 800,000 singles.’ And Peter just stood his ground and said, ‘No, there are to be no singles.’ And sure enough we would sell 800,000 albums instead [laughs].”

(Interview By Steven P. Wheeler)

“Aside from what he did in terms of the concert business, Peter also got Zeppelin really good royalty rates. We obviously did very well touring, but we also deal very well on the record side. We really sold a lot of records, we really did!

“In the days of Zeppelin, even our record label was saying that ‘You have to put out a single in order to sell albums,’ Jones said with an eyeroll. “That’s a great Peter Grant story, where Ahmet [Ertegun, the co-founder and president of Atlantic Records] said to Peter: ‘You have got to have a single. If you put out a single, you’ll easily sell 800,000 singles.’ And Peter just stood his ground and said, ‘No, there are to be no singles.’ And sure enough we would sell 800,000 albums instead [laughs].

“The only thing we didn’t really do in those days was merchandising. Those were the days before people really understood merchandising. There just weren’t the setups like there are today. But between touring and record sales, we did really well because Peter made really good deals.”

Swan Song

With their fame reaching the stratosphere in 1974, Grant and Zeppelin created their own record company Swan Song. Within a year of forming the company, Swan Song had four albums in the Billboard Charts at the same time—Bad Company’s classic self-titled debut, Zeppelin’s double-album juggernaut Physical Graffiti, Pretty Things’ Silk Torpedo and Maggie Bell’s Suicide Sal.

“Trampled Under Foot” from Led Zeppelin’s epic 1975 album Physical Graffiti, which was the first of their albums to be released through their own record company, Swan Song.

“Peter Grant was sort of driving Swan Song,” Jones said. “There was Bad Company and Maggie Bell and the Pretty Things and Detective for a while. The four of us were somewhat involved but it got kind of loose in those days, to be honest. In retrospect, I don’t think that we should have been trying to run a record company as well as our own career in Zeppelin.”

The company closed its door in 1983. “It was one of those things that seemed like a good idea at the time,” he admitted. “It worked well for a while, but then everybody had other stuff to attend to after a while. So it probably wasn’t the most successful venture overall.”

Behind the Songs

As for the internal band business of songwriting, Jones says now that he wished that he had done things differently with Zeppelin in retrospect. “My advice for musicians in bands is to make sure that the way you determine writings credits is worked out fairly early on and perhaps even put it down on paper.

“Led Zeppelin was a partnership between four people and sometimes when you see these ‘Page/Plant’ songwriting credits on everything, it looks like it was a Lennon/McCartney type situation where they wrote everything and we just kind of learned it from them. I was stunned that people really thought that because it’s so far from the truth.”

(Interview By Steven P. Wheeler)

“I probably should have paid more attention to the writing credits in the earlier days, but in those days I would say, ‘Well, I wrote that, but, hell, I guess it’s just part of the arrangement or whatever,’ not realizing that it had more to do with the writing than just arranging it.”

While Jones was credited on writing 31 of the 73 songs that were released during Zeppelin’s existence, I asked if all four members should have been credited on everything like other bands have done. “That’s probably true, but it wasn’t that way. I also thought that John Bonham’s contribution was much more than the dozen or so he ever got credit for. I know it was much more than a handful of songs.”

John Bonham, John Paul Jones, Jimmy Page and Robert Plant hamming it up for the camera during rehearsals for their 1977 tour.

Asked to explain how Zeppelin created their music, Jones said matter-of-factly: “Here’s the thing, Led Zeppelin was a partnership between four people and sometimes when you see these ‘Page/Plant’ songwriting credits on everything, it looks like it was a Lennon/McCartney type situation where they wrote everything and we just kind of learned it from them.

“In fact, a journalist once asked me that question, he said, ‘So did [Page and Plant] just write the songs and then teach them to you and Bonham?’ And my mouth just flopped open. I was stunned that people really thought that and I couldn’t even think of an answer because it’s so far from the truth [laughs].

“To start with Robert used to usually write the lyrics last after we had completed the track, but he was credited on every song because there are lyrics on every one, but sometimes we would send him back to rewrite them,” he said with a laugh. “But whatever, I’ve done fine out of the whole thing. It’s bought me endless studios and the freedom to do what I want musically, so I shouldn’t complain.”

Jones, Plant, Page and Bonham are all smiles in the fields around Knebworth in 1979 in what is one of the final photos of Led Zeppelin ever taken.

It was on the band’s final album, In Through the Out Door, that Jones was credited on all the tracks, with the exception of the pseudo country-rocker “Hot Dog.” The reason for this is simple: Jimmy Page just wasn’t around much, reportedly fighting his heroin demons. “I was always involved in the songwriting, but I just got more credits on that album because Page was less involved. At the rehearsals, Robert and I more or less wrote the whole album together.”

At the time, Jones had purchased the incredibly huge Yamaha GX-1, a 600-pound behemoth of a complex polyphonic synthesizer organ that he dubbed “the Dream Machine,” which he would also play at the band’s two Knebworth gigs around the time of the album’s release.

JPJ at the massive “Dream Machine” at the 1979 Knebworth concerts. Most of the band’s final album was written by Jones.

Probably one of the chart-topping album’s most memorable songs is “All My Love,” written by Jones and Plant. Jones’ inspired melody and playing gave a heavenly lift to Plant’s touching lyrical ode to his son, Karac, who had tragically died of a stomach virus at the age of five, one year before their final recording sessions.

Written by JPJ and Robert Plant, this tribute to Plant’s five-year-old son who had died the previous year features beautiful lyrical answer licks from Page and a symphonic sound from Jones, who also contributes one of the ’80s most memorable synth solos in the middle.

The Zeppelin Rift

With the death of John Bonham in September of 1980, Led Zeppelin would fly no more in a recording studio. In the wake of the Zeppelin break-up, Plant embarked on his still ongoing solo career, Page joined up with Bad Company vocalist Paul Rodgers in The Firm for two albums, and Jones took the early ‘80s off to spend time with his wife and three daughters. The three surviving members did get together for a couple of one-off performances, but nothing seemed to carry on beyond that.

“We did try various things,” Jones admitted to me during our meeting in 2000, “but we always knew that there was no Zeppelin. No John Bonham, no Zeppelin; simple as that. But there was the feeling that the three of us had worked together for 12 years, so there seemed no reason not to have another go at some point.

“What would happen over the years is that we would end up together for a reunion of sorts; like Live-Aid [in 1985] or the Atlantic 40th Anniversary Concert [in 1988]. And we would immediately say, ‘This feels good, let’s try something.’ At one point, we did try something with [drummer] Tony Thompson, who played with us at Live-Aid, but for one reason or another the enthusiasm would wane and it never came off. Robert was always much more concerned and focused with his solo stuff and never really wanted to get involved with us.”

Jones, Plant, Page and drummer Tony Thompson at the time of Live-Aid in 1985. For a time, these four almost reformed as Led Zeppelin. Thompson, who was best known as the drummer for Chic and Power Station, died of kidney cancer in 2003 at the age of 48.

Things came to a head between the three Zeps when Page and Plant decided to get together again but without Jones. Many fans, including myself, thought this was very cavalier treatment towards their former partner in crime, but, behind the scenes, it was even worse.

“I think [Robert] got involved with Page, without me, perhaps thinking that it wouldn’t be Zeppelin, but then they started doing all Zeppelin songs [laughs]. I remember the press contacting me and asking me what I thought of No Quarter, presumably meaning their album, and I said, ‘I always reckoned it was one of my best tunes.’”

(Interview By Steven P. Wheeler)

Neither Page nor Plant had even bothered to call Jones to let him know that it was happening, leaving him to field incessant calls from the media about why he was not involved with the project. In fact, Jones found out by accident when rumors of a Zeppelin reunion were heating up again in 1993.

“Every year since Zeppelin broke up there would be talk of a reunion and all of that,” Jones said. “So at some point in early ’94, I was talking with one of the band’s business associates and I said, ‘I see the rumors are getting bad again,’ like a joke. And he said, ‘Oh, haven’t they told you?’

“I went, ‘Whaddya mean? Told me what?’ And he said, ‘Well, they’re working together, but, of course, they’re not doing Zeppelin material.’ So I was like, ‘Okay, whatever.’ It wasn’t so much that I thought they should include me with what they were doing. I just thought I should have been informed.”

At the time, Jones had just finished producing an album called The Sporting Life with the avant-garde American soprano/composer Diamanda Galás, and they ended up taking the show on the road.

Jones teamed up with American avant-garde artist Diamanda Galás for her album, The Sporting Life, and the two toured together at the time Page/Plant were working together.

It was during that European tour that Jones saw what his former partners were doing. Their claim of not doing Zeppelin material was not so true after all. “While I was on the road touring with Diamanda in Germany I saw [their No Quarter concert] on TV and it was 95 percent Zeppelin songs they were playing [laughs]. I was thinking, ‘Hmm, this organ part sounds familiar and then my bass parts came in and then my string parts came in.’ So I just thought, ‘Okay, so that’s how it’s gonna be then.’”

“I think [Robert] got involved with Page, without me, perhaps thinking that it wouldn’t be Zeppelin, but then they started doing all Zeppelin songs [laughs]. I remember the press contacting me and asking me what I thought of No Quarter, presumably meaning their album, and I said, ‘I always reckoned it was one of my best tunes.’ So I would get out of those things gracefully with a little wit.

“It was very, very strange for them to call their album No Quarter. I don’t know, I just never understood it. I remember that Robert said at one point: ‘It would have been different if [Jones] was involved,’ which is damn right and probably why they didn’t want me along,” he added with a laugh.

One of JPJ’s most memorable tracks, “No Quarter,” featured here during the 1973 tour.

This behind-the-scenes drama became public at Led Zeppelin’s 1995 induction into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame when Jones made a brief yet pointed statement from the stage, which left his former colleagues uncomfortable and the audience in hysterics.

JPJ takes a pointed jab at his former band mates at Led Zeppelin’s induction into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 1995.

“I just could never understand why they couldn’t just pick up the phone, which is why I said what I said at the Hall of Fame thing,” Jones explained. “That was just a bad day because there was just this strange vibe going on. Nobody would talk to each other. It was just a horrible day when it really should have been a good day. That whole situation really ruined it.”

“I just felt like I had to say something and I felt a whole lot better when I did, and the noise of the laughter coming from the press table was a joy to hear I have to say,” Jones told me.

Page and Plant’s next album, the bland and disappointing Walking into Clarksdale in 1998 put an end to that collaboration, and as Jones noted: “In the final analysis, they did me a favor because I got to focus on doing my first solo album and I’m excited about it and doing this tour.”

By 2000, during our conversation, it seemed that things may have settled down a little bit but the wedge still seemed to be present. “We see each other for business purposes; meetings and stuff like that. It’s a formal relationship these days, let’s say,” Jones explained. “We get together when projects like the remastering of the albums comes up or releasing something like the BBC Sessions, and all of us have to agree unanimously or it doesn’t happen. That’s how it was always set up.”

Initial Post-Zep Career

While Jones’ post-Zeppelin career has really been on roll over the past 25 years, after taking a career sabbatical for the first half of the ‘80s, he admitted to finding things a tough-go once he started to look at working again. His legendary Zeppelin career actually made people forget what he did before that lead balloon first took flight.

“For a while I did try and get some film work but I was running into people thinking: ‘He’s a rock bass player, what does he know about scoring or arranging?’ People had forgotten or never knew that I had done all this stuff before. They would only know me from Zeppelin.”

(Interview By Steven P. Wheeler)

Jones first ran into issues when he looked into doing some film scoring. “I had been working for 18 solid straight years by the time Zeppelin finished, so it was a good time to take a break and be with the family because the kids were growing up and I got to spend some time there. I never really worried that I wouldn’t get work when I decided to go back, but it was kind of hard right after Zeppelin.

“For a while I did try and get some film work but I was running into people thinking: ‘He’s a rock bass player, what does he know about scoring or arranging?’ People had forgotten or never knew that I had done all this stuff before. They would only know me from Zeppelin, so no one would give me any work.

“I did dabble in it, but the first film [1984’s Scream for Help] wasn’t very good,” he admitted. “In fact, it went straight to video [laughs]. It’s one of those things where if I want to make a career of it then I would need to move to Hollywood and pretty much accept every project that comes along, which is what I had to do back in the session days. But there are a couple songs from the Scream For Help soundtrack I did which are quite good and appropriate to play on this tour I’m doing.”

“Silver Train” from the Scream for Help soundtrack, written by John Paul Jones and former Yes frontman Jon Anderson, who is also featured on vocals.

“It wasn’t just me though,” he pointed out, before recalling a conversation he had with the Beatles’ producer and composer Sir George Martin. “That’s how the business can be. I remember George Martin telling me once that he scored a film called Honky Tonk Freeway [a 1981 British comedy flop] with an elephant water skiing in it. And they actually told him that they didn’t think he would be able to score a scene with an American marching band in it because he wasn’t American and wouldn’t know how. I mean, this is George Martin, right? [laughs].

“A lot of these film people are really worse than music industry people, and that’s saying something, with all due respect. You know the kind of people I’m talking about, don’t you, Steve?,” he asked rhetorically.

“Everything is decided by committee as well, so it can be quite interesting at times. Of course there are the people who say, ‘I know what I want and I know you can do it, let’s get it on.’ But there are very few of those people in the movie business.

“You accept every gig that comes along and then you can start to pick and choose, and I didn’t want to do that with film scoring, starting an all-new career like that. I didn’t do that with production either by the way. I turned down so much stuff by some really well-known people, for no other reason than I just didn’t think it was me or because I didn’t feel like I could really bring anything else to the project except my name.

“Film scores are pretty much like that for me. I really didn’t want to work that hard to get into the system and then have to take on projects whether you liked them or not and then be driven crazy with deadlines, and having to send copies of the scores in taxis in the middle of the night and trying to get orchestras together. I’ve done all of that. It would have been like the old days.”

JPJ Producer

Eventually Jones turned his attention to producing and worked himself back into studio life. “It was kind of tough going there in the early ‘80s, but then I got work producing The Mission [the goth-rock act known as The Mission UK in the States] on their second album in ’87, but even then I ran into these weird things. I remember wanting to do this John Hiatt album and the label guy said, ‘Well, we really can’t see your relevance to John Hiatt.’ Relevance? It’s music! What are these people talking about? [laughs]. I understand his music perfectly, what’s up?’

“Production is much more time consuming,” Jones noted, “especially the way I produce. I tend to make sure that the band really knows what they’re going to be recording, so I spend a lot of time in pre-production before we ever go in the studio because it’s the band’s money you’re spending.

“People think the record company is paying for it, but the band is and I tell them that: ‘Look, you’re paying for this. You really want to use your studio time wisely.’ So I’ll work three months or more when I do a production and I work very hard for them, as any band I’ve worked with will tell you. Production is just much more time consuming so I’m less interested in doing that these days.

Jones continued on as a producer through the ‘90s, taking on a very diverse roster of acts, including the unlikely choice of the controversial American hardcore outfit the Butthole Surfers; helming their sixth album 1993’s Independent Worm Saloon which became the band’s first effort to make the Billboard Charts.

First Solo Album

By 1999, Jones had finally decided to take the plunge and record his very first solo album Zooma, an instrumental rock album that he released on Discipline Global Mobile, the artist-centric indie label founded by King Crimson’s Robert Fripp.

“I share management with Fripp and I asked my manager: ‘What does Robert do with his label?’ Because I was interested in finding someone who is kind of a maverick where the industry is concerned. So the first thing he told me was: ‘There are no contracts, it’s all on trust. If you don’t like them you can leave whenever you want.’

“That really reminded me of the early days of Led Zeppelin, so not having a contract with Robert’s record label wasn’t so strange to me. And they also have this ethical policy whereby the artist keeps all their copyrights and masters, and they pay a very good royalty rate and they have very good distribution with Rykodisc in America and Pinnacle in the U.K. They also have a good internet presence and a great mail-order service and a really good setup.

“They had built up all these alternative forms of promotion and distribution, because a lot of their stuff isn’t wildly commercial. Plus they loved the album, so I met with Fripp and he struck me as a fairly decent chap, he’s a great guitarist, and now he’s my new label boss [laughs].”

“Snake Eyes” from JPJ’s 1999 solo debut, Zooma, featuring his string arrangement that he conducted with the London Symphony Orchestra, while also playing bass, lap steel, organ and Kyma.

As for as commercial expectations of Zooma, Jones had no illusions that an instrumental rock album will find a mainstream audience in today’s marketplace, but that was never the intention. “This album isn’t going to be a huge chart album, so I want to do a lot of press and promotion and touring so that everybody at least gets to know about it and has a crack at hearing it because they might like it. I just want to give this album its best possible chance.

“People will say that instrumental rock in this day and age won’t sell, but I always point to Tracy Chapman and say, ‘Could anybody have said that a black female folk singer was going to take the charts by storm?’ People would have said you were off your head.”

“In the old days when I first started in the early ‘60s, there was a ton of instrumental rock with Duane Eddy and the Ventures and the Shadows. There were all sorts of people doing instrumental rock and then the Beatles came along and killed it stone-dead.”

(Interview By Steven P. Wheeler)

Jones went on to say that he was focused on creating an actual instrumental album because he knew what would happen otherwise. “I knew that if I brought in a singer that I would stop being an instrumentalist and a composer and I would quickly become a producer and an arranger. I knew that’s what I would do by instinct. I would begin to immediately work on songs with lyrics and spend all my time trying to make the singer sound good and make sure he sang them all perfectly, and my compositions would have just fallen by the wayside.

“I just didn’t want to do that, and, to be honest, I’m just not that interested in song-based rock at the moment. And no one else is doing instrumental rock right now so I kind of have the field to myself,” he said, with a laugh. “That’s one way to cut down on the competition, right? Do something that nobody else is doing.

“But creating instrumental music is a challenge because there are no lyrics and no singing to hang anything on,” Jones continued. “It’s like a classical composition or jazz, which are by definition instrumental music. It’s just that these days rock music isn’t.”

The irony is that when he was a teenager, instrumental music was en vogue, unlike today. “In the old days when I first started in the early ‘60s, there was a ton of instrumental rock with Duane Eddy and the Ventures and the Shadows. There were all sorts of people doing instrumental rock and then the Beatles came along and killed it stone-dead [laughs].

“When I was with Jet Harris and Tony Meehan we had three Top Ten hits in about four or five months. They were all instrumentals and then suddenly the Beatles came along and I don’t think there was another instrumental rock record after that.”

First Solo Tour

Going out on tour behind the album was also central to Jones’ approach to the album after getting back onstage with Diamanda Galás in ’94: “I really got the playing bug again with Diamanda,” he said. “After the Zeppelin days, I did a lot of producing, arranging and composing, but playing live wasn’t one of them. And I realized just how much I really missed it when we went on the road, and I got the bug again.

“With my album, I’m going on the road and will be playing for people that I can actually see which will be nice,” Jones said about the smaller club date tour. “When you can see faces you can get a really different kind of feedback from your audience and I’m really looking forward to that. That’s how Zeppelin started, playing in small clubs and taking your music to the people. This album serves two functions in a way: I get to do my solo album but I also get to have a body of work that allows me to go out and play live onstage.”

JPJ during his solo tour at the House of Blues in Los Angeles, where he surprised everyone by singing the Zeppelin favorite “That’s the Way” from the band’s third album.

“There are surprisingly very little overdubs on the album. A lot of it was done with pedals and live electronics, so when it sounds like a ton of guitars, they aren’t really. It’s me hitting a pedal with some processing. This album was designed to be played live, and with the live show, it will be drummer Terl Bryant from Aztec Camera, Bauhaus, and loads of sessions, and Nick Beggs playing a Chapman Stick.

“I’ll play the multi-string basses and the lap steel guitar, so when I’m playing the lap steel, the Chapman Stick will handle the bass, and when I’m playing the bass, Nick will play the guitar side of the Chapman. There will be a lot of swapping around during this tour. I’ll also play some keyboards onstage that will also handle the string parts.”

Jones also noted at the time that he was already mentally piecing together his second solo effort. “Brain-wise I’m already halfway through the next album. I’ve got all sorts of ideas I want to do.” Sure enough, Jones’ second solo album, The Thunderthief, would ultimately be released in 2001 and this time featured three tracks with JPJ doing vocals, including his humorous post-punk rocker “Angry Angry.”

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=epCLAsI_ocA
The tongue-in-cheek post-punk rocker featuring lyrics and vocals from JPJ.

Zeppelin Flies Again

By 2007, the rift between Jones and Page/Plant had healed enough for one final Led Zeppelin reunion. This time it was to celebrate the memory of the late music business legend Ahmet Ertegun; the man who signed Zeppelin all those years ago and who had passed away in December of 2006 .

And all three surviving members were determined to do it right by bringing in Jason Bonham to fill his father’s drum stool for a full-length concert. It was to be a true Zeppelin family affair. Unlike the ramshackle Live-Aid and less-than-memorable Atlantic Records 40th Anniversary mini-sets, this was to be a full-blown Zeppelin extravaganza; the first in 27 long years and the band spent six weeks of rehearsal in preparation.

The ticket demand for the charity event at the 02 Arena in London literally brought down the internet as more than 20 million fans from around the world registered at the same time in hopes of securing one of the 20,000 available tickets. Those lucky 20,000 were treated to an awe-inspiring 18-song set that showed the magic of the Mighty Zeppelin one more time as they effectively put a final exclamation point on the band’s enduring legacy.

Plant, Page Jones and Jason Bonham stunned the world by putting on a stellar one-off concert that demonstrated the power and majesty of Led Zeppelin one final time.

The memorable concert was finally released on Blu-ray and DVD in 2012. At the time of that delayed release, Jones summed it up by joking: “Five years is like five minutes in Zeppelin time. I’m actually surprised we got it out so quickly.”

In July of 2008, less than a year after Zeppelin’s celebrated 02 reunion concert, the Foo Fighters brought up Jimmy Page and John Paul Jones for their encores at Wembley Stadium, including this take on the classic “Ramble On,” featuring Jones and Page at full strength.

One Final Honor

Five years after the now legendary 02 reunion, Led Zeppelin received massive public acclaim once more in 2012 when they were honored by the prestigious Kennedy Center for their artistic contribution to American culture; which would have been unheard of during their wild-eyed heyday. But times change and 50 years after they first blasted out of stereo speakers and radios, Led Zeppelin will forever be mentioned as one of the, if not THE greatest rock band in the history of music.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=huztn5XHKO8
John Paul Jones steals the show with his wit during Zeppelin’s appearance on David Letterman the evening following the Kennedy Center Honors in 2012.
Heart’s epic rendition of “Stairway to Heaven” with Jason Bonham on drums during the Kennedy Center Honors. Watch the emotional reaction from Robert Plant when the choir appears wearing his late best friend John Bonham’s trademark bowler hat. After the broadcast of Heart’s live performance with an orchestra and choir, this rendition was made available on iTunes for two weeks and it immediately topped the charts.

And last but not least, I’m gonna wrap things up with this sublime and beautiful Jones-focused Led Zeppelin outtake from 1976’s Presence, which was the only Zep album not to feature any of JPJ’s keyboards. This gorgeous instrumental demonstrates that Jones did indeed play some piano and compose during those sessions after all. Enjoy the majestic ivory tickling talents of Mr. John Paul Jones.

Ronnie James Dio Memories

Ronnie James Dio Memories

By Steven P. Wheeler

In the Spring of 1978, my 14-year-old self was sitting on the piano bench in the family living room with the Sunday Calendar section of the Los Angeles Times in hand, my Sunday ritual prior to this internet thing. As always I skipped to the Pop Music section to see what new albums I could learn about.

On this day, there were two brief album reviews stacked on top of one another. The first one was about the debut album from a band in Pasadena called Van Halen. The paragraph-long review boasted of this young six-string wunderkind named Eddie Van Halen who was seemingly reinventing hard rock guitar.

The next one was about the fourth album from a band called Rainbow, Long Live Rock ‘n’ Roll. The focus of this little review was about that band’s veteran guitarist Ritchie Blackmore, who I of course knew about from his days in Deep Purple. Not a huge Purple fan but their Machine Head and Made in Japan albums were of course in my rapidly growing vinyl collection.

The brief 1978 review in the L.A. Times that introduced me to Ronnie James Dio.

Intrigued by these two competing guitar heroes—one new, one old—I walked the mile to my home-away-from-home; my personal and most holy Mecca, better known to the outside world as The Wherehouse. Within a few hours I was home, two new albums in hand, tossing them on the turntable, slipping on the headphones and drifting away.

These two hard rock albums couldn’t have been more different to my young ears. Van Halen was bristling with energy and vitality, while Rainbow was much more adventurous with a blues-based foundation that married fantastical lyrics with an almost medieval power that was unrestrained, with echoes of Zeppelin’s “Kashmir” in songs like “Gates of Babylon.”

Oddly enough, after a few hours, it wasn’t Eddie or Ritchie that had grabbed me most. It was the ferocious vocal sneer of this guy in Rainbow with the name of Ronnie James Dio, who apparently also wrote the lyrics that I read along to in its Renaissance-styled font.

Over the course of several weeks, I had gone back and picked up the band’s first two studio albums—Ritchie Blackmore’s Rainbow and Rising—although their live album would have to wait. Neither The Wherehouse, nor the second-choice stores Licorice Pizza and Tower Records, had it in stock. No Amazon.com in those days, kids.

So while Zeppelin was more of my brother’s hard rock band in those days, I was determined to find my own. Rainbow became mine for a very short period of time. Because almost as fast as I had gotten caught up with all they had to offer, Dio quit the band! This would become par for the course over the years as I would come to learn.

Then in June of 1979, barely a year after first discovering his golden hard rock voice, Dio had joined the ranks of Black Sabbath replacing their iconic frontman Ozzy Osbourne; 30 years before Ozzy became better known as a bumbling reality tv star to an entirely new generation. Other than loving the brilliant “Paranoid,” Sabbath was never in my wheelhouse and by the late ‘70s the band’s platinum-selling days were nearly a decade behind them.

But with Dio in the fold I waited with eager anticipation for their first album, which arrived as Heaven and Hell in 1980. One of the best albums of Sabbath’s lengthy career, Dio had single-handedly rejuvenated the group and brought them back from the dead with this platinum-selling classic.

Still, his stint with Sabbath was even shorter than his tenure in Rainbow and by 1983 it was time to embark on his own solo career which was even more commercially successful than his previous work.

“I don’t sing about politics much because it’s a mess and there are no absolutes within it. It’s like religion, you have to take them both on faith. I like to say that in terms of politics, we have a lot of third world attitudes in a first rate nation.”

Ronnie James Dio

Fast-forward a decade to 1993 and I found myself sitting down with the metal icon. The first thing that strikes you when you meet Dio is that one of hard rock’s most powerful and earth-shaking voices comes from a man who stands only 5’4”. Perhaps it explains why his first band was called Elf, but more on that later.

We talked about songwriting, politics, his days with Rainbow and Sabbath, as well as the real story behind the “horns” symbol that he made famous.

RJD flashing his famous “horns” symbol, which has nothing to do with Satan like so many fans and critics have always thought.
(Photo: Chiaki Nozu/Getty Images)

With this weekend marking the 44th Anniversary of the release of Ritchie Blackmore’s Rainbow, which introduced lyricist/vocalist Ronnie James Dio to the masses for the first time, I once again dusted off one of my old interviews. I was immediately reminded of the brief time I spent with this candid, charismatic and personable character from America’s East Coast. It was a joy to spend time with the man who gave voice to metal fans throughout the ’70s, ’80s, ’90s and 2000s. Unfortunately, heavy metal lost this pioneer in 2010 after a horrible and brief battle with stomach cancer. RIP RJD…

The Early Years

Born in New Hampshire on July 10, 1942, Ronald James Padavona grew up in Cortland, New York. Known as the Crown City, in retrospect, Cortland seems like the perfect birthplace for the future songwriter who would go on to paint magnificent lyrical pictures of shadowy and mystical netherworlds filled with crowns, witches, swords, spirits, fire and rainbows. His words would wind their way first through Rainbow (four albums between 1975-78), then Black Sabbath (three albums from 1980-82 and another in 1992) and of course his own platinum-selling band Dio (11 albums from 1983-2004).

Starting out in doo-wop groups, the rock & roll teen played his way through a series of local bands until forming The Electric Elves in 1967. Eventually this band transformed into Elf and they were signed to Deep Purple’s record label in the early ’70s.

“Dixie Lee Junction” from Elf’s 1972 self-titled debut, produced by Deep Purple’s Roger Glover and Ian Paice.

Purple’s rhythm section of Roger Glover and Ian Paice co-produced Elf’s self-titled debut album in 1972, and Glover produced the band’s final two albums in ’74 and ’75. While Elf never found any commercial success, they did serve as the opening act for Deep Purple and when guitarist Ritchie Blackmore quit that group, he hired Dio and Elf for his new band, Rainbow.

Rainbow

Rainbow’s heavy metal anthem that first brought Ronnie James Dio international acclaim.

Dio’s tenure in Rainbow brought him worldwide recognition as one of hard rock’s most dominating vocalists. The band’s first album, which included the classic metal track “The Man on the Silver Mountain,” introduced Dio to the hard rock world. But before going out on tour in support of their debut, the temperamental Blackmore fired everyone in the band but Dio and a new Rainbow was formed, and it wouldn’t be the last.

During his time with Rainbow, Dio was equally well known for his lyrical approach, which harkened back to his childhood. “I was always a dreamer type of kid,” he told me. “I immersed myself into fantasy situations by reading science fiction and things that would let my imagination run somewhere.

Ritchie Blackmore and Ronnie James Dio at the time of Rainbow’s debut album.

“I like to create things that don’t necessarily have conclusions, but are rather float-away, dreamy kind of things,” he explained. “I think there’s a tremendous kinship between science fiction and the mythological era, and I applied all of that to my lyrics.

“All the songs I wrote during the Rainbow period had a much more Renaissance kind of attitude. They were not so much mythological, as they were songs about situations, which could have been translated into today’s time, if I hadn’t used flowery words.

“Because Rainbow was a much more flowery band than Black Sabbath ever was, joining Sabbath actually took away that flowery imagery from my lyrics. It sounds strange but when I joined Sabbath, I felt free to pursue the things that I wanted to do all along, which were the dark, mysterious and heavy themes.”

End of the Rainbow

Following 1978’s powerhouse album Long Live Rock ‘n’ Roll however, Dio and Blackmore fell prey to the rock & roll cliché of musical differences. But Dio seemed to hold no grudges towards his former band mate, saying: “Despite what the press says, I don’t carry around any ill feelings towards Ritchie. I mean, he gave me my first huge break with Rainbow and that led me to Black Sabbath and then my own band.

“We just disagreed with the direction of the band at the end. He wanted to go in a more pop direction and become a pop star, which I had no interest in. I learned from him what to do and what not to do, which are lessons you can’t buy.”

Black Sabbath

Within months of leaving Rainbow, the now unemployed vocalist met Black Sabbath’s guitarist Tony Iommi who had just lost his own lead singer Ozzy Osbourne, who left for a solo career. It didn’t take a brain surgeon to figure out what happened next.

In 1980, the newly revamped Sabbath, with Dio front and center, released the classic metal album Heaven and Hell. “Tony liked what I had done with Rainbow, so that was injected into Sabbath, which made the melodies go off to stranger places than they did with Ozzy. I think I brought a different dimension to Black Sabbath.”

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=18OT8gUDwFc

Ironically, Dio downplayed the poetic aspect of his lyrics, explaining that he has always worked with the musical foundation of a song before penning his words. “I’m always inspired by the music. I don’t consider myself to be a poet. If I was, then I could be like Bernie Taupin [Elton John’s longtime lyricist] and write lyrics and have someone put music to them, but I’m not.

“I’ll work with a band on a musical structure, then I’ll go away and get inside the music, which will give me an indication of a lyrical direction. Generally, I have a list of song titles that I’ve come up with before the musical aspect has been done, and then I’ll use those as a starting point.”

The “Horns” Debate

Ronnie flashing his trademark “horns” with Black Sabbath in 1980.

Throughout his brief time as the frontman of Black Sabbath, Dio was known around the world for his finger-flashing symbol of what became known as the “devil horns.” That this occurred at a time when the heavy metal genre itself was rife with accusations of satanic worship by its critics only made Dio a major target of the bible-thumping crowd. The funny thing about all the devil-horn hype is that it really had nothing to do with Satan in the first place.

When it came to the topic of the “horns,” Dio laughed at the suggestion that he invented the now-famous “rock on” symbol: “No one can claim that they were the first one to do that, and I certainly don’t. That would be ridiculous. I think people may think that because I became known for it when I started using it during my time with Sabbath.”

As for the origin of it all, you can actually blame his Italian grandmother. “It’s an old superstitious symbol I got from her,” he said. “It’s to protect you from the Evil Eye, it goes back centuries. The whole satanic thing was a joke. Like I’m a devil worshipper,” he said disgustedly. “[The symbol] just seemed to work well with what I was doing during Sabbath and it has grown to become this all-encompassing symbol of metal or rock & roll.”

From Sabbath to Dio

Like his short-lived time with Rainbow, Dio’s time with Black Sabbath encompassed only two studio albums and a live release, which signaled the end of his first tenure with the band. An internal war developed between the two Brits [Iommi and bassist Geezer Butler] and the two Americans [Dio and drummer Vinny Appice] during the mixing of the 1982 concert collection, Live Evil, and Dio and Appice were out.

This time around the singer put together his own band and Dio was born. The band’s namesake brought along his Sabbath drummer, his former Rainbow bassist Jimmy Bain, and guitarist Vivian Campbell, and huge success was immediate.

Dio’s first two albums Holy Diver in 1983 and The Last in Line in 1984 went platinum and the vocalist turned band leader had exceeded the success of his previous successful groups.

“I never ever disbelieved in myself, but I had only worked in bands,” Dio said about the initial transition to forming his own group for the first time in his lengthy career. “So once I got out of that security blanket, I began to feel more confident with myself. I knew that with the people I put around me, especially Vinny, I just knew it was going to work.”

And work it did. Dio released three more albums before he was asked to rejoin Black Sabbath again in the early ’90s.

Black Sabbath: Take Two

The result of this Dio/Appice/Iommi/Butler reunion was 1992’s Dehumanizer, which echoed the magic of their albums a decade earlier. But things came to a grinding halt during the tour that followed. It all came to a head when Iommi and Butler agreed to have Black Sabbath be the opening act for former Sabbath vocalist Ozzy Osbourne for two dates in Southern California.

Dio refused to put Sabbath beneath their former singer’s solo career and his Sabbath tenure ended right then. Former Judas Priest vocalist Rob Halford was asked to take Dio’s place at those concerts, but he wouldn’t do it without RJD’s explicit approval. Dio gave the go-ahead and another Sabbath/Dio era was over.

In discussing it with me less than a year later, Dio said: “Those guys just were hoping to hook up with Ozzy for another Sabbath reunion with him. Here’s the thing: when I agreed to come back to Sabbath, I was back in this Sabbath thing for the long haul. I wanted do a couple more albums and tour everywhere. But they wanted to get back with Ozzy. They didn’t care about my opinion or anything, so that was it.”

The Final Sabbath

But it wasn’t really it-it. The singer went back and restarted his own band Dio in 1993 and released another eight albums over the next 14 years, but then in 2007 it was announced that once again the Sabbath quartet of Dio, Iommi, Butler and Appice would get together again. But this time it would be under the band name of Heaven & Hell since Iommi was also still playing in the reformed Black Sabbath with Osbourne. Confused yet?

Heaven & Hell released their one and only album, The Devil You Know, in 2009 and it immediately became a Top Ten hit on the Billboard Charts. Sadly, it would also prove to be Ronnie James Dio’s final appearance in a recording studio. The massively influential metal legend was diagnosed with stomach cancer that same year.

Ronnie James Dio performed for the last time on a stage August 29, 2009, before succumbing to cancer on May 16, 2010. Ronnie James Dio was 67.

Ronnie James Dio in his last public appearance one month before his death from cancer.

Last Words

Throughout his career, RJD took part in many charitable causes, including organizing the heavy metal genre’s answer to the Ethiopian famine relief projects Band Aid and USA for Africa in the mid-‘80s. In 1986, Dio’s Hear ‘n Aid project featured the metal ensemble song, “Stars,” which he wrote with his band mates Vivian Campbell and Jimmy Bain. An all-star compilation metal album, Hear ‘n Aid, followed later that same year.

Behind the scenes of the recording of Ronnie’s charitable endeavor he called Hear ‘n Aid.

Following Ronnie’s death, his widow and longtime manager, Wendy Dio, started the Ronnie James Dio Stand Up and Shout Cancer Fund, which has raised more than $2 million to date. The organization supports research and education that furthers early detection, prevention and treatment of prostate, colon and stomach cancers. You can donate to the fund here: http://www.diocancerfund.org

Another side of Ronnie James Dio.
Stevie Nicks: Rock’s Street Angel

Stevie Nicks: Rock’s Street Angel

By Steven P. Wheeler

Today, on the 38th anniversary of the release of Stevie Nicks’ classic solo debut Bella Donna, it seemed like a good time to go back to the original tape of my lengthy conversation with one of rock’s most captivating performers and mysterious figures and share this time-capsule interview that took place 25 years ago this month.

I spoke with Stevie Nicks from her home in Paradise Valley, Arizona in the early part of 1994. Wearing gym clothes and just in from her treadmill workout, she apologized for being slightly out of breath at the outset. But we dived right into a wide-ranging conversation that touched on her past, her decision to quit Fleetwood Mac three years before, as well as her newly released album, the criminally overlooked gem, Street Angel.

“Blue Denim” from 1994’s Street Angel was written about Lindsey Buckingham.

Six months prior to our conversation, Nicks had completed a 47-day stint in rehab. She originally tackled her demons at the Betty Ford clinic in 1987 to combat her ten-year cocaine addiction. Sadly, in what was an attempt to help wean her off cocaine, a psychiatrist put her on a new pharmaceutical regiment with the controversial prescription drug Klonopin. This led to an even more debilitating addiction, which she would later say left her in a zombie-like state for many years. By early ’94, she was free from her addictions for the first time in 20 years.

In bringing things up to date, Nicks would sell this particular Arizona home in 2007 and she of course rejoined Fleetwood Mac full-time in 1997 for the mega-successful reunion known as The Dance (see my personal memory of that show below). Since that time, she has gone on to once again balance both her solo and Fleetwood Mac careers for the last 20+ years.

Earlier this year, Nicks became only the 23rd artist in rock history to be inducted twice into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame; having been inducted with Fleetwood Mac in 1998 and for her solo career this past March. But things were different in 1994, so let’s dive in and take a trip back 25 years when Stevie N. was 46 and Steven P. was 31 (and still with a full head of hair).

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=94ZQoVoVFe4
Stevie’s powerful and playful rendition of “Gypsy” during Fleetwood Mac’s 1982 tour.

The Eyes Have It

As we sat down to begin, we engaged in a little small talk about her recent eye surgery to correct her eyesight, something she has struggled with her entire life. What might surprise some is just how personable and talkative Stevie Nicks is, as opposed to the media-enhanced enigmatic persona. “I had [lasik surgery] done three weeks ago and the right eye is perfect,” she volunteered. “But I went back in the day before yesterday and did what they call an ‘enhancement,’ which they usually don’t do for a year after the first one, so your eye has time to heal before they cut into it again.

“With me, though, my right eye was really good but my left eye hardly corrected at all, so I was totally flipped out,” she said, her voice rising. “I mean, it’s your eyes! I was like, ‘Fuck, what am I gonna do, ya know?’ So, anyway, I went back in and the doctor pushed the incisions a bit more and I can see better with my left eye but still not as good as my right eye. And I can’t do anything more for many more months, so I need like a big ole magnifying glass to read now.

“I mean, if someone was dying and I had to go through their medicine cabinet to find the pills that will save them I wouldn’t be able to read anything. They would be completely screwed,” she said with a laugh. “So I gave up being really near-sighted to now being really far-sighted, but at least that means I don’t have to wear glasses onstage or when I go out shopping or when I’m dancing around my house or something. But to either read, type, or write I now have to wear big time magnifying glasses.”

“I don’t really like everybody knowing everything about me. I like being a mystery and I think I’m even pretty mysterious to everybody who I know really well. There’s a certain part of me that I don’t share with anybody.”

(Interview by Steven P. Wheeler)

When I joke that she will now be able to see the faces of her fans from the stage now, she laughs and adds: “You’re right, I will be able to see an audience clearly for the first time in my life. Like, right now, I can see that television all the way across the room, so there are tradeoffs, but it’s really an amazing feeling. Although I’m not sure that one good eye and one bad eye is better than two bad eyes, unless you’re gonna wear a patch for the rest of your life like Captain Hook [laughs].”

As for the previous day’s cancellation of our chat, Nicks said: “Karen [Johnston, her longtime personal assistant] is one of those people who never forgets anything. Unlike me, she is totally organized and totally together, and we’re sitting on this couch last night and she suddenly jumps up and yells, “Oh my god! You had an interview today. I told you about it yesterday.’” Nicks rolls her eyes and lets out a laugh before adding: “I was like, ‘Wait, you told me yesterday? You don’t really expect me to remember something you told me yesterday, do you? That’s why I need you.’”

The Stevie Mystique

If, like me, you grew up listening to the Buckingham/Nicks era of Fleetwood Mac, which exploded onto the music scene in 1975, you were probably instantly struck by the diminutive swirling dervish onstage who sang of mystical worlds, witches and dreams with a unique voice that defies any standard description. Throughout the rest of the ‘70s as Fleetwood Mac became the biggest rock act in the world Stevie Nicks remained an enigma, and an international contingent of followers were born. Was she a sorcerer, a witch? The media went wild with speculation and before MTV brought these artists into our living rooms, no one could crack the mystery.

When I sarcastically say that I almost expected her to appear before me in a cloud of smoke, she laughs, before saying: “I usually shy away from doing a lot of press, but for this record [Street Angel, released in May of 1994] I decided that it would only be to my benefit to talk about it a little bit and get the word out.

“But I don’t really like everybody knowing everything about me. I like being a mystery and I think I’m even pretty mysterious to everybody who I know really well. There’s a certain part of me that I don’t share with anybody.”

(Photo: Wikimedia Commons)

This need for privacy is even more important when it’s time for her to create the songs that have only grown in popularity over the past four decades. “I also don’t want anyone around me when I’m writing a song or even if I’m just writing in my journal. I have my little writing timespace that I go into that really no one is welcome in. That place is very precious to me. There is a part of me that just isn’t available to the public and I like it that way.”

And so with that fun chitchat out of the way, we were off and running and the rock icon’s personable manner and candid answers continued throughout our time together…

“Bella Donna” Anniversary

Before we go back to the very beginning of the Stevie Nicks story, since today is the anniversary of her 1981 solo debut, which also remains her biggest seller, I’m going to start things out as to why Nicks even embarked on her own career in the first place.

“What happened is that after five years of being in Fleetwood Mac I realized that just getting two or three songs on an album was not going to be enough for me. And not only was it not just two or three songs, it was also not necessarily my two or three favorite songs. I would give the other people in Fleetwood Mac about 15 songs before each album and they would pick out the two or three that they all liked.

“So not only were my favorite favorites not being used but I was getting a really big backlog of songs that I wanted to get out there. So by the time I got to Bella Donna, I had tons and tons of songs that I really loved and no one was ever gonna hear them, and I’m thinking, ‘I’m working for nothing at this point.’ That’s absolutely why I decided to do Bella Donna.”

As Bella Donna hit #1, Stevie Nicks was now a superstar in her own right. The following year she topped the charts gain with Fleetwood Mac’s Mirage album (featuring her hit, “Gypsy”) which was followed by the band’s hugely successful world tour. Then it was back to her solo career with the multi-platinum sophomore solo success The Wild Heart, which was followed by 1985’s hit Rock a Little.

Stevie’s solo hits during this era became standards on radio and MTV and to this day can still transport us right back to that more youthful time: “Stop Draggin’ My Heart Around,” “Leather and Lace,” “Edge of Seventeen,” Stand Back,” “If Anyone Falls,” “I Can’t Wait” and “Talk to Me.”

Despite her early success with MTV throughout the ’80s, a decade later, like most of us in the mid-90s, the music channel had lost its charm. “I don’t like doing music videos,” she admitted. “I liked videos when MTV first came out, for the first two or three years, because it was new and it was a lot of fun. I could just sit in bed and watch MTV for hours,” she said without a hint of exaggeration. “Now it’s just not fun for me and I don’t enjoy it. I guess I feel like just about every single music video that could possibly be known to man has already been done. Now we’re all just re-doing the same videos to a different song.

“I’ve also never wanted to be an actress and I don’t like being filmed that much. I never have,” Nicks continued. “I love performing onstage in front of tons of people and being an entertainer, but as soon as that film camera for a music video goes on I get really intimidated.”

Laughing, she described her issue with videos: “All I can think about are things like, ‘Shoulders back, chest out, chin up’ or ‘Are you walking like a graceful dove?’ It’s no longer about the song or your music, all you’re thinking about is how you look and I hate that. And nowadays it’s so expensive to make the videos and you don’t even have a clue whether or not they’re even gonna play it. So you can be out $500,000 and they might play it once or never. It doesn’t really make sense.”

Return of the Street Angel

This may explain why no plans were being made to go the video route with her then-new album, Street Angel, her first solo release in five long years; which was considered an eternity in the music universe of the ‘80s and ‘90s. But as Stevie pointed out, she was hardly resting on her considerable laurels: “I know it seems like everybody thinks I just disappeared off the face of the earth for the past five years, but a lot was going on. I was on tour throughout 1989 [in support of her hit album The Other Side of the Mirror]. I was also recording songs for Fleetwood Mac’s Behind the Mask album [the first one in 15 years without Lindsay Buckingham]. Then I did the Fleetwood Mac tour throughout Europe, the United States and Australia from March until December of 1990.

“And then when I got home in 1990 I started immediately working on Timespace, my ‘favorite cuts’ record. Even though that wasn’t a full studio album, it still took a lot of time because we went back and dug out all the old master tapes going all the way back to Bella Donna and we completely remixed those songs, and I also wrote and recorded three new songs. Then I went out and did my own solo tour throughout the summer and fall of ’91 behind Timespace.

“So I went into pre-production of this album at the beginning of ’92, then I was recording this album from mid-summer to December. And then in January of ’93, we broke to do the inauguration.”

As many people will remember, the newly elected President Bill Clinton had used Fleetwood Mac’s “Don’t Stop” as his campaign theme, and Nicks and Buckingham rejoined Mick Fleetwood, Christine McVie and John McVie to perform the song live at the inauguration celebration as a one-song reunion.

Fleetwood Mac reunited for a one-song performance at Bill Clinton’s inauguration.

After that hugely publicized Mac event, it was back to the studio. “We went back into the studio for another two months in early ’93 working on this record, and then all the English people went home [a reference to legendary producer Glyn Johns, guitarist Andy Fairweather-Low, bassist Pat Donaldson, and others].

After completing the album, Nicks wasn’t happy with what had transpired under the guidance of Johns. “After I listened to the record for two months and I decided that there were some things that were really missing for me. So I went back into the studio, much to everyone’s complete surprise and did the things that I had wanted to do all along.

“So by the time it was finished and mixed, it was into the late summer of ’93 and I didn’t want it to be a Christmas album,” she explained. “So we thought it would be better to release it at the beginning of this year, but it’s not really a winter album. It was made and created during the summer originally, and it really sounds like a summer album. So that’s why we waited to put it out now.”

“Bella Donna” Part Deux?

When I first listened to Street Angel in preparation for this interview, I was pleasantly surprised to hear a guitar-dominated Stevie Nicks album for the first time since Bella Donna more than a decade before. Stevie’s previous solo album, 1989’s Top 10 hit The Other Side of the Mirror, took the keyboard and synth approach to new heights and I personally wasn’t a fan and told Nicks this to which she responded: “I think it has a lot to do with what you start out with. On the previous album, The Other Side of the Mirror, I started out with Rupert Hine who is totally a keyboardist; piano and synthesizers and all that stuff. So that whole album went the way of the airy, surreal, keyboard thing. I can remember it so vividly when we started, we had the most incredible keyboard sounds; it was totally like being in the Twilight Zone.”

This time around with Street Angel it was back to her roots, as she explained: “With this album I started out with Bernie Leadon [formerly of the Eagles] and Andy Fairweather-Low, who are obviously amazing guitar players. So I had two acoustic guitar players and me for two months at my house in Los Angeles playing all the songs that I showed them, which is many more than the ones that made it on this record.

“The three of us spent about eight weeks playing all the songs and the ones that made it on the album began to show themselves. Those songs sort of came together overnight and became really happening songs, and the ones that weren’t working for that particular group of guys just sort of went out the window.

“So, you’re absolutely right, this album was totally different than my previous record from the very beginning, because it was two acoustic guitars in my English Tudor library in Los Angeles and just me singing. It was almost like we were this little Kingston Trio, who were preparing to go out on the road, playing small clubs, and setting up all the equipment ourselves [laughs]. It was really great and that’s why this album is so different, because we started out from a guitar point of view as opposed to the piano.

“It was a lot of fun making this record because of how it started with Bernie and Andy. We just sat and had a great time for two months playing songs. I mean there is nothing that I would rather do than hangout in my house in front of the fireplace playing music with two incredible guitar players. Who could ask for more?”

In sharing my overwhelming positive view of Street Angel, I was curious to hear what the candid songstress had to say, to which she replied: “It’s really kind of too soon for me to make a judgment about this album, but looking at it from the outside I would probably say that this looks like a really organized piece of work. And then people would say, ‘So Stevie were you really organized when you made this album?’ And I would have to laugh and say, ‘No…’”

“Street Angel” Today

Over the years Nicks has expressed disappointed in the reaction to the album as it was her first solo effort to not attain platinum status after four consecutive million-sellers, although it did become a gold album. Perhaps her dissatisfaction may also revolve around the despicable press coverage of her aborted tour in support of Street Angel.

While the media blew kisses at her excellent performances during the 1994 tour, they disgustingly spent more time poking fun at her obvious weight gain during this period of time. Nicks notes that her weight went up dramatically during her addiction to Klonopin. At only 5’1” tall, she estimated she was then at 175 pounds. Needless to say the media assault was brutal and soul crushing. “I couldn’t handle people talking about how heavy I was,” she admitted in 1997. “You have no idea what it’s like to have people discussing your weight on the Internet. That was the final disgusting blow.”

Nicks vowed to not return to the stage until she managed to get her weight down, which she did, returning in a triumphant manner for the 1997 landmark Fleetwood Mac reunion. But more on that later…

In the Beginning

Born in 1948, the elder of two children to corporate executive Jess Nicks and his wife Barbara, Stephanie Nicks spent her childhood crisscrossing America seemingly planting the seeds of a vagabond angel; preparing her for a career that was yet to take shape. “My father was President of Lucky Lager and then President of Greyhound and then Executive Vice President of Armour,” she explained, “so we moved almost every two years except for five years that we spent in Texas.”

Since our interview, Stevie lost her father in 2005 at the age of 80 and her mother passed away in 2012 at the age of 84. Her only sibling, younger brother Chris was married to Stevie’s longtime backup singer Lori Perry-Nicks. The two divorced but have one child, Stevie’s only niece.

Stevie with her parents and brother, circa 1976.

Always a close family unit, it’s not surprising to hear Nicks reel off the travelogue that was her youth without even pausing for a breath: “I was born in Phoenix and my family moved to L.A. when I was about three months old and we lived there until I was five. Then we moved to Albuquerque, New Mexico for a few years, then to El Paso, Texas for five years, and then to Salt Lake City, Utah for two years, and then back to Los Angeles for my freshman to junior years in high school. And then up to San Francisco for my senior year and my first two years in junior college and then three years at San Jose State, which is just down the peninsula.

When I mention that there have been studies about children in military families who constantly move from one place to another and that some of these kids develop masks of reinvention to protect themselves from the pain of constantly losing friends or become very solitary individuals, she acknowledges the point, but she eventually took a different approach: “Two years in one place isn’t a whole lot of time to get settled in a school so for the first one or two moves you really don’t make many friends,” she said. “But then you realize when you get to the next city that maybe you need to let down your guard and make some friends fast. You know you’re gonna have to leave them sooner or later, so you make the decision to make friends as quickly as possible so at least you’ll be able to have a little bit of fun while you’re there.

“For me, in particular, it worked,” she makes clear, adding that the Nicks family lifestyle perfectly prepared her for what was to come. “It’s very easy for me to be on the road because I’m used to packing up and leaving some place and going to another. I love going to new places, new rooms, new houses, new hotels.

“On the other hand,” she admitted, “my brother didn’t like it at all. He’s five years younger than me, so I got the fourth, fifth, sixth and seventh grade while we were in Texas and that was cool for me. Christopher is five years younger than me so he didn’t adapt as well as I did. So I know that it can really go either way, but for me it helped make me very adaptable to things.”

Artistic Birth

In terms of her artistic path, according to Nicks it came pretty quick. “I was never into drawing or painting when I was growing up. Those two things came much later. But I was always writing. I always kept a journal and wrote little essay things.

“As for music, my grandfather was a country-western singer, so he turned me on to music in a serious way. When I was in the fourth grade, he bought out this old funky record store and came home with a truckload of 45s and the two of us went through them all.

Stevie and her musical grandfather, “the first person I ever sang with.”
(Photo: Wikimedia Commons)

“He’s the first person I ever sang with. He would play guitar and we would do these duets. I loved that. And my mom said at the time, ‘We don’t need to worry about her. She’s going straight from grade school to the stage.’ So my career is something that I think those closest to me kind of expected of me in their heart.”

The Annotated Stevie

“How I usually write my poems is that I keep a journal and if something really spectacular happens I write it up in prose, but if I think it’s a really cool experience I’ll put the journal next to my typewriter, put in a clean sheet of paper, and I’ll type what I’ve already written in prose but making it into rhyme.

“So my songs are actually just the annotated Stevie. Like if I was Lewis Carroll and writing Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, then there’s the annotated Alice next to it explaining it. That’s kind of what I do in rhyme; I’m breaking down a bigger picture into rhymes. That’s always been the way that I do it.

“When I’m writing I always strive to be totally honest with myself. I never make up stories. All of my songs come either out of my journals or straight out of my head because something is happening. It’s always been important to me that people don’t think of me as just a tunesayer. I told myself early on that if I’m going to be a songwriter, I’m going to be honest with everything I write and I think I’ve done that.”

Stevie performing “Has Anyone Ever Written Anything For You” on David Letterman in 1998.

Sweet 16

When it comes to actually discovering her own calling in life, it all began when she turned 16 and wrote her first song. While others in their mid-teens are dreaming about getting that elusive driver’s license, for Stevie Nicks it was more about music… well, and perhaps boys. “How it all started for me was that I was taking flamenco guitar lessons when I was 15 from this cool guy and he had this incredible classical Goya guitar. I loved this guy and this guitar, and I took lessons for about two months and then he decided to go to Spain to study. I couldn’t afford to go with him, but, behind my back, he sold this beautiful Goya guitar to my mom and dad and they gave it to me on my 16th birthday.”

Recalling this memorable turning point, Nicks’ voice goes into excited overdrive: “So on my 16th birthday, I sat down in my bedroom in Arcadia, California and wrote the first song I ever wrote, totally in tears. I sat there on the bed with paper and a pen and this guitar, and I wrote this song, ‘I’ve Loved and I’ve Lost,’ about your basic 16-year-old love affair thing.

(Photo: Wikimedia Commons)

“I knew from that second when I played my own song for the first time that was it. This was what I was going to do with my life. I remember that moment to this day, so vividly. I knew that I was always going to write songs rather than record a lot of material from other people.”

Covering Songs of Others

“It’s much harder to find someone else’s song that means something to you than it is to write your own songs,” she said, matter of factly. “I don’t know how people who don’t write their own material stay excited about the business. Those may be the people who have all the commercial hits, but I would hate that. Every once in a while a song like Bob Dylan’s ‘Just Like a Woman’ will come along where I want to record it, or songs by Tom Petty because I love his songs and I love to interpret them. But they really have to be special because I know that if I do someone else’s songs on my album, then one or two of my own songs will get the axe from that record. So they really have to be special.

Tom Petty penned this hit for his close friend and “Honorary Heartbreaker” Stevie Nicks.

“On this album, in addition to ‘Just Like a Woman,’ there are three other songs that I didn’t write [“Docklands,” “Unconditional Love” and “Maybe Love Will Change Your Mind”], but I thought they were better than the three or four songs of mine that I replaced them with. But nobody pushed them on me. Nobody said, ‘Okay Stevie, here’s 25 songs. Take them home, listen to them all weekend and try and pick out 12 of them that are personal to you and that you can convince people that you wrote them, and that will be your album.’

“That is impossible for me to even consider. First of all, I’m not that good of an actress [laughs], so unless I hear something in a song that I think is totally cool and resonates with me in some way, I would rather sing my own words. Rather than people saying, ‘Not only is that a terrible song, but she didn’t even write it.’

The first single from 1994’s Street Angel album.

Enter Lindsey Buckingham

“I met Lindsey at the end of my senior year at Menlo-Atherton High School, which is parallel to Stanford University in northern California. I had only arrived there that year so I had to really make friends quick because it was my senior year, which is a really rotten time to have to move into a new school.

“I had never sang in a rock & roll band before, but I thought, ‘Why not?’ So I ended up being in that band with Lindsey for three-and-a-half years from 1968 into ’71”

(Interview by Steven P. Wheeler)

“It was really bad,” she continued, “because you couldn’t tryout for cheerleader, you couldn’t tryout for song leader, you couldn’t try out for flag twirler. You couldn’t do any of those things, because the tryouts were at the end of the previous year before I arrived. So I was totally crushed, because I really wanted to do that kind of thing.

“So I met Lindsey in ’66 at this place, which was actually a religious get-together for young people called Young Life. It was just a place to meet people during the week. Anyway, I met him there and we sang ‘California Dreaming” together and it was very cool.”

Stevie performing with Fritz, circa 1969.

But there was no fairy tale ending. Not at that point anyway as Nicks pointed out: “He was a junior and I was a senior, so I never saw him again until two years later when he called me to see if I wanted to join this band he was in called Fritz. It was Lindsey and three other guys. I had never sang in a rock & roll band before, but I thought, ‘Why not?’ So I ended up being in that band with Lindsey for three-and-a-half years. It was from 1968 into ’71 that I was in Fritz with Lindsey.

Ironically, one of rock’s great guitarists Lindsey Buckingham was only the bassist in the band and neither he nor Stevie were writing material for Fritz. In addition, the romance between the two was put on hold.

“We weren’t going together in those days though,” she makes clear. “He was involved with another lady and I was going with another guy. But we played a lot and we practiced every single day.”

Determined to make it all work, Nicks took on an insane schedule to balance her college work at San Jose State and her band. “I was the only who was going to school; none of the other guys were going to school. So I went to college all day and then I would drive 45 minutes from San Jose back to Menlo-Atherton where we would practice from 5:30 to 10:30 at night. Then I would drive all the way back to San Jose and study all night long. Get about three hours of sleep and then do it all again the next day.”

Sharings Stages with Legends

While the band wasn’t much more than a local act in those days, they were successful enough to find themselves sharing the stage with some of the most legendary rock icons in history. Something that had a huge impact on the budding performer: “During our time in Fritz, we played a lot of big shows. We opened for Jimi Hendrix and Janis Joplin and Chicago and Creedence Clearwater at The Fillmore and Avalon Ballroom and Santa Clara Fairgrounds.

“If I hadn’t have done all that I don’t think I would have ever been able to just walk into Fleetwood Mac and been cool about being center-front stage. I would have been stage fright’d out if I hadn’t have learned what I did from all these incredible performers that I got to see up close and personal for those years in Fritz.”

Joplin in particular had a major influence on Nicks, which is obvious to anyone who has witnessed Stevie’s charismatic command of the stage. “I mean, we practiced so much and then we would play two or three nights every week for those three-and-a-half years. It was an incredible amount of preparation experience that I could not have gotten any other way. At the time I didn’t know that it was preparation, but that’s what it ended up to be.”

One of Stevie’s most intense and charismatic performances ever captured on film is this rendition of “Sisters of the Moon” in Los Angeles during Fleetwood Mac’s 1982 Mirage Tour.

First Steps to Stardom

The road to stardom is a long and winding one indeed, and there is no such thing as overnight success. For Nicks and Buckingham, it all began while they were still in Fritz, but what started as a golden opportunity for that band turned into something else and ultimately brought the two into a personal relationship.

“[Budding producer] Keith Olsen came down and saw Fritz play and had the whole band come down to Los Angeles. But when we got there, Keith and everybody else set about breaking Lindsey and I away from the other three guys in the band. That’s why Lindsey and I started going out, because we felt so bad.

When I joked that it was the guilt that brought them together, Stevie readily agreed. “Everybody in Los Angeles was trying to kill our band that’s what kind of drove us together. You’re absolutely right, it was the guilt drove us together. I mean, we spent every single day for three-and-a-half years in this band, so the relationships within a band like that are intense. These guys were our best pals in the world, ya know, and they were being shut out and it was very obvious.”

Buckingham/Nicks Album

By 1972, Fritz was no more and with Olsen’s help and guidance the newly dubbed Buckingham/Nicks were signed to Polydor Records. With Olsen behind the console, they recorded what would become their self-titled debut album, which was released to the world in 1973. Unfortunately the world wasn’t listening and the album was completely ignored. To make matters worse, while the duo was touring in support of the record the following year, their record company pulled the plug.

Their dream ended as quickly as it began and Nicks left the stage to wait tables, clean houses, whatever it took to survive as she and Buckingham continued to work on songs despite having no viable outlet in the cards.

One can hear flashes of the magic that Buckingham and Nicks would soon bring to Fleetwood Mac on this lost gem from their first and only album as a duo.

While a few songs from this long out-of-print album have found their way onto various compilations over the years, the album has never been officially released on CD (or even for download to this very day). Nicks blames her former partner for the album not having been re-released. “It’s still the Number One most in-demand vinyl record that has never made it to CD,” she said in 1994. “Atlantic Records wants to release and there are other record companies that are very interested in releasing it, but it’s all Lindsey. If he doesn’t call me back so we can get this released, I’m going to put a big ad in Billboard saying: ‘Lindsey Buckingham is totally at fault for the reason that Buckingham/Nicks is not out on CD. So sign the petition.’ Because it’s all him, I’m doing what I can to get it out there.”

The Song That Changed History

Despite the failure of the Buckingham/Nicks album, fate can rear its head in the most unexpected of ways and the saga of this unknown American folk-rock duo joining the veteran British blues band Fleetwood Mac—named after the group’s rhythm section of Mick Fleetwood and John McVie—is one for the ages.

In late 1974, Fleetwood happened to be in Los Angeles visiting recording studios in preparation for his band’s next album. When the towering drummer stopped in the now-legendary Sound City Studios, the studio’s engineer Keith Olsen happened to play Fleetwood a seven-minute track called “Frozen Love” from the Buckingham/Nicks album to illustrate the sound of the studio.

This seven-minute epic from Buckingham/Nicks captured the ear of Mick Fleetwood who then asked Buckingham to join Fleetwood Mac. Buckingham agreed, but only if he could bring along his girlfriend and musical partner Stevie Nicks. The rest is history.

Ironically, Fleetwood Mac’s guitarist/vocalist Bob Welch had just quit the band, so Fleetwood was also in the market for a guitarist as well as a studio. After hearing Lindsey’s six-string prowess on “Frozen Love,” he offered Buckingham the gig in Fleetwood Mac. Lindsey to his credit refused the gig unless his girlfriend and musical collaborator could join the band as well. Fleetwood agreed and the rest is literally music history.

A Fateful Fleetwood Call

“Mick called us on New Years Eve night of 1974, going into 1975,” Nicks recalled, “and asked if we wanted to join his band Fleetwood Mac. Neither Lindsey nor I really knew much about Fleetwood Mac, so we immediately went to the record store and bought all their albums and went back to our apartment and listened to all of them back to front.

“My mission was finding out whether there was anything I could add to this band. Is there anything I can grab onto here? And I came out of it feeling that there was a whole mystical thing within there; from Peter Green’s bluesy guitar to Bob Welch’s ‘Bermuda Triangle’ and Christine’s kind of airy-fairy voice. So I started thinking that this could work, this could definitely work.”

The couple’s financial situation also played a role in Nicks pushing for them to accept Fleetwood’s offer: “At the time, Lindsey and I were really, really poor. I mean we were really starving. I was working as a waitress, he was working on demos because we had been dropped by our record label, so we were totally disillusioned at that point in time.

“I literally said to Lindsey: ‘I think we should do anything that is going to up our lifestyle, because we’re both miserable right now. We are totally poor and unhappy with each other and the world in general, so we should join Fleetwood Mac.’ And he said, ‘Okay.’

“The weird thing about it is that Fleetwood Mac really didn’t need another girl singer. They only needed Lindsey as a guitar player and singer, but they couldn’t have him without me so they had to take us both [laughs].”

The Mac Girls

At the mention of that other female Mac singer Christine McVie, who had already been in the band for five years, one had to wonder if Nicks had any reservations about any conflicts. “Not really, because Chris is totally practical and she saw what could be with our different voices and how well they magically blended together and that she felt it could really work well. And she is also behind the piano and the organ and the B3 so she could never go out center-front stage anyway. So she never cared that I was out there because that was something that she never wanted to do.

Stevie and Christine during their first year together in 1975.
(Photo: Fin Costello)

“I think Chris and I were the most practical people in that band. Plus, both of us really liked each other from the get-go and we really and truly totally respected one another and felt that the two of us were a really good little team. My relationship with Christine was probably the easiest thing about being in Fleetwood Mac for me.”

From Zero to #1

Within three months of joining, the newly revamped Fleetwood Mac line-up had recorded its self-titled debut, which has come to be known as the ‘White Album.’ With the addition of Buckingham and Nicks, this was the 11th configuration of the band and its 10th album. No one could have predicted what happened next.

Before the new album was released in July, the new outfit hit the road on a blistering touring schedule that saw them clock in 100 concerts over six months. They were on a mission and the result of their relentless touring was the band’s first ever #1 album.

Rarely seen concert performance of Fleetwood Mac less than three months after Nicks and Buckingham had joined the band. Stevie had yet to adopt her boots and cape fashion.

The exquisite material found on that chart-topping album included two of Nicks’ most famous songs that she had written more than a year before joining the Fleetwood Mac. In fact Buckingham/Nicks had played “Rhiannon” during their own abbreviated tour in 1974 (see below).

“I had written both ‘Landslide’ and ‘Rhiannon’ in October of 1973 [a few months after the release of the Buckingham/Nicks album] in Aspen, Colorado. I had written ‘Rhiannon’ on the piano and then Lindsey worked out that guitar thing that he did.

During the 1974 Buckingham/Nicks tour, Stevie introduces her new song “Rhiannon” to the public at this Alabama gig. Funny to hear Stevie tell the band to “not play too fast” although they immediately do. Guitarist Waddy Wachtel, who played on the Buckingham/Nicks album and tour, has continued as Stevie’s guitarist and collaborator throughout her solo career.

“So when we showed ‘Rhiannon’ to Fleetwood Mac when we were making that first album, I just was playing it on piano and Lindsey played his guitar. And then Christine walked over to the keyboard and start playing those arpeggio things that she does, and it just blossomed right there and ‘Rhiannon’ made herself overnight.”

Fleetwood Mac Dynamic

“In the studio, Fleetwood Mac always did work as a band up until the Tango in the Night album I would say,” Stevie said, referencing the 1987 album. “Lindsey would always be the first person to hear my songs because he just had a really great insight into working on my songs. He would even admit that and say that some of his very best work has been with the putting together of my songs.

“He would take one of my songs, pick up his electric guitar and say, ‘Okay, this is ‘Gold Dust Woman’ and he would just start playing it and the other three would listen and say, ‘Cool,’ and then start adding their own parts. John would come up with the bass line and Christine would decide to use this or that keyboard and it would come together. Lindsey is a very good bandleader and he would just call out the chords to everybody as they were playing. He definitely directed the way my songs went and I never said a word.”

Stevie and Lindsey in the studio with Fleetwood Mac in 1975.

“Now Lindsey may think that me and my songs could never exist without him,” she laughs, “but I have managed with the help of these other wonderful musicians. They may not do things exactly how Lindsey would have done it but it’s still really good and magical.”

As if to bolster her point, she continued her line of thought: “On my first three solo albums, Waddy [Wachtel] took over that role. He’s a really old friend who worked with us back in the Buckingham/Nicks days and is also very insightful on my music. Then with The Other Side of the Mirror, it was definitely Rupert [Hine] who took over that role. And with this Street Angel album, it was Andy Fairweather-Low and Bernie Leadon, and Waddy came back and Michael Campbell of the Heartbreakers. It was really all of these great guitarists putting their heads together.”

Songwriting Process

“I almost always have a demo of everything I write and I think my demos are pretty cool because they’re really spontaneous and fun. And whoever is living on the block at a given time I ask to play on it, so they’re really diverse in terms of who’s playing on them.

“So, for example, I would play my demo to Andy and Bernie and then I really don’t give them any more instruction. I basically say, ‘This is how I did it and this is the best I can do by myself.’ And then somebody may say, ‘Hey Stevie, what about a bridge like this’ or ‘instead of going straight from the verse to the chorus, why don’t we do a little four-line something.’ And in two seconds there’s a whole other great little part that takes the song to a new level, so that’s how it works basically.”

This solo demo of the future hit “Gypsy” is a good example of what Stevie presents to her musicians and collaborators to help flesh out and bring to the finish line.

“I think the musicians who play on my records have a really good time because I never ever tell them what to do. Not ever. I want them to be free to share ideas and come up with things.

“Waddy and Benmont Tench [keyboardist for Tom Petty’s Heartbreakers] have been working with me for so long that it’s not unlike Lindsey Buckingham, because they also have a really good window into my soul. I can play them a demo and they kind of like instantly know what I want, even though I never tell them what I want. They know that once I give them a song, it’s kind of their responsibility to find what it needs and I think they enjoy that because they’re not working for me, they’re really working with me and that’s a big thing for a musician. I am dependent on them and I think they like knowing that I am somewhat dependent on them.”

The “Rumours” Soap Opera

With their first Fleetwood Mac album topping the charts, the pressure was on to deliver a follow-up. No easy feat, but when you add in the fact that Nicks and Buckingham had broken up, John and Christine McVie had broken up and Mick Fleetwood’s marriage had dissolved, it would seem impossible. Toss in some volatile artistic temperament (x5), a growing bushel of drugs and you have all the ingredients for an unmitigated disaster.

Instead they released one of rock’s greatest albums in history, Rumours, which would become the biggest selling album for decades. At this juncture the 1977 classic has sold a reported 40 million copies worldwide. A crowning achievement that belies the pain that went into its creation.

“It’s definitely true that great tragedy made for great art,” Nick acknowledged, “but it was an unfortunate miserable thing to live through. The tension between the five high-strung members of Fleetwood Mac was capable of putting any of us over the edge really easy. In that group of five people everybody was screwed up. Everybody was breaking up and all that.

Nicks put the situation into its proper context when she said: “The thing is that in normal life when you break up with someone who you’re in a relationship with you don’t see that person the next morning at breakfast. But within Fleetwood Mac you saw that person the next day, so the sarcasm level would go way up and the little digs would come in by the thousands until people would just slam out of the studio. Lindsey would go outside and play his guitar or I would sit in a corner and write; everybody was just totally freaked out. But we got the world’s greatest rock & roll soap opera out of it.”

“The only thing that Fleetwood Mac did in a lot of abundance was a lot of cocaine and a lot of drinking. During that time, it was a madhouse and everybody was so tired all the time; just really haggard. That’s why cocaine was so much a part of our lives.”

(Interview by Steven P. Wheeler)

“Tusk”

With the unbelievable global success of Rumours, the band was now under the gun to somehow match that unparalleled musical triumph. Instead, under the guidance of the musically explorations of Buckingham, their next album Tusk would confound critics, some of their recently created fans, and their record label. The massive double-album would keep the band on top of the music world, but their hedonistic lifestyle would also take its toll at this point.

When I spoke with Mick Fleetwood a few years previously to my time with Stevie, he mentioned that it was at this time that the band really was riding in the proverbial rock & roll fast lane. “It was pretty decadent,” the band’s founding told me in 1991. “You’ve got to realize that we had worked for years and years at a very crazed rate of speed, and it was starting to take its toll. That whole lifestyle—the coke, the booze—there was just a lot of consumption of one thing or another.”

Nicks echoed her former bandmate’s sentiments when she was asked the same question. “Tusk took 13 months solid, every day and you had to be there,” Nick said. “There was no calling in sick. We would go from two o’clock in the afternoon until seven o’clock the next morning, and sometimes we didn’t even go home. It was like we all migrated to some secret burial ground at the top of some mountain in Africa. Everybody was totally burnt out.

“Then we decided it was gonna be a double-album because everybody had so many songs that they would never fit on one record. It was really intense, living those 13 months in Los Angeles making that record. Then when it was finished we went out to tour so, yeah, it was probably was the high-point in terms of how nuts we all got.

“The only thing that Fleetwood Mac did in a lot of abundance was a lot of cocaine and a lot of drinking. Luckily we never did anything else and we’ve all quit cocaine, so we all got it together eventually.

Stevie performing “Angel” from the Tusk album during the band’s high-flying Tusk Tour.

“But, during that time, it was a madhouse and everybody was so tired all the time; just really haggard. That’s why cocaine was so much a part of our lives. We were just too tired to go on every day without it. We had commitments here and commitments there and the record company was barking down our backs: ‘How come this record’s taking so damn long! What is Tusk?’ And I never quite understood what Tusk was either. Even to this day, I don’t know exactly what it was. It was just an intense thing. It’s a great story to tell, but it wasn’t much fun to live it.”

Quitting Fleetwood Mac

During my talk with Stevie, I was reminded of an old story about a classical musician. Unplanned, I found myself sharing this tale about a violinist who gives an amazing performance and then after the show, an audience member comes up to him and says: “I would give away my life to be able to play like you.” And the man shrugs and responds: “I did.”

Stevie immediately says, “I like that story and that’s true with me. I can honestly say that I gave up everything to be in Fleetwood Mac for 15 years. That’s not a lie, that’s completely true. You couldn’t have any kind of a normal life to do what I’ve been doing, which is have my solo career and a career with Fleetwood Mac. The writer in me really strove to keep me loving what I do, as opposed to saying, ‘This is really becoming a job.’

“That’s really why I left Fleetwood Mac, because having to go back and forth and back and forth between my career and Fleetwood Mac. This is the first time that I won’t have to go back and forth. Whenever this upcoming tour ends, I’m not going to have to catch a taxi at the airport and go straight back in the studio with Fleetwood Mac and walk into a room full of angry people saying, ‘You’re late!’ And never saying things like, ‘Did you have a good tour?’ or ‘I thought your record was really nice’ or ‘How are you doing?’ None of that; just unfriendly anger.

“I’m so totally excited about this because I won’t be feeling that dread as soon as my tour is over. I don’t have this huge production schedule to go home to. What I’m looking forward to most is the fact that for the first time I can do whatever I want. I may throw myself into another incredibly intense project but it will be of my choice, so I’m really excited about that.”

Balancing Two Careers

After the lengthy Tusk tour, Nicks began her journey on what has become an incredibly successful solo career, beginning with her smash debut Bella Donna in 1981. However balancing both sides of her career has been anything but easy.

“It has always been a pain. I made it work for 15 years but it really took its toll on me. Think about it, when a Fleetwood Mac tour was over, the other people would go to Hawaii or wherever and relax for two months, while I would immediately go in the studio to work on my album and go on tour with my thing. Then my band and those musicians would get to take a few months off, while I would go right back in the studio with Fleetwood Mac. I literally hadn’t had a break since 1975, until I actually quit Fleetwood Mac. Since the first day of 1975, I have put myself in the position of having two incredibly demanding jobs.”

The Voice

Having toured incessantly for more than 30 years, the question of keeping her voice in shape brought out an interesting response: “I have such a strange little voice that my songs really do become signatures,” she said. “I have problems with my voice if we play more than two nights in a row. If we do two nights in a row and then take a day off I’m okay, but three nights in a row really damages my vocal cords and they take a long time to heal. It’s just down to how many times a week I can do a concert. As soon as we cut that down my voice has gotten better.

Nicks also revealed that she had taken up another bad habit in the mid-80s; a habit especially detrimental to singers. “I also smoked for a while and I stopped now, so my falsetto’s coming back and my voice is going to be even stronger because of that.”

As to when and why she began smoking so relatively late in life, she humbly said with disappointment in her voice: “I didn’t start smoking until ten years ago in 1984. I didn’t smoke before that in my life. It was just something stupid I did while I was home in Arizona.

“I was in the middle of recording the Rock a Little album and I had changed producers so I had to wait for four months for Keith [Olsen] to finish his work with Joe Walsh. So I just had nothing to do and I was in ‘go’ mode, and everyone around me smoked and I just started smoking, totally stupid.”

She did keep her it from her fans as best she could, saying, “I never ever smoked onstage because I certainly didn’t want anyone to start smoking because they thought I was cool or whatever. I just never wanted any of my fans to think, ‘Oh, Stevie looks cool smoking that cigarette, I’m gonna start smoking.’ I don’t want to be a bad example for them. No way.”

Trappings of Stardom

While some music icons have been known to fall victim to the Elvis Syndrome of surrounding themselves with “yes-men” and hangers-on, Nicks keeps her circle small: “When I’m on the road I have my three girl singers who are really good friends, one of whom is my sister-in-law. I have a makeup artist and a wardrobe mistress who have been with me for ten years, and they’re really good friends too. I guess if you see us all coming towards you, you might think it’s an entourage, but the fact is all of them are very necessary in my career and more importantly in my life.”

Autobiography?

Since Stevie admits to keeping countless journals throughout her life, and has led a fascinating one at that, she seems to be tailor-made for a self-penned book of all things Stevie. She shrugs it off without any commitment one way or another: “I’m always being asked if I’m going to write my autobiography. I have all the material I would need to do that because I have a journal that goes all the way back to 1975, but it would be a big production for me. I would just have to drop out of sight for a year to do it and I’m not ready to do that. I don’t know if I will ever do it.

“That’s the kind of thing that I’m going to have to just spontaneously jump out of bed one day and say, ‘That’s it, I’m gonna do it. I’m gonna rent a house in Switzerland on the top of a mountain and I’m taking my piano, all my journals and my typewriter, and nobody call me for a year.’”

Stevie Song Stories

“Rhiannon”

“Somehow the press turned me into the Great Dark Witch of the North because of that song. It didn’t ruin the song for me though because I know the real story. ‘Rhiannon’ really is straight out of the old Welsh Mabinogion, which goes back hundreds and hundreds of years. Rhiannon is goddess of steeds and maker of birds and her song is a song that takes away pain. When you hear her song, you close your eyes and you fall asleep, and when you wake up your pain or the danger is gone and  you see her three bird flying above. That’s the legend behind it and that’s what I think about when I’m singing that song. I don’t think about all that satanic black arts thing that a lot of people wanted to put on me, because it’s really not true at all.”

“Leather and Lace”

One of the biggest hits from Bella Donna is the hit duet between Stevie and former lover Don Henley of the Eagles. But the song has an interesting history that stemmed from the marriage of country legend Waylon Jennings and his wife Jessi Colter. Jennings, who passed away in 2002, was working on a duet album with Colter at the time, called Leather and Lace.

“That song was actually Waylon’s idea. He came up with the ‘Leather and Lace’ thing and he said, ‘I want a song that me and Jessi can sing together called ‘Leather and Lace.’ I said, ‘Cool, I can write that.’ I really loved that image of Leather and Lace, so I spent a lot of time on that song. Working with that whole philosophy of two people who were in the business together and how sometimes Waylon would be doing really good and then other times Jessi Colter would be doing really good and how you combine those egos in a relationship and be happy.

“So I finished the song and Waylon really loved it and I really loved it and Don Henley really loved it. But then Waylon and Jessi got in a fight and he said, ‘I’ll just record it myself.’ And I said, ‘No way. The only people who can record that song are either you and Jessi or me and Don. And if you’re not gonna record it than I am because I spent way too much time on the philosophy of this thing with both the man and woman’s point of view for you to just sing it by yourself. It just doesn’t work. So that’s why Don and I did it.”

Rare demo of Stevie and Don Henley doing “Leather and Lace”

“Rose Garden”

“That song started from something very personal. I wrote that song when I was 18. I hadn’t graduated from high school yet. I wrote it about a couple, two people. It stemmed from something I saw where a man walked out on his porch from his house and his wife was behind him, and I don’t know if he knew she was there or not, but walked out and the screen door slammed in her face. And she just stopped and the look on her face was like, ‘All these years I’ve been here and I’ve really tried to be the wonderful wife and I just can’t believe that you slammed the door in my face’ [laughs].

“And it just goes on from there: I have this big house and I have this fabulous garden and I have a great car, but you just slammed the door in my face so what do I really have?

“And as the years went by that song became like a scary premonition of myself, because I too have all the accruements that many people think would make them happy. I do have that big house with pillars standing all around, I do have that rose garden, and I do have men who love me, and I do have acres of land. I do have all that, but the one thing I don’t have is that family or those children. I do not have a five-year-old girl running around.

“That’s my one really big regret in my life, that I didn’t have any kids,” she admitted to me in 1994. “I don’t know, I could come off the road next year and maybe decide to adopt a baby or really go for it and have one myself, which would probably kill me, but who knows.”

The brilliant “Rose Garden” written when Stevie was only 18 years old.

“Just Like a Woman”

“I became friends with Bob Dylan when I went along with Bob and Tom [Petty] when they toured together for 32 days in Australia [in 1986]. So I watched and learned a whole lot about people and strategy and egos in watching those two guys share a mic and work out their music onstage. It was totally cool and I became friends with Bob at that time.

“Let me just say that the best way to get to know someone who is hard to get to know is to go on the road with them. When you’re on the road, even if they don’t want to get to know you, they have to get to know you, because you’re just there in their face every day [laughs]. So over those 32 days together, we became fairly cool acquaintances and I told him at that time that I was going to record ‘Just Like a Woman’ one day. I don’t think he believed me though, because when I called him to tell him that I had recorded it for this album, he was really happy to hear that. I think he was kind of knocked out and he agreed to play on it.

“I mean that song has always been one of my favorites. I think all women, who were of a certain age when that song was on the radio in the ‘60s, relate to that song. We all like to think we’re really tough, but we also have that fragile side to us as well and no other song really conveys that as well as Bob did with that song. The ‘Just Like a Woman’ lyric is just a great story. I would always sing along in harmony whenever I heard that song, so I always knew that I would one day record it myself.”

In one of those wonderful “Oops” stories, Stevie got one of the lyrics wrong: “Bob definitely took notice of that line: ‘with her amphetamines and her pills’ [laughs]. The thing is, I always thought it was ‘pills’ and not ‘pearls.’ So for all the years that I’ve been listening to Bob Dylan sing ‘Just Like a Woman,’ which is a lot of years, that’s what I always thought he was singing: ‘with her fog, her amphetamines and her pills.’ It never occurred to me that he was singing ‘pearls.’

So when he heard the song I had already done the final vocal because there was no way I was gonna play an unfinished track for Bob Dylan of one of his songs, so it was finished except for what he would add to it. [Dylan did play harmonica and guitar on the track]. So when we were listening to it and it got to that part, he said: ‘It’s pearls!’ And I said, ‘You’re kidding!’

“I was so embarrassed [laughs]. And I told him that this was the take that I did with the original band and I don’t think I can do the vocal like that again. I can’t match the sound of it. And he just said, ‘That’s okay’ [laughs]. The good news is that he really liked it, which made me happy, because if he hadn’t have liked it I wouldn’t have put it on the record.”

Stevie’s cover of the Bob Dylan classic “Just Like a Woman”

“Destiny”

Crying in the morning trying to be strong
Waiting for the spring to turn into the fall
Love don’t mean what it says at all
My destiny says that I’m destined to fall
*Fans will recognize this opening verse on her 1994 song “Destiny” is the exact same opening verse on her 1983 song “Enchanted.”

“I wrote ‘Destiny’ right after the Buckingham/Nicks album was released in 1973. We did try to record it on The Wild Heart album [released in 1983], which is where ‘Enchanted’ is. I remember that because Mark Knopfler from Dire Straits came in and did some stuff on it, but for some reason it just wasn’t what I wanted and it was such an old and dear song to me.

“I never think that because a song isn’t working for me at a certain time that it will never get done. I always figure that it’s just the people and that if I give a song to the right people, it’s gonna be cool. I never try to push something to make it happen and then end up with a version of my song that I hate for the rest of my life.

“I couldn’t cite any examples off the top of my head where I’ve taken a verse or a chorus of one song and put it into a new song, but I have done that before. The thing is that my songs are like a big long diary, so I don’t have a problem going back and stealing lyrics from myself because it’s still from me. It’s interesting to me that I would pull two or three lines from a song that’s already finished but had never been done.”

“Listen to the Rain”

“I think [Street Angel] is a really good summer driving album. Funny thing about ‘Listen to the Rain’ is that solo that sounds like a really high, intense guitar solo? It’s actually an electric violin. So next time you listen to it, check it out. This guy is amazing. His name is Joel Derouin, and he’s like Jimi Hendrix on the violin. He lives in Los Angeles and is just an incredible violinist.”

“Jane”

“I’m really glad you like that song and I appreciate that because ‘Jane’ is a real person and I was so inspired by this person that I just walked to the piano in Dallas, Texas, and wrote that song in about five or ten minutes.

“Jane Goodall is the woman who has done all the research on chimpanzees. She has really spent her life trying to protect them from being used like guinea pigs and all the other horrible things people do to these little guys. I met her in Dallas through a doctor friend of mine who takes care of my throat whenever I get bronchitis or pneumonia. Anyway, he introduced me to her and I took home some of her books and went back to the hotel. I read them and even just looking the photos of her when she was a little girl where she just had this real determined look on her face, where you can just see her say, ‘I’m really going to be devoted to something in my life.’

“That really struck a chord with me because I always felt that’s how I was too. In my pictures of when I was really little, I looked very determined. I could see that similarity in that both Jane and I seemed to want to devote our lives to something, and we both felt that somehow it was for the good of the planet.

“I like to feel that I don’t just write silly little stupid songs, but that I write songs that hopefully have a little bit of philosophy and a little bit of teaching. I like to reflect in my songs that ‘Yes, you had a really bad thing happen to you, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t a good experience and that it is preparing you for something even more wonderful and that it doesn’t mean that it will all work out for you in the end.’ So if people can listen to a song and think, ‘Well, if she got through it and she survived, maybe I can survive too.’ So my little teaching thing is somewhere in there.

“Jane, on the other hand, has spent her life trying to get people to understand that the things we have done to these animals is just wrong. I mean, when you take a little monkey and shoot it up full of AIDS and then stick him in a cage with just a little tiny hole that he can see out of, it’s really cruel. It’s like in the song, where I wrote: ‘You might as well put us both into prison,’ it’s just so hard to see that. And even though she has done so much for her cause, she is never going to feel that she has done enough. So I tried to write that song through her eyes and how sometimes how disappointing her fight for them was.

“When you meet her you quickly discover that she must have spent her life around animals and children, because she never makes a fast move in everything she does. Her grace is incredible and she has this really soft voice. She’s just so good. She’s a really good lady and I couldn’t help but be inspired by her to the point of wanting to share her with the world in my little way, because she really blows me away.”

“Jane” which Stevie wrote about longtime animal activist Jane Goodall

Memorable Gigs

Final Concert of First Solo Tour

Filmed for a video release, the final night of Stevie’s first solo tour turned out to be not only a brilliant performance but also an extremely emotional one that was all captured on tape. “It was at the Wilshire Theatre so it was at a magical place and it was an incredibly special night. We only did 12 shows on that tour over a two-week period in late 1981 and it was a very intense time.

“My very best friend Robin [Snyder Anderson] was in about the seventh month of her bout with leukemia that killed her a little while later. She had gotten out of the hospital to come with me on the road for that little tour and that night every song I was singing I was singing for her. And that she had gotten up the strength to get out of the hospital to come out and be with me on my first tour was just amazing.

Stevie with her lifelong best friend Robin Snyder Anderson, who passed away in 1982.

“She was my best friend from the time I was 14 or 15 until the day she died. I couldn’t even enjoy the success of Bella Donna at the time, because she told me that she had terminal leukemia on the same day that Bella Donna went to Number One on the charts. That meant nothing to me at that point. So a lot of that emotion that you see during that performance was all centered around Robin and what she meant to me.”

Stevie’s incredibly emotional performance of “Rhiannon” on the last night of her 1981 tour.

“The Dance” Concert

May 23, 1997. It was my 34th birthday. It was also the first time that the Buckingham/Nicks version of Fleetwood Mac would perform a concert together in 15 years. It was not only a nice musical present but a memory to last a lifetime.

I was one of a few hundred people invited to attend this much-anticipated reunion concert that would later be dubbed The Dance and be aired on MTV (and released on DVD and CD). The “secret location,” which we all had to be taken to by bus from a dirt parking lot in Burbank, California was actually a soundstage at the famous Warner Bros. studio.

Standing in line, sandwiched between some Beach Boy named Brian Wilson and some rocker chick named Courtney Love, there was a tangible anticipation in the air. Similar to the vibe I felt at the Eagles Hell Freezes Over reunion concert three years earlier at this same soundstage, one could almost feel like we were back in the ‘70s when FM and the Eagles ruled the Southern California airwaves. They were as Los Angeles as we all were, even if only a few of them were natives.

Opening with “The Chain,” the moody epic from Rumours, the band seemed to be in top form from the get-go, although Stevie gave the first indication that the performers were as nervous as some in the audience when she stepped to the spotlight for the second song of the evening, her #1 Rumours hit “Dreams.”

Mick kicked things in, the crowd yelled with recognition and Stevie began singing:
“Now here you go again, you say you want your….”

She forgot the lyric and the band came to a quick halt. Stevie apologized and after a moment of awkwardness the band started again, more applause.

“Now here you go again,” she sang, “you say you want your…” Nothing again, and this time Christine McVie shouted out that missing word: “FREEDOM!”

As the band crashed to a halt again, it was obvious that Stevie was having a pretty bad mental block. As she turned toward Lindsey in what seemed to be a need for support, her former partner walked across the stage and gave her a big reassuring hug. The crowd cheered louder than before and we were on to Take 3.

“Now here you go again, you say you want your freedom” and there it was. The momentary nerves were gone and Fleetwood Mac churned out 20 more songs, including Stevie’s Rumours outtake “Silver Springs,” and the night was a resounding success.

The Dance DVD and CD were released three months later and immediately topped the charts. The CD was on its way to selling more than five million albums in America alone (along with more than a million DVDs).

Stevie’s “Silver Springs” was left off the Rumours album and became a cult favorite before this 1997 version brought the lovely ballad into the mainstream.

Stevie Onstage

As one of rock’s most charismatic performers for more than 40 years, one has to wonder how she manages to get up for every single concert she does. It has to get robotic at times playing the same songs for so many years, doesn’t it? “Whenever I perform my songs I really do go back to the moment when I wrote the song and picture myself back there every time I sing it,” she maintained. “So I can always feel that same initial energy of creating the story that I’m telling, and I always feel that every single show is precious because every show can truly be the last one. I always try and remember that every time I walk off stage I may never walk on it again and that’s how I look at it.”

Playing Onstage

During the promotion of Street Angel, Stevie had been playing piano during some of her radio interviews, which led to the question as to whether she would start playing onstage. “I don’t think I have the guts to play piano or guitar onstage, because if I made a mistake I would just die. I can play well enough to write my songs, but it’s not sterling musicianship,” she said with a laugh. “‘Rhiannon’ is one that I can play on the piano in my sleep so maybe I’ll work that into a show some day. I have thought about doing it and I start rehearsals next week for this tour, so I may just bring that up and see what people think.”

Stevie’s solo rendition of “Rhiannon” in 1994.
Pink Floyd’s Roger Waters: Architect of ‘The Wall’

Pink Floyd’s Roger Waters: Architect of ‘The Wall’

Roger Waters during the soundcheck at The Berlin Wall in 1990.

When it comes to the greatest rock bands of all-time, there are only a handful of groups that can truly be considered. One of them is most assuredly Pink Floyd, a band that would have been largely forgotten after the mental breakdown of their original leader Syd Barrett in 1967 if the band’s bassist Roger Waters hadn’t have stepped to the forefront as the principal lyricist, songwriter and conceptual leader. Under Waters’ stewardship Pink Floyd released a slew of classic albums, including the immortal Dark Side of the Moon and 1979’s The Wall.

Guitarist and vocalist David Gilmour joined the band in ’68 and within five years Waters, Gilmour, keyboardist Richard Wright and drummer Nick Mason would be at the top of the music world. They would remain there until Waters quit the group in 1985 amidst one of the most acrimonious breakups in rock & roll history.

Roger Waters in Abbey Road Studios during the “Wish You Were Here” sessions in 1975.
(Photo: Jill Furmanovsky)

So to pick up the phone on an otherwise mundane summer day in 1990 and hear that familiar English accented voice say: “Hi Steve, this is Roger Waters calling from London” was indeed a high for this longtime Floyd fan.

The reason for this particular interview was to discuss Waters bringing his masterful epic The Wall to the site of the then-recently demolished Berlin Wall. This monumental international rock event took place 29 years ago today on July 21, 1990. In addition to the estimated 400,000 people who attended the performance, it was also broadcast live to more than 300 million people in more than 50 countries.

We spoke at length only a few weeks prior to this historic concert and what follows is the long and winding road of how The Wall-Live in Berlin came to be. We also discussed the circumstances that led Waters to originally write The Wall, which not only became one of the biggest selling albums in rock history (23 million and counting), but was also turned into a feature film starring Bob Geldof, later of Live Aid fame.

The First Brick

The seeds of The Wall, Roger Waters’ epic tale of isolation, disillusionment and fear, were planted during Pink Floyd’s final concert of their record setting In the Flesh stadium tour. As the 55-city global tour that began in Germany in late January of 1977 progressed, Waters became more and more disillusioned with the often unruly stadium audiences and things came to a head at the final show at Montreal Olympic Stadium on July 6, 1977.

For Waters, it was no longer about the music as we discussed what was going on in his mind at that point in time: “I wrote [The Wall] because of the disgust I felt at the Olympic Stadium in Montreal during a concert when I found myself spitting at some kid in the crowd. He was shouting and screaming and trying to get through the barriers in front of the stage while I was trying to sing a song. And I thought, ‘This is insane. This isn’t what I joined a band for.’”

Bootleg audio of Roger Waters’ infamous tirade during Pink Floyd’s concert at Olympic Stadium in Montreal on July 6, 1977.

Rock & Roll Greed

But it wasn’t all just about being disgruntled with the audiences either. Money and greed was beginning to rear its ugly head as well, Waters revealed by saying: “And then backstage the only thing being discussed was, ‘Do you know how many people were out there? Do you know how much money we grossed?’ It just ceased having to do with anything about music or having a good time or communicating ideas or writing songs.

“It became just about how much did we gross from ticket sales. Not that I haven’t taken the money, but as the be-all and end-all of what Pink Floyd was about, it became extremely unpleasant. I didn’t like it. I really disliked it, and that’s where the idea of building a wall across the stage in front of a rock & roll group came from. It was my disgust with the greed of working in stadiums, so I swore that I would never do that again, and so far I haven’t.”

[With the advancements in technology available for stadium concerts today, Waters did perform The Wall live 20 years after this interview, with an extensive tour from 2010-2013, which remains the highest grossing tour ever by a solo artist].

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PJtoJ-LIU6g
Roger Waters discusses his classic tale of unbridled greed, “Money.”

The Building of ‘The Wall’

Following the Montreal debacle, Waters retreated into an artistic shell. So intense was his feelings about what Pink Floyd had become, he wrote and recorded demos for two different concept albums for the rest of the band to consider for their next release. One was The Wall [titled Bricks in the Wall at the time], which discussed all the walls that we as individuals begin to build around ourselves. From overprotective parents and tyrannical schools to drug use, marriage/infidelity and ultimate isolation. The other concept was a day-in-the-life look at interpersonal relationships.

Incredibly, both of these concept albums were completed by Waters in July of 1978, exactly one year after the infamous spitting incident. The other members of Floyd agreed to go with what would become The Wall. The other concept project would be used for Waters’ first solo album The Pros and Cons of Hitch Hiking in 1984, one year before he officially quit Pink Floyd.

While the massive double-album would top the Billboard Charts for an incredible 15 consecutive weeks and would dominate FM airplay for the next few years, the recording of the album was anything but a happy endeavor for Pink Floyd. The prolonged 11-month recording and mixing period—December 1978-November 1979—resulted in keyboardist Richard Wright quitting the band due to conflicts with Waters, who grew tired of his band mate’s lack of musical contributions to the project. Wright, who passed away in 2008, would continue on as a session player for the band in the studio and on tour before eventually once again becoming a fully fledged member of Floyd in 1994, a decade after Waters left the group and Gilmour had assumed the leadership role.

‘The Wall’ Tour

Taking The Wall on the road in 1980-81 was no easy feat as Waters refused to do another stadium tour, since the album he had just written was actually birthed because of his resentment of playing in such venues.

“We didn’t do a lengthy tour of The Wall back when the album came out,” Waters said, admitting that he was the reason. “I wouldn’t do the tour outdoors. I do have to say that the others in the band and the promoters spent days cajoling and twisting my arm trying to get me to agree to doing a stadium tour.”

Pink Floyd performing during the brief tour of The Wall in 1980.

Refusing to budge, the abbreviated tour, which involved a monumental production effort, including stage hands literally constructing a 30-foot high wall between the band and the audience. This hybrid of a rock concert and stage show would only be performed for multiple nights in just four cities—Los Angeles, New York, London and Dortmund, Germany.

While the shows were a huge success in terms of the presentation for the audience, it was a financial disaster for the band—reportedly leaving them half a million dollars in the red—because of the extremely high costs of the show’s production and the limited tickets available in arena venues (between 14,000-20,000 per night). In all, only 31 shows were performed and Waters refused to undertake a stadium tour to make up the difference; seemingly content with the financial loss over feelings of hypocrisy.

“Since part of the idea behind The Wall was taking a look at the overly greedy nature of having things like rock & roll concerts in stadiums,” Waters continued, “I just couldn’t see having it in a stadium.”

‘The Wall’ in Berlin

Fast forward ten years to 1990 when Roger Waters announced that on July 21 of that year, he would be doing a charity performance of his masterwork at the very site of the Berlin Wall, which had famously been torn down the previous November. But there was one thing that Waters made clear from the outset of our conversation about this monumental undertaking that involved intense negotiations with both the East German and West German governments.

“This is not a Pink Floyd reunion,” the band’s former leader told me in no uncertain terms. He was also not ready to reveal just which artists would make up the all-star lineup: “I’m not giving out any names of the people who will be performing until I know for certain everyone who will be taking part, and then I’ll give them out at the same time. So no scoop for you today, Mr. Wheeler [laughs].

“The problem with these kinds of things is that you get some people who will say ‘yes’ right away, and some people who will say ‘no’ right away, and then you have other ones, which are the worst, who say, ‘That sounds really interesting,'” he said with a laugh. “So I need to know which ones of the ‘that sounds really interesting’ folks are going to do it before I make any announcement.”

Waters and Joni Mitchell rehearsing “Goodbye Blue Sky” in Berlin.

Ultimately the historic concert included an international array of diverse artists including Van Morrison, Joni Mitchell, Sinead O’Connor, Cyndi Lauper, the Scorpions, Bryan Adams, Paul Carrack, Thomas Dolby, Marianne Faithfull, Ute Lemper, and The Band’s Levon Helm, Rick Danko and Garth Hudson, as well as Waters himself.

Sinead O’Connor’s sublime performance of “Mother” at the Berlin Wall concert. Due to technical difficulties during the live broadcast, it was her dress rehearsal performance from the previous day that was aired. The sterling rendition also featured The Band’s Rick Danko and Levon Helm on backing vocals and Garth Hudson’s accordion. A highpoint of the event.

Ironically, the idea of performing The Wall at the site of the Cold War’s most iconic symbol harkened back to an off-the-cuff remark Waters made two years previously during a radio interview with syndicated radio host Redbeard: “I told him that I didn’t think I would ever perform The Wall again and when he expressed disappointment about that I said, ‘Tell you what, if the Berlin Wall ever comes down I’ll go and do it there as an act of celebration.

“It was a strange and prophetic thing to say,” Waters says with a laugh, “because at that time it didn’t look as if there was any chance that it would come down. I was as surprised as everybody else at the speed in which everything happened. I think it demonstrated the extraordinary capacity for political systems to do an about-face, and it was clearly caused by the technology advances of telecommunications in general and by television in particular. That’s the most extraordinary thing that’s happening in all of our lives is the way that telecommunications are dictating the way people relate to each other and the way political systems are having to change.”

This video from ABC’s Nightline captures the historic day when the Berlin Wall came down.

A Brick for Charity

In September of 1989, just months before the collapse of the Berlin Wall, Waters had been approached by event promoter Mick Worwood to perform The Wall to help raise money for The Memorial Fund for Disaster Relief (an international UK-based charity founded by British World War II hero Leonard Chesire). A meeting between the avowed pacifist and rock & roll star and Britain’s most famous military hero resulted in Waters telling me: “I agreed to do it after I had met with Leonard Cheshire, who founded this charity and is just an amazing man. I was humbled being in his presence. I was deeply and truly impressed by him.”

Former RAF pilot Leonard Cheshire (1917-1992) and former Pink Floyd musician Roger Waters (right) in London, 26th June 1990. Waters staged a charity concert ‘The Wall – Live in Berlin’ a month later, to benefit the Memorial Fund for Disaster Relief founded by Cheshire. (Photo: Tom Stoddart Archive/Getty Images)

At this point in time, the talk began of where this charity performance should take place and the Berlin Wall was brought up during discussions, but Waters feared that such a concert could have a negative impact on the slow rolling progress that was then being made. “This was in September of ’89 and there was a little bit of a freeing up of ideas happening in the Eastern Bloc countries,” he said. “So I was saying, ‘We can’t now go there and start yelling: Tear Down This Wall!’ I just felt it would be impolitic and stupid to go in and shout at them at that point.”

So the search for a suitable site continued. “We looked at other places,” he continued. “We looked at the Grand Canyon, Red Square and all kinds of places, and then, in November, the Berlin Wall actually came down which was totally unexpected and they decided there were also going to be elections in East Germany. So we immediately transferred our attention back to Berlin and we began to have meetings with the authorities in both East and West Berlin. It took five months but we finally got the permission to use this fantastic site.”

Not surprisingly, the toughest sell was with East Berlin. “I think the East Berlin authorities had more trouble understanding what it was that we wanted to do,” Waters said, diplomatically. To make matters worse, on New Year’s Eve two people were killed when a large video screen they were standing on collapsed in front of the Brandenburg Gate, where they hoped to stage the concert.

An incredible view of the event at the Berlin Wall.

According to Waters, in light of that tragedy, the East Berlin Parliament passed legislation prohibiting any and all events from taking place within two miles of those deaths. Undaunted, Waters and the organizers muddled through the governmental red tape and were able to reach an agreement. “We had to get them to rescind those decisions for this event, so it has been very difficult because public officials are public officials and there’s always a lot of paperwork and channels to work through. It really is a miracle that we have gotten the permission and that this is really happening.”

A Massive Scale

After the permission was granted, Waters went about trying to bring his theatrical dreams to fruition. “If I have any reputation, it’s for the fact that when I put shows on there’s always something to look at,” he said with pride. “The site and the number of people have dictated that this show is going to be much bigger than it ever was indoors. It’s the same presentation but obviously the wall we’ll be building in Berlin will be much larger.

“It’s twice the height (80 feet versus 30 feet) and 600 feet long (as opposed to 160-feet during the 1980 tour). It’s an enormous feat of engineering.” Other ideas that weren’t feasible previously are now a reality for Waters who seems to believe that the sky is the limit, both figuratively and literally. “We found some of the aircraft I wanted to use in the show. We found two B-17s, which will fly overhead at the beginning of the concert to help set the scene. You would have needed a helluva good pilot to pull that off at an indoor concert,” he joked.

The massive stage at the Berlin Wall on July 21, 1990.

Also on display will be the now famous animations created by illustrator Gerald Scarfe. “We will also be using a lot of the animation that was used in the original concerts, but also we’ll be using animation that was later developed for the theatrical movie. For instance there was stuff that was developed for ‘Empty Spaces’ that was done for the movie and was never in the original shows.”

Pink Floyd’s original video of “Another Brick in the Wall Part 2” featuring just some of Gerald Scarfe’s iconic animations.

“And in terms of the projection,” the veteran musician continued, “apart from the four film projectors that we used in the original concerts—a 70 millimeter behind the state and three 35 millimeter projectors out front—we are also using five Pano projectors to project still images onto the wall in the second half of the show.”

As for changes, Waters pointed out that they are “rewriting and treating the hotel room scene in an entirely different way because that would not work from 300 years away.”

The basic nucleus of the behind-the-scenes crew is the same as the lineup that made the original production, including the design work being handled once again by the team of Mark Fisher and Jonathan Park, who had just recently completed the huge undertaking of the Rolling Stones’ Steel Wheels tour. “I didn’t see the Stones tour,” Waters admits, “but I gather the set they built was rather spectacular.”

The Broadcast

Unlike a normal televised concert, Waters was again looking to break precedent. “It’s not just going to be a live shoot of a rock & roll show, because that’s pretty dull stuff. We’re trying to script the show so that it’s music theater for television.

“The thing is when you’re at the event, you’ve got the very loud music and the tribal feelings associated with being among a large number of people. But when you’re sitting at home in your living room, you need other things. We’re trying to make a TV program that is stimulating and entertaining in a different way while we’re also putting on a concert. It should be interesting.”

The Berlin Aftermath

The concert that took place on July 21, 1990 was witnessed around the world on that same day, and was followed by the release of an album and video. As with any live event, there were a couple of technical difficulties, most notably during Sinead O’Connor’s performance in which the producers made a decision on the fly to switch to her stunning rendition of “Mother” at the dress rehearsal that took place the previous day. All in all, the event did raise more than two million dollars for Cheshire’s charity fund.

The duet performance of the classic “Comfortably Numb” by Roger Waters and Van Morrison was arguably the highlight of the entire Berlin Wall event.

Last Words on Pink Floyd

Waters, Gilmour, Mason and Wright in happier times.

During our 1990 conversation, I asked Waters about his decision to leave the band he co-founded and his feelings about Gilmour, Mason and Wright continuing on without him.

“I’ve had my say about them continuing on as Pink Floyd and they’ve had their say,” he replied. “I just feel that the band is no longer a band. Check that, I know it isn’t a band. It’s a terrific brand name, but that is not a band. It’s a marketing device for a brand name and that’s all it is.

“I was very upset for quite a long time, but I can honestly say that it’s all behind me now. I just ignore them and they do what they do and I do what I do. We don’t fight anymore. It’s over and that’s the way it should be.”

“The Wall” exhibit at the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame in Cleveland, Ohio.

Waters did take legal action against his former band mates—Gilmour and Mason—over their continued use of the Pink Floyd name shortly after he left the group in 1985. They have since resolved their bitter differences and even reunited in 2005 at the Live 8 concert. Gilmour and Mason also each made a guest appearance onstage during Waters’ own tour of The Wall in 2011.

Although no one should expect Waters and Gilmour to be sitting down to break bread anytime soon. After the phenomenal Pink Floyd reunion at Live 8, Gilmour quickly put to rest any rumors of anything happening beyond that, saying famously: “It was like sleeping with your ex-wife.”

And with Wright’s death in 2008, a full-fledged reunion is no longer possible, but Mason still holds out a bit of hope although not much as he told Rolling Stone just this past December: “[The feud is] between the two of them rather than me. I actually get along with both of them, and I think it’s really disappointing that these rather elderly gentlemen are still at loggerheads. I don’t think we’re going to tour as Pink Floyd again. But it would seem silly at this stage of our lives to still be fighting.”

With that said, let’s end this on a positive note. Enjoy Pink Floyd’s remarkable 2005 reunion set at Live 8 in its entirety…

The four surviving members of Pink Floyd shocked the world by reuniting for a 20-minute performance at Live 8 in 2005. The emotional set was the perfect swan song for the band.
Happy Byrd-day, Roger McGuinn

Happy Byrd-day, Roger McGuinn

By Steven P. Wheeler

Roger McGuinn with his iconic 12-string Rickenbacker during a Byrds recording session.

Today, we celebrate the 77th birthday of one of rock’s most influential figures. As the founder, lead vocalist and lead guitarist of the seminal Sixties’ band The Byrds, Roger McGuinn helped bring together the polar opposite musical camps of folk and rock, and his place in the annals of music history are cemented in the public consciousness forever.

In 1991, two months after The Byrds—McGuinn, David Crosby, Chris Hillman, Gene Clark and Michael Clarke—were inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, I spoke with this soft-spoken rock legend about his illustrious past and his then-current album Back From Rio, which was his first album in nearly ten years.

Roger McGuinn at the time of his hit 1991 album, Back From Rio.

With his granny shades, his jangling guitar sounds and his vocal prowess, McGuinn led The Byrds through a phenomenal evolution from folk-rock to psychedelia to country-rock with equal success. Although they may be best remembered for their Sixties’ classics “Turn! Turn! Turn!,” “Eight Miles High” and “So You Wanna Be a Rock & Roll Star,” The Byrds also served as mainstream mouthpieces for Bob Dylan by bringing his songs and lyrical attitudes to the mainstream via the bourgeoning world of rock. Their renditions of Dylan’s “Mr. Tambourine Man” and “My Back Pages” created a musical stew that would help change the course of popular music.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gYLKlgalHMs
McGuinn says of The Byrds first single and classic hit: “I was the only one in the band who actually played on that track. Our producer Terry Melcher brought in his A-Team session guys: Leon Russell [keyboards], Hal Blaine [drums], Jerry Cole [rhythm guitar] and Larry Knechtel [bass] to play with me.”

When it comes to the magical ingredient that The Byrds possessed, McGuinn said: “I don’t know what it was that made The Byrds so special. I think it was just a sense of wonder and a sense of innocence. We were trying to change musical directions all the time. Basically because I wanted to avoid being labeled as any one thing. We were allowed to get away with a lot commercially. We weren’t forced by the record label to do anything that they thought would be commercial, whereas that kind of liberal attitude doesn’t really prevail in the business today.”

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bCcFyR0MITQ

The Folk & Rock Wars

Before The Byrds, the worlds of folk and rock may have well been existing in entirely different universes, according to the Chicago-born musician: “Before the Sixties, there was a tremendous gulf between folk and rock. I think what we did kind of brought them together,” McGuinn explained. “People in the folk circles were really snobs about electric music. So much so that they booed Dylan at the Newport Folk Festival when he went electric, and I remember that kind of thinking being very prevalent. But I never thought that electric instruments were evil or anything.

“It just kind of happened naturally, it’s not really something that anybody put a whole lot of thought into. We were folk singers who were influenced by The Beatles. We loved The Beatles. I think I was truly one of the first people in the folk circles to really pick up on The Beatles and telling everyone that ‘Hey, this is really good stuff.’ But these folkies would be like, ‘No, that’s rock & roll, forget about it.’ But because we were so steeped in the folk tradition, what we did came out differently than what The Beatles were doing.”

The Story of “Eight Miles High”

“I remember the origin of that song very vividly. The inspiration for it was that we had just done a tour of England and we had a tough time over there because the press didn’t like us, because the promoter had billed us as ‘America’s answer to the Beatles’ and that kind of rubbed everybody the wrong way. And we weren’t that good actually, kind of out of tune [laughs].

“So we were feeling pretty bad and wrote a song about the tour. The ‘eight miles high’ was nothing but the airplane ride; the altitude, flying at 40,000 feet. Musically, the inspiration was from John Coltrane and Ravi Shankar. We had been listening to a lot of their records at the time, so when we were recording it in the studio I was actively trying to do a tribute to Coltrane in the instrumental break of that song.

“We ran into [censorship] in 1968 when a radio tip sheet came out and was saying that ‘Eight Miles High’ was a drug song, when it actually it wasn’t. It was about airplane ride. And that really knocked The Byrds out of business for a while. Censorship is a really destructive thing and it smacks of McCarthyism. I just don’t like that kind of mentality.”

“My guitar influences were Elvis’ guitarist James Burton, and Chet Atkins, and blues guys like B.B. King. But I also went to the Old Town School of Folk Music [in his hometown of Chicago]; that’s where I learned to fingerpick, and that’s what you’re hearing from me, that rolling finger picking style. It carries over from my folk banjo and guitar picking styles.

The Byrds

During their turbulent eight-year existence from 1965-73, McGuinn was the only constant as band members came and went and each new musical direction continued to confound critics and fans alike. And while the band’s leader is understandably proud of the group’s legacy, there wasn’t much time spent thinking about The Byrds’ impact on rock’s future. “We didn’t have time to think about stuff like that. I’m really pleased that the music of The Byrds has stood up over the years, but we never really thought about the future much back in those days. Looking back on it now, yeah, it’s really easy to assimilate the whole thing of what The Byrds did, and it’s kind of a neat thing.”

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-WXy-h5scjk

Surprisingly, McGuinn told me that, in hindsight, he wishes that he would have closed the nest much sooner than he actually did. “We all had different ideas of what the band was. Sometimes that worked for us and produced a good kind of tension, but eventually it would become too much pressure and would crack us up. That’s basically what happened.

“I kind of wish I had broken the band up earlier,” he said candidly, “but at the time it was like being the owner of a corner store. It’s a business and you do whatever you can to keep it going. It was kind of lonely when all the guys that I had started the band with were gone and I had to bring in new people. The only saving grace was Clarence White, because I really enjoyed working with him. He was just a wonderful friend and an excellent guitar player.

“I just kind of think that if I had come out with some of the later things as a solo effort—because it was all basically my stuff—it would have been a better start on a solo career.”

The Post-Byrds Era

Between 1973-77, McGuinn released five solo albums that did not do well, so he grabbed two of his former Byrd-mates—Chris Hillman and Gene Clark—and formed McGuinn, Clark & Hillman.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f9yBJsogcqg
“We did three albums on Capitol Records. We had a hit with the first one, a song I wrote called ‘Don’t You Write Her Off Like That.’ It was a Top 40 hit and we had a pretty good run. We got a lot of exposure on TV and in the press, and it sold a lot of records.

The Troubadour Years

Following the demise of McGuinn, Clark & Hillman in 1981, McGuinn decided to stop making records and adopt the lifestyle of a traveling minstrel. “That was when I decided to take it easy and do the folk thing for a while,” he said. “Just go around like a troubadour with a guitar and play clubs and theaters by myself. The idea came from Ramblin’ Jack Elliot who told me that he had so much fun barnstorming the country in a Land Rover. It sounded so romantic, like a Hemingway trip, so I decided to do that and I absolutely loved it.

“It gave me a tremendous sense of freedom. I was making plenty of money. I had everything I wanted. We had a really good standard of living and I wasn’t beholding to any corporations and didn’t have to do anything that I didn’t want to do.”

Back From Rio

By the dawn of the Nineties, McGuinn decided the time was right to enter the recording studio for his first album in nearly a decade, Back From Rio. “I was having so much fun traveling around and playing solo gigs, I didn’t pursue another record deal. I didn’t put a demo together or anything. But by the end of the Eighties, the musical climate was getting warmer for the kind of music I do, it just kind of fell together. It wasn’t anything I was actively pursuing.”

And in a case of what goes around comes around, Byrds’ devotee Tom Petty joined creative forces with his former mentor on the album’s first single “King of the Hill,” which the two wrote and sang together. “I wrote that song with Petty in Europe when we were on tour together. It was during the Dylan/Petty Tour, and I was opening for them. We had a day off in Sweden and I had this tune and I went up to his room and we came up with the words after jamming with it. It came together really quick.”

When I mention to McGuinn that after playing his new album for a friend, their response was: “Good album, but that guy is trying too hard to sound like Tom Petty,” he laughed at the irony. “That’s funny. That does make me laugh. It’s just amazing, isn’t it [laughs]. But I get it. I remember when I first got into John Coltrane, I didn’t know for years that Dexter Gordon had come first and that Coltrane had been inspired by Dexter Gordon.”

Dylan’s Rolling Thunder Revue

An interesting sidenote that cropped up during my talk with McGuinn had to do with his being a part of Bob Dylan’s infamous Rolling Thunder Revue Tour in 1975-76. This is especially of interest today in light of the new Martin Scorsese documentary about that tour that was just released.

McGuinn, who was part of both legs of the carnival-like tour, recalls it all with a wry smile and boyish enthusiasm: “It was even wilder and crazier than Larry Sloman wrote in his book [On the Road with Bob Dylan: Rolling with Thunder]. I mean, he walked around around with a tape recorder but he only got bits and pieces of what was really going on. Boy, it was great. It was seriously the best thing I’ve ever done in my life.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aF3mQG7AjLU
McGuinn and Dylan onstage during the infamous Rolling Thunder Revue.

“It was wild. Imagine sitting on a bus with Joni Mitchell on one side and Joan Baez on the other,” he continued. “We were all playing guitars together and talking about things. It was truly amazing. It was just such a flawless tour. It was closer to vaudeville than anything I’d ever seen.”

The Sixties in Retrospect

Decades after the Sixties, one has to wonder if that whole era has been blown out of proportion by a media longing for that magic again. McGuinn, who was a focal point of that musical wonderland, won’t have any of that: “It’s not a myth,” he maintained. “We really did have a strong feeling that we could help make the world a better place through our music. We could educate people and really get together a grass roots movement of people who wanted to try and stop wars or stop big business from polluting and all of those kinds of things.”

Of course, he does admit in hindsight: “It was certainly a very naïve approach to life and some good social changes did come out of all of that, but it was not with the earth-shaking global impact that we had hoped for.”

No matter their intent or ultimate disappointment, Roger McGuinn was a major force in the evolution of rock music. Yet someone who remains modest about his artistic impact, always preferring to let his 12-string Rickenbacker do all his talking for him. We are lucky to still have him as he continues to perform to this very day.

Happy 77th, Roger. You remain a true original whose shadow over the rock world is a large one indeed.

25 Years Ago: The Hootie Story

25 Years Ago: The Hootie Story

By Steven P. Wheeler

July 5, 2019 marks the 25th Anniversary of the release of the biggest selling debut album in music history: Hootie & the Blowfish’s Cracked Rear View.

1994. Grunge rock had broken into the mainstream only a few years earlier with the major label success of Pearl Jam, Soundgarden, Alice in Chains and Nirvana, after its cultish flowering in the Pacific Northwest. A plaid-covered hybrid of Seventies-styled sludge rock and punk abrasion, the media and recording industry couldn’t seem to get enough of what they branded grunge; establishing and celebrating a loosely unified movement of disaffected youth.

It was also one without a goal nor a clear destination. Or as some detractors dubbed the largely angst-filled music: “whine rock.” It was largely art formed from middle-class disillusionment and wrapped in social disgust. Long before social media, “First World Problems” became a cult phrase amongst those who didn’t take to the constant onslaught of anger and dissatisfaction found so often within those first few years of mainstream grunge.

In April of ‘94, Nirvana’s Kurt Cobain committed suicide and for a brief time, the genre’s popularity grew even more as the media’s legend of Cobain went on unabated.

It’s not surprising that this timeframe also saw a rise in the popularity of country music, which, in many ways, was nothing more than Seventies-styled pop-rock with a hat. In short there was an obvious opening for a new rock band to fill in a major hole among a new generation of rock fans who lived largely outside the world of grunge. No one, however, could have predicted that this void of melodic rock with a more upbeat message would be filled by a mixed-race quartet from South Carolina with the unlikely name of Hootie & the Blowfish.

Cracked Rear View

Twenty-five years ago on July 5, Hootie & the Blowfish released their major label debut album, Cracked Rear View, which has since gone on to sell an astronomical 21 million copies (tied with Garth Brooks Double Live as the #9 Best Selling Album in history, according to the Recording Industry Association of America’s Certifications).

The band—singer-songwriter Darius Rucker, guitarist Mark Bryan, bassist Dean Felber and drummer Jim Sonefeld—is currently in the midst of their first full-fledged reunion tour to celebrate the anniversary of their debut release, with a slated new album coming out later this summer.

For the past ten years, the band has been on hiatus—aside from some annual concerts for charities—as the band’s focal point Darius Rucker has pursued a very successful career over in the world of country music. With a slew of #1 country hits spread out over his four solo albums, Rucker is back with the band he started all those years ago in 1986.

Darius Rucker’s hit cover of “Wagon Wheel”

When They Were Young

Back in ’94, I sat down with a 27-year-old Darius Rucker, at a time when his band Hootie & The Blowfish were just getting their first taste of success. Their debut album with Atlantic Records had just cracked the Top Ten, but the surprising mega-stardom level that first record would attain was still a year away.

Formed in Columbia, South Carolina in ’86 as a way to pass the time while the four part-time musicians finished their studies at the University of South Carolina, the band first made their name playing countless gigs in and around campus with a steady supply of cover tunes as they slowly began working in their own originals.

Bassist Dean Felber, Darius Rucker, guitarist Mark Bryan and drummer Jim Sonefeld in the Eighties, when stardom and success were still nothing more than a dream.

But what’s with that name?

Rucker explained it all had to do with his penchant for passing out nicknames to students around campus: “People are always expecting this great funny story, but it’s actually pretty boring,” he said with a laugh. “There was this one guy who had really big eyes and wore glasses, so I called him ‘Hootie’ because he looked like an owl. This other guy was really fat and had big cheeks, so I called him ‘The Blowfish.’ One night we were at a party in South Carolina, and these two walked in together, and I said, ‘Look, Hootie & The Blowfish’.”

With name in hand, the next logical step for a band looking for a record deal was to get the hell out of Dodge (or in this case, South Carolina) and try to gain attention in the music meccas. However, these four took another tact, which was quite unique at the time, and that was to try and be a big fish in a small pond.

“Actually, that’s the very reason we didn’t move after everybody got out of college,” the singer said. “We were very content with where we were, and we figured that if we were good enough, somebody would find us in Columbia. If you go to New York, Atlanta or L.A., you can get lost because there are 62 million bands in those places. We just decided to stay home, and if someone wanted us, they could find us.”

Entrepreneurial Rock

The band did attempt the tried and true method of trying to get music industry attention by sending out demo tapes, but they had more of a business plan in mind. “We did send out demos to record companies,” Rucker admitted, “but we never called people a million times. We figured that if it was gonna come, it would come; and if it didn’t, we’d have a blast for a few years and then get real jobs.”

Instead of begging and pleading for attention—like a majority of bands—and also not getting much response from the record labels who were looking for the next grunge band instead of a harmony-laden melodic rock band, these four musical entrepreneurs decided to create a business and go it alone, along with their manager Rusty Harmon.

As their regional following continued to grow down to Georgia, “we were making pretty good money from shows and also with merchandising,” the vocalist explained. Next up was putting their education to good use, especially from the band’s bassist Dean Felber who was a financial marketing major: “Dean had a lot to do with setting everything up,” Rucker continued. “Dean knew all about the S-corporations and the C-corporations and all that crap, and he knew people at the university who were glad to help out with things. There were a lot of people who helped us out for free, which was really cool.”

In 1990, the band released the first of their three self-released EPs, and by setting up the business of the band, they were able to run things like a small business as Rucker explained: “Most bands just split the money at the end of the week, but we didn’t want to do that. What happened if I blew my knee out or something, and we couldn’t play for a month. I wanted to make sure that I’d still get my weekly paycheck, so that’s how we set it up; with a payroll. I think more bands should start looking at it that way, because this is a business. Even though it’s great fun, it is a business.

With their own release of the 1993 EP, Kootchypop, Hootie & the Blowfish had become a truly independent musical force. Between 1990-93, the band played on average 250 gigs per year, a throwback to the bygone blue-collar work ethic started by the likes of Bob Seger or Bruce Springsteen. Regularly playing 2,000 seat halls, Hootie managed to sell 60,000 copies of Kootchypop; no easy feat in the days before file sharing and social media.

Atlantic Comes Calling

Enter Atlantic Records’ A&R rep Tim Sommer, who signed the band to the legendary record label. “We started getting reports that this self-made record, with no record company affiliation, from a band in South Carolina, was outselling Pearl Jam in that entire state,” the long-haired exec told me during our conversation. “Why I think it was a good signing is, despite the trends that come and go, people of all ages really like Bob Seger, John Mellencamp, Tom Petty and early R.E.M. It didn’t take a genius to see that if you could find a band that espoused those values and wrote quality songs and had the same vibe as a Seger or a Crosby, Stills & Nash or a Mellencamp, but were 20 years younger, you were going to have something special.”

Tim Sommer, A&R exec at Atlantic Records, signed Hootie to the label and made history in the process. (Photo Credit; Tom Farrell)

“Right before Hootie’s album came out,” continued Sommer, “I remember Bob Seger’s Greatest Hits album was in the Top 20 on the Billboard Charts. What the hell was Seger’s Greatest Hits doing in the Top 20? You had to figure that everyone who grew up with Bob Seger already had his records. The fact is, there were 16, 18 and 20-year-olds buying Seger’s Greatest Hits. We’re not talking about older guys in pickup trucks in Des Moines. We’re talking about kids in New York, Boston and Los Angeles, really hip kids who are also buying Hole and Weezer.”

It became so obvious to Sommer, he remarked: “Signing the band was so logical that it amazes me that more labels weren’t seeing it, especially if you take into account that Hootie was doing six-figures in merchandising before we even signed them. This is a band that no one had heard of outside of North and South Carolina, Delaware, Virginia and Georgia. It didn’t take a brain surgeon to see it—even though they were not courted by other labels and were basically signed for nothing.”

Still, despite what Hollywood movies would have you believe, national success never happens overnight and there was also a potential issue with Darius Rucker being the frontman.

Some Peace & Some Harmony

It wasn’t always a easy road for the band or their African-American frontman, as Rucker made clear during our time together. “Early on, there were clubs that our manager, Rusty, would say, ‘I don’t think we can play there,’ and I’d ask why, and he’d say, ‘Well, because you’re black,’ So it was like, ‘Fuck ‘em, I don’t wanna play there anyway.’

“I’ve probably experienced some form of racism every day, in one way or another,” he added, “and I think playing in a band with me has opened the other three guys up to things that they would have never thought of. It’s amazing, because I deal with things like that by letting it go, but if one of the other guys hears something [racist], it’s like fisticuffs, and we’re in a big brawl somewhere [laughs].”

This ten-minute medley of the classic rock hit, “Love the One You’re With” includes some Beastie Boys and even some School House Rock, demonstrating just how good of a live act Hootie & the Blowfish had become by 1995. Good time rock at its best.

So when it came time for their major label debut, the band thumbed their noses at any possible image issues by hiding all four members in silhouette. They wanted to stand on their music and nothing else.

“That’s it exactly,” Rucker said in answer to my question about the now famous album cover. “If you see three white guys and a black guy, people will usually think that it’s either a funk band or a hard-core band. The black guy must be the bass player or the drummer, right? [laughs]. To your point, we just didn’t want anyone to have any preconceived notions. Plus, we’re not very attractive. I didn’t want to look back on this album cover in ten years and say, ‘God, we were dorks!’ I mean, we are dorks, but we can hide it a little.”

Recording A Classic

During the six months of recording Cracked Rear View, Atlantic Records had brought in veteran producer Don Gehman to helm the project. Known for his multi-platinum work with John Mellencamp, as well as shepherding R.E.M.’s classic Lifes Rich Pageant, Gehman spoke to me about his recollections working on one of the biggest selling albums in music history.

Producer Don Gehman (Photo Credit: Tom Farrell)

“I’ve gotta say that this was probably one of the most charmed projects I’ve ever worked on,” said Gehman. “Of course when I started out on the Hootie project, I thought to myself, ‘Well, this is gonna be just an okay little album,” the producer explained. “But as we went along, I became more and more excited about it, and by the time I was mixing it, it was like, ‘Wow!’

“Some bands are almost anal and very protective, questioning everything,” the studio captain said. “And then there are bands like R.E.M. and Hootie who somehow seem to skate along on top of all that. They’re just very willing to let whatever happens happen, and they go with it.”

“This wasn’t like making a record,” agreed Rucker. “It was like five guys sitting around, burning candles and incense, reading runes and just chilling out. Don made it so relaxing and so cool that if he suggested something, we’d try it.”

Hootie & the Blowfish at the time of Cracked Rear View. (Photo Credit: Tom Tavee)

That’s a far cry from Rucker’s attitude before they entered the studio. “I was always saying, ‘We’re just going to do the songs as they are, and then we’re just gonna let it lie.’ But Gehman had a soothing way of saying, ‘Let’s try that shorter, let’s do this.’ He definitely shortened some of the songs and made them more radio-ready.”

The modest producer concurred, saying, “Most of the work that I contributed was really just editing things down a little. Because they are such a strong live band—used to playing club gigs and stretching things out—the songs were a little long. I think I chopped a good minute out of most of the songs because they had an extra verse or they’d repeat the first verse or the chorus again, so they weren’t really radio-ready to my liking. And the band was very willing to make changes.”

Never Say Die

With the album done, it was now time for Atlantic’s promotion team to get the word out and it was a very long road. A road that many labels may have cut short. Enter Atlantic Records President Val Azzoli, who also sat down for an interview with me to discuss the Hootie story: “We knew that radio wouldn’t be enamored by this band out of the box, because it really doesn’t fit a format. Is it alternative? Not really. Is it pop? Not really. Is it AOR? Not really. Is it AC? Not really.”

Val Azzoli, President of Atlantic Records, when Hootie skyrocketed up the charts.

“We figured that we’d just try to create a buzz and not worry about what type of station played it,” the label president, who once managed Rush, explained, “let’s just worry about a station playing it. So we toured and we did press, we toured and did press, toured and did press, and we slowly got a little buzz going. Then we started to get a little bit of AOR airplay—not a lot, but they did start to play it. And what happened was, everywhere it got played, it began to sell records. There was a direct correlation, which is not always the case.”

Two months after the release of Cracked Rear View came the first big turning point in the band’s fortunes. Everyone involved in the Hootie saga agrees that the incident involving a certain late night talk show icon changed the trajectory forever.

“The play of the game in the life of this record,” explained Azzoli, “was when David Letterman was driving home one night and he heard ‘Hold My Hand’ on WNEW in New York. He immediately said that he had to have this band on his show. They played the Letterman show the very next week, and things really started to turn around at that point.”

Hootie & the Blowfish’s memorable first television appearance, courtesy of David Letterman.

An Alternative Message

The band’s reputation as an excellent live band also helped matters, as Azzoli made clear: “We also did a lot of in-store play and that worked because it’s a magical sound. I always felt what this band did and why people like it is that it’s a straight-down-the-middle rock & roll band. It didn’t go left, and it didn’t go right.”

At a time when “dread” and “darkness” was permeating the rock scene, Hootie & the Blowfish signaled a much needed ray of sunshine. “After you see these guys in concert, you feel happy,” Azzoli said matter-of-factly. “You don’t feel like you wanna kill somebody, you don’t feel like you wanna do drugs, you don’t feel like you regret being alive. You just say, ‘I saw a great band playing great music, and life is okay’.”

Rucker seemed to agree when he pointed out the obvious when it came to their long road to success: “For years, no one wanted a band that sang with harmonies or played with an acoustic guitar. No one wanted anything to do with us.”

Of course, with such a massive success, as came with Hootie & the Blowfish’s Cracked Rear View, the haters can be unmerciful and, in the case of Hootie, very loud. Rucker has had to deal with it in his own way: “While things have changed, it’s still hard for a band like us to get respect. We just wish people would take our record as a Hootie & the Blowfish record and not worry about what everybody else in the music business is doing.”

Loaded with four massive hit singles—“Hold My Hand,” “Let Her Cry,” “Only Wanna Be With You” and “Time”—Cracked Rear View has aged well. Much better than most of the albums from that era have, and even former haters have come around to the band all these years later.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zi62jaKjBd0
The band performs their hit “Let Her Cry” on The Voice earlier this year.

25 Years Gone

Following Cracked Rear View’s astonishing success was never going to be easy and with a media and critical backlash accompanied by boisterous Hootie haters, the band’s sophomore effort Fairweather Johnson in 1996 sold three million copies. A major success for any band, but in the shadow of their debut’s unparalleled numbers, the media took its potshots. Their third album, Musical Chairs, in 1998 also managed to go platinum, but the days of massive sales were gone forever as the new millennium brought in file sharing, online streaming radio and other sales killers. This was not unique to Hootie.

The band released three more studio albums between 2000-05, before Rucker embarked on his current and successful solo career. But, as noted previously, this summer Hootie & the Blowfish are back on tour with a new album slated for release in the months ahead.

Twenty-five years after it all first began, there’s something to be said about a band who just makes you feel good about life… ya know, just good… with a little peace and some harmony.

Hootie & the Blowfish in 2019.
49 Years Ago Today: Break On Thru the Morrison Myths

49 Years Ago Today: Break On Thru the Morrison Myths

By Steven P. Wheeler

Possibly the earliest photograph of Jim Morrison’s grave, taken by his close friend Frank Lisciandro, only days after Jim’s untimely passing on July 3, 1971.

Recently I appeared in a documentary about Jim Morrison and his influence on fans from around the world. In discussing who he really was, I said that Jim Morrison is the ultimate Rorschach Test, in that people only see what they want to see and it is often through a personal myopic view. A singular vision intent on bringing the “Jim” of their choosing closer to themselves.

To some he is forever the leather-clad rebel rock star challenging society and the powers-that-be. To others he is the quiet, introspective poet, and to many raised on the cinematic travesty from Oliver Stone, he is a drug-addled narcissist with no redeeming qualities. You see this dichotomy all over online forums and elsewhere to this very day. There is seemingly no end to the Morrison maze.

Media enhanced myths and long since dispelled rumors are repeated ad nauseam from generation to generation giving them never-ending life; the truth be damned. Sadly, through it all, Jim Morrison the Man has all but disappeared behind the veil of a one-dimensional shell reserved for icons in today’s popular culture where sensationalism and click-bait headlines drown out the calmer voices of reason.

As Jim’s close friend Frank Lisciandro once told me: “The fact is that 90 percent of what I hear about Jim Morrison strikes me as being totally wrong; absolutely and totally wrong. The stories that have been made up about Jim Morrison outweigh the facts by so much that I don’t even know where to begin to remend the fabric of truth because its been so torn apart.”

In 2014, I collaborated with Jim’s friend, film collaborator and photographer Frank Lisciandro on the book, Jim Morrison: Friends Gathered Together. Also containing 50+ photos from Lisciandro’s personal archives, this unique oral history—as told through the words of Jim’s friends, lovers, and business associates—has gone a long way in helping to bring Jim Morrison the Man out of the mythical shadows. Frank and I are humbled and honored that this Labor of Love remains the #1 Rated Morrison book on Amazon to this day.

The labyrinth of information is indeed difficult to navigate and today with the Internet, falsehoods continue to torch the truth like a raging brush fire: impossible to extinguish. So things have only gotten more difficult for those seeking to find the REAL Jim Morrison. Instead of journalistic accuracy, we more often see the ongoing drumbeat of misinformation dispersed with impunity from new authors and filmmakers. Those who continue to subtly choose actual quotes, take them out-of-context and thrust them into inaccurate timelines, do so as a way to bolster a false Morrison narrative of their own creation to unsuspecting readers and viewers.

Now on the 49th anniversary of Jim Morrison’s untimely death at the age of 27, I put together this article after pulling out numerous taped conversations with Morrison’s friends, band mates, and other key associates that I’ve conducted over the past 25 years. Hopefully this tribute may help shed a keener light on Jim Morrison, along with some history of The Doors, while putting to rest just a few myths that have been told and re-told over the years by a litany of authors and other members of the media bent on selling half-truths and outright lies.

Jim and The Doors having some fun in the studio with their final hit “Riders On the Storm.” Not only was this the last song Morrison would ever record, but listen closely and hear Jim’s off-the-cuff remark about adding thunder effects to the song, which they later did. RIP Jim.

A Rite of Passage

Since the 1980 release of the bestselling Morrison biography No One Here Gets Out Alive, more and more books continue to up the ante of distortions and outlandish stories. How else would you get that elusive publishing deal? The situation is endless and the only thing that suffers is the truth.

The life and times of Jim Morrison has become a rite of passage for generations of teenagers around the globe since the release of No One Here Gets Out Alive, written by Jerry Hopkins and Danny Sugerman, nearly 40 years ago. Perfectly targeted at a readership in the midst of those awkward teenage blues as that is the first cycle of life in which we begin questioning authority, while looking for direction, often with a rock & roll soundtrack as our guide.

Kathy Lisciandro, recording engineer John Haeny, Jim and Frank Lisciandro celebrating what sadly turned out to be Jim’s 27th and final birthday on December 8, 1970.

NOHGOA set the tone that captured those of us coming of age in the early Eighties and continues to capture the hearts and minds of a significant percentage of each successive generation. Many will stop there and have that one-dimensional version of Morrison forever frozen in their minds. Others will continue to search for that elusive “truth,” like a quest for some sort of Holy Grail. Yet never questioning the continued onslaught of more biographical houses of cards whose foundations are built upon the shaky myth-making of the original Hopkins/Sugerman tome.

Prior to his death in 2005, Sugerman told me: “I may be flattering myself, but I like to think that our book played some role in attracting people to the Jim Morrison legend. His story does have all the elements of a classic Greek drama.”

“Look I don’t try and paint a halo on the guy, but the truth is that Jim’s closest friends find that book very objectionable. I call it ‘Nothing Here But Lots of Lies,’ because it’s full of bullshit.”

(Frank Lisciandro interview by Steven P. Wheeler)

But the book also angered the very people who were Jim’s closest friends and confidantes. Lisciandro, who attended the UCLA Film School with Morrison and Doors’ keyboardist Ray Manzarek, and later worked on two films with Morrison—Feast of Friends and HWY—and also compiled the only published posthumous books of Jim’s poetry on behalf of the copyright holders, said during one of our interviews: “Look I don’t try and paint a halo on the guy, but the truth is that Jim’s closest friends find that book very objectionable. I call it ‘Nothing Here But Lots of Lies,’ because it’s full of bullshit.

“A lot of the scenes in that book in which I was a participant are blown way out of proportion and simply not true,” Lisciandro continued. “Danny was a teenager when Jim was alive. He wasn’t hanging out with Jim. I know for a fact that Jim did not like Danny and told me on numerous occasions that Danny was a nuisance. But because Jim was a nice guy, he was kind enough to give Danny a few minutes of his time. Danny was always pestering Jim for attention.”

Likewise, the Doors’ late producer Paul Rothchild told me during an interview at the time of the Oliver Stone debacle: “That book really pissed me off. I spoke with Jerry Hopkins at one point, but he turned the book over to Sugerman who took my quotes out of context or attributed them to invented characters. That book was disgusting and treated Jim horribly.”

“Jim is Alive” Myth

One of the most outrageous claims in NOHGOA, which amazingly still has believers, is that Jim Morrison faked his own death to live a life of anonymity.

Bill Siddons, who was the Doors’ manager from 1967-1972, was blunt when the issue was brought up during our conversation, saying, “I buried the man, so those ‘Jim may be alive’ rumors never held any water with me. It was all hype for a book. Those were rumors started by people out to make a buck, like Danny Sugerman.”

Jim Morrison and Doors manager Bill Siddons share a laugh as they get ready to board a private plane bound for some East Coast gigs in 1968.

Ten years after writing that headline-grabbing nugget of sensationalism, which helped sell millions of books worldwide, Sugerman claimed in our talk that he had no idea that readers would take him seriously. “I never believed that Jim was alive,” he said. “With the book, the idea was not to provoke the reaction that Jim was still alive. The idea was to end the book in a way that Jim would have appreciated. Jim always appreciated an ironic ending, like in ‘Moonlight Drive’: ‘Going down, down, down… gonna drown tonight,’ or in ‘Love Street’ when he wrote: ‘I guess I like it fine… so far.’”

Sugerman also went so far as to put in the tale of Jim’s now famous anagram of his name (Mr Mojo Risin) from the classic song, “L.A. Woman,” as being some sort of hidden code for him to contact people after he faked his death. “Putting in the ‘Mr Mojo Risin’ part about Jim using that name when he splits for Africa, that was my wink to Jim,” he said. “I never believed that millions of people would read that and honestly think that I was waiting around for a call from Jim.”

Well, as we know now, if you print it, they will come. And, unbelievably, there are still Morrison fans around the globe still waiting for Mr Mojo Risin to return to us all with a new poetic gospel.

When the Movie’s Over

A decade after NOHGOA, the next phase in carving Jim Morrison’s reputation into a deeply dark and morose stone would take place not in print, but on Hollywood’s silver screen. Ironically, it took nearly a decade for producer Sasha Harari to start and complete that cinematic mission, which, funnily enough, lasted nearly twice as long as The Doors brief recording career.

Val Kilmer and Oliver Stone on the set of The Doors. (Photo by Moviestore/REX/Shutterstock)

The eight-year odyssey that preceded the actual filming is a story in itself. Beginning in 1983, Harari spent a few years talking with the three surviving Doors and the Morrison copyright holders—consisting of the parents of both Jim and his longtime girlfriend Pamela Courson—trying to secure the rights necessary to make the film. In 1985, after finally convincing Ray Manzarek, Robby Krieger and John Densmore, Harari ran into problems with the Morrisons and the Coursons.

“There was a pretty big rift between all these factions,” Harari told me in 1991. “After a while I got tired of dealing with all of this by myself, and that’s when I hooked up with Bill Graham.”

Sadly the legendary rock entrepreneur Bill Graham would be tragically killed in a helicopter crash less than six months after we spoke about his role in bringing The Doors film to fruition: “I think during the dialogue between the attorneys and the parents, it was brought up that Jim had good feelings toward me in the early days, so it was suggested that I be contacted,” Graham explained.

Rock legend Bill Graham outside his San Francisco club The Fillmore West in July of 1968. The Doors played Graham’s various venues many times in the early part of their career. (Photo Credit: San Francisco Chronicle)

“I was somewhat of a mediator; I was someone who could mend the fences. It was like everyone was speaking English, but no one could understand each other. It was my job to translate,” he recalled in his memorable New York accent. “The families were hesitant because they live in the private sector and were initially very reticent to have part of the history of their children—Jim and Pam—exposed more than it already was. Both sets of parents are very private people.”

However, with Graham’s negotiating prowess, all the rights had been secured by 1985, and a deal was made with Columbia Pictures. Oliver Stone was Harari’s first choice to write the screenplay, having been impressed with Stone’s then-recent Oscar win for his Midnight Express script. However, bolstered by his new Oscar-winner status, Stone’s agent was not as impressed with Harari, and the offer never reached Stone’s desk.

“Instead we got a first script from Randy Johnson, but it wasn’t the script that Bill and I were looking for,” Harari explained. “Meanwhile, Oliver had moved to another agency, so I called again in 1986, but he had just begun work directing and writing Platoon.”

Kathy and Frank Lisciandro, screenwriter J. Randal Johnson and Cheri Siddons at a Morrison Poetry Reading in Hollywood, California during 1991.
(Photo by Steven P. Wheeler)

By this time, Columbia had lost interest in the Morrison project, so Harari and Graham moved over to Imagine for a time where the project once again waned, before finally going to Carolco, an independent production company that was then riding a streak of box office hits, including the Rambo and Terminator franchises.

Coincidentally, Oliver Stone had just signed a deal with Carolco, where he was to begin work on the film version of the musical Evita. But when the Evita project floundered because actress Meryl Streep kept increasing her salary requests (it wouldn’t be released for another six years with Madonna in the starring role), Carolco owner Mario Kassar told Stone about the Morrison film and things finally began to fall into place. This time around Stone agreed to write the script (Randy Johnson also received screen credit for his original script), and after the huge success of Platoon, he was now also asked to direct.

If you’ve ever wondered why Hollywood and politicians make such great bedfellows, this is a prime example. It’s literally impossible for either faction to get anything done in a timely fashion, or, most often, come up with good results in the end.

Cemented in Stone

While many die-hard Morrison fans love the final product known as The Doors, the truth is that the film was a major box office flop. With a budget of $32 million, the movie barely broke even, dying a death with only $34 million in total gross. Like the other Stone films that are based on true stories—JFK and Nixon—his inability to capture the truth of his subjects to go along with his inarguable talent for powerful visuals, The Doors is an inaccurate and cartoonish portrayal of Jim Morrison.

And more than 25 years later, The Doors remains a glossy and lengthy MTV-styled video that not only largely prevented Morrison from gaining millions of new fans, because so many were turned off by the dark and depressing character that Stone chose to create, but it was also a creative decision that shot down any possibility of cinematic success.

“When I saw the script, I knew that it wasn’t about the Jim Morrison that I knew.”

(Bill Siddons interview by Steven P. Wheeler)

While it’s true that some fans were created by this celluloid mistreatment of Morrison, far more turned away and to those once potential fans Jim’s true life can never be redeemed.

From the very beginning of Stone’s involvement, things went awry. Bill Siddons refused to become involved with the movie saying that he knew it would be a cartoon-like joke as soon as he was given a draft of the script. “When I saw the script, I knew that it wasn’t about the Jim Morrison that I knew.”

Even Danny Sugerman, not one to shy away from spewing myths and rumors about Morrison, admitted: “It’s Oliver Stone’s version of Jim’s life. There is some truth within it, but it’s not the truth, and it contains numerous fictionalized accounts and considerable exaggeration.”

Frank Lisciandro captures life on the road with The Doors in 1970. From L-R is Doors press agent Leon Barnard, Jim Morrison, Dorothy and Ray Manzarek, Robby and Lynn Krieger, and Kathy Lisciandro with her back to the camera.

Things got so bad after Stone joined the project that the band’s strongest proponent for the movie, Doors’ keyboardist Ray Manzarek, eventually walked away from it. “There were moments of creative differences at the script stage in 1989,” explained Harari. “But it wasn’t until Oliver walked in as the director that Ray started to freak out. Ray could be very difficult to deal with.”

“Oliver was only interested in the self-destructive, creative, brooding personality—one not unlike his own—so he was focusing on that aspect of Jim. We were always complaining that the script was too dark, and that’s why Ray bailed on the movie.

(John Densmore interview by Steven P. Wheeler)

The other two surviving Doors—John Densmore and Robby Krieger—remained as consultants, working with their actor counterparts to properly mime their musical playing. But even Densmore had issues with the direction that Stone took with the film: “Oliver was only interested in the self-destructive, creative, brooding personality—one not unlike his own—so he was focusing on that aspect of Jim. We were always complaining that the script was too dark, and that’s why Ray bailed on the movie. I let [the truth] go a long time ago during the making of this movie. I mean there’s nudity at our concerts that never happened, but there was nudity at Woodstock in ‘69. Cops beat kids in Chicago outside the Democratic Convention in ’68, so Oliver just took all that unrelated stuff and mixed it all up and made it part of our story. And having a lot of Jim’s dialogue pulled from interviews or poems or lyrics or totally made up, made it all very stilted to me.”

Krieger told me much the same, stating: “Oliver definitely took liberties with the facts and he did make Jim into a caricature. I mean Jim could be a little freaky from time to time, but not all the time like the movie would have you believe.”

As for Frank Lisciandro, who was one of Morrison’s closest friends during the last three years of Jim’s life, the movie is nothing more than stitches of truth interwoven into a blanket of lies: “I found it to be intolerable. Oliver Stone did not know—or maybe he didn’t want to know—who Jim Morrison really was; and he did not come close to capturing the essence of Jim. The quiet, sensitive and extremely intelligent human being that Jim was off and on the stage is never presented in the film.”

Jim Morrison hanging out with friends in his hotel room during the 1970 tour with The Doors.

“Jim loved to laugh and he laughed all the time, and he was not shy about laughing at himself either. He had such humility that he would do that. Out of all the people that were around us, Jim was the most light-hearted of us all. Now, because of this movie, he’s going to be remembered as this dark, morose guy”

(Frank Lisciandro interview by Steven P. Wheeler)

“Jim had a sensational sense of humor and that is what is entirely lacking in the Stone film,” Lisciandro continued. “The guy was absolutely hilariously funny and he would make himself the butt of jokes. That’s one of the things that all Jim’s friends remember most. Jim loved to laugh and he laughed all the time, and he was not shy about laughing at himself either. He had such humility that he would do that. Out of all the people that were around us, Jim was the most light-hearted of us all. Now, because of this movie, he’s going to be remembered as this dark, morose guy spouting poetry in everyday conversations. Jim never uttered a line of poetry unless he was in front of a microphone. Yes, he did some crazy things on occasion, but he was also a warm and sensitive person a vast majority of the time. There’s a balance that you don’t find in the movie and that imbalance totally eliminates the real Jim Morrison from the screen.”

Even the film’s co-producer Bill Graham admits: “In many ways I’m pleased with the film, but Oliver definitely leaned on the excessive aspects of Jim and did not show to the same extent the private side of Jim. Unfortunately Oliver’s desire was to show what happens to a man when he lets Frankenstein take over and I was troubled by that if I’m going to be honest with you.”

In my separate interview with The Doors’ drummer, Densmore went on to say: “When you have all the crazy things that Jim did packed into two hours instead of being spread out over six years, you get a very unfair picture of the guy. Jim was really sweet and kind and warm most of the time. He grew up in the South and he had this genuine charm; it wasn’t contrived. A tiny bit of that gentle side comes through in the movie, but not as much as I would have liked.”

Val Kilmer as Jim

The one thing that even the film’s harshest critics agree on is that Val Kilmer did a very good job portraying Morrison, the gloomy script notwithstanding. The late Paul Rothchild, producer of all the Doors’ albums except L.A. Woman, discussed with me his role in working with the actor: “Val showed up with about 80 percent of the character learned, and we then spent the next five months in pre-production with me teaching him the nuances and idiosyncrasies of Jim’s vocals.

Recording engineer Bruce Botnick and Paul Rothchild study Jim’s microphone placement during the the recording of “Wild Child” during The Soft Parade sessions.

“I also spent a great deal of time with Val,” he explained, “just telling him stories about Jim and other times answering Val’s own reporter type questions; just like the ones you’re asking me. I filled him up with information about Morrison’s lifestyle, psyche, and his brilliant sense of humor. It just went on and on and on. I just felt like if he knew more about what Jim was like on the inside, he would be able to capture the vocals even better. I thought Val’s performance was fuckin’ awesome, especially when you consider that when you see Val singing on camera, you are hearing Val’s live vocals 95 percent of the time. It is live before-the-camera vocals. There are only five lines in the entire film where you see Val singing on camera and you’re hearing Jim’s vocals. That’s truly amazing.”

Krieger went so far as to tell me that “if I were Jim, I would have freaked out when I saw Val, because sometimes he really captured him.”

Finding the right actor to somehow play someone as well known and unique as Morrison was a major concern for the producers, especially for Graham who had a professional relationship with the real Jim. “I never thought we would find someone who moved so sensually and panther-like as Jim did. My biggest concern was getting someone with that sinewy, sensual, live snake feeling. You can’t create that. It’s either there or it’s not, but Val really captured it. He did a brilliant job.”

Falsehood Fun for the Nerds

As Densmore stated earlier, Oliver Stone took various events and tied them together to give a narrative to his film, false as those episodes may be. Author upon author of Morrison bios have done the same thing over the past four decades as well. Some call it artistic license, others call it the use of reality to create a false narrative in order to tell a story. Here are just a few examples from the Stone film by those who know the truth:

“People have to remember: the movie is fiction, bad fiction, and a fantasy from the twisted mind of Oliver Stone. Bottom line: the Jim Morrison I knew is nowhere present in the Stone film.”

(Frank Lisciandro interview by Steven P. Wheeler)

“Jim would never lock someone in a closet and set the room on fire,” says Lisciandro. “He was never a violent person and this is absolutely not in his nature or personality. Then there’s the famous scene where Jim declares that he’s having a nervous breakdown. Jim did walk into the Doors office one day, sat down, and said, ‘I think I’m having a nervous breakdown.’

“But here’s the thing, Jim used to say that line: ‘I’m having a nervous breakdown’ to get a laugh. It was a comic line he used all the time. It was no different than when he’d get a creative idea and say, ‘Hold on, I think I’m having a cerebral erection.’ Stone took that episode and gave it some deep, dark spin that was totally bullshit.

“And then there’s that scene that shows us all on the roof of the Chateau Marmont where Jim is wildly drunk on the ledge, threatening to kill himself. What really happened is that we were on the roof of the 9000 Building on Sunset Boulevard shooting a sequence for our film, HWY. I was there with the film crew [Paul Ferrara and Babe Hill], but Pamela was not there, Ray and the other Doors weren’t there. Jim didn’t contemplate killing himself by jumping from the roof. We were just shooting a scene for HWY. Oliver Stone’s version of that event is total and complete fiction. And that’s what people have to remember: the movie is fiction, bad fiction, and a fantasy from the twisted mind of Oliver Stone. Bottom line: the Jim Morrison I knew is nowhere present in the Stone film.”

Paul Ferrara and Frank Lisciandro pictured shooting a scene in the Joshua Tree desert for Jim’s movie HWY during the Easter Weekend of 1969.

Paul Rothchild, a believer in artistic license, does admit that the scene where Jim throws a television against a wall as a way of showing his disdain of the other three Doors having licensed the song “Light My Fire” to Buick is not true. “Jim did throw a TV in the studio once,” the producer said. “Our recording engineer Bruce Botnick brought the TV in the studio in an attempt to satisfy Jim’s request to have mixed media going on while he was singing. So we were recording and Jim was holding this little TV in his hands while he was singing—he was also on some acid at the time—and at one point he hurled it at the glass in front of the our control booth.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bl_kkiP7oTw
Oliver Stone’s recreation of Jim Morrison and Ray Manzarek meeting on Venice Beach and deciding to start a band together was one of the few highlights of The Doors movie.

“So, no, it had nothing to do with the ‘Light My Fire’ commercial as is shown in the movie, but he did once throw a TV in the recording studio, so Oliver used that as a way to demonstrate Jim’s dissatisfaction with the other three Doors who had licensed the rights of ‘Light My Fire’ to Buick for an ad campaign. I have no problem with this joining together of unrelated events for the sake of a movie.”

The “Light My Fire” Debacle

Following The Doors first and only tour of Europe in September of 1968, Jim Morrison decided to stay in London while the rest of the Doors returned home. While Jim was in England, hanging out with Pamela and poet Michael McClure, and out of communication (remember those pre-cell phone days?), the automotive giant Buick offered the band the equivalent of $500,000 (in 2019 money) to license “Light My Fire” for an ad campaign for their next year’s line of cars, including the Opel.

Jim Morrison’s electrifying performance on The Ed Sullivan Show in 1967.

Krieger, Manzarek and Densmore agreed to the deal and since they were unable to contact Morrison in Europe, his attorney Max Fink (who had Jim’s power of attorney) signed on his behalf. When Morrison returned to the States and was told about the deal, his usual calm and reserve was gone. He screamed at his bandmates for selling out to corporate America.   

“He said that they had made a deal with the devil,” recalled Rothchild, “and that he would smash a Buick onstage if they didn’t kill the deal. Jim eventually got his way and the brief campaign was over.”

Although a television commercial was never created, it’s not well known that Buick did go on with a print campaign for a brief period, having already paid the money. “It’s true that the commercial was never made,” the late producer told me, “but, for a short time, there was a billboard put up about 100 yards from the recording studio and The Doors’ office, saying, “Come on Buick, Light My Fire.” And Jim had to see that every day for a little while and he was infuriated about it.”

In 1969, “Buick knows how to light your fire” tagline was used in the company’s print brochure to introduce their new cars that were coming out the following year.
Buick also used a “light your fire” slogan for their upcoming Skylark GS series.

Even though the massive advertising campaign with Buick was ultimately scuttled by Morrison’s threats, the trust he once had for the others in the band was gone for good. They would continue on for another two years, recording two of their finest albums—Morrison Hotel and L.A. Woman—and touring around the States from time to time through the end of 1970. But things were no longer like they were between the once close band mates.

Opening of The Doors

Back in the beginning, things were different. Art trumped commerce. It was Jim who suggested that the band split any income equally, even though this would be a major financial loss to the band’s chief lyricist, in terms of the publishing income. But Jim was not about money, he was not about squabbles, he was about creating art with like-minded individuals. And for a brief time, all four were of that same mind. But the desire for more financial success from some of the others put them at odds with Morrison, as did his growing problems with alcohol.

The Doors going through customs during their only European Tour in 1968.

“My love/hate relationship with Jim developed over time,” Densmore revealed during our conversation. “The first few years, 1965-66, we were pretty close. I mean I had a sense that he was really strange from the beginning, but as his substance abuse increased, the love/hate increased proportionately. It was a love for the art; I mean I could just read his lyrics and instantly hear drumbeats in my head. Even with the drugs in the early days, his mind was still there. It was the alcohol that killed him.”

As for the unique sound of The Doors, Krieger laughed and replied, “We actually tried to be like everybody else, but we were so bad at what we were doing, it just came out different [laughs]. But in answer to your question, I think the instrumentation had a lot to do with it, because the fact that Ray played keyboard bass and organ meant that he had to play very simple bass lines with his left hand, so that his right hand could do what it wanted playing the organ parts.

“That made it sort of monotonous and hypnotic, and the fact that there was no rhythm guitarist or bass player made me play a certain way where I had to fill in certain holes. I think that’s what helped make us sound like no other band,” the guitarist explained. “But it wasn’t a conscious attempt to be different in those early days.”

Densmore added his thoughts, noting: “I feel like we were one of the few groups where dynamics were important. Sometimes I wouldn’t even play at all and it would just be dead air, and then I’d hit a shot and it would be like an explosion. That’s what I’m really proud of, our dynamics. We could be really quiet and then we could scare the shit out of you.”

Robby Krieger: “I think ‘When the Music’s Over’ captures everything. It’s one of those epic Doors’ pieces that grew out of a smaller song, like ‘The End’ and ‘Light My Fire.’ It’s just the ultimate Doors’ song to me and I still love playing it.” (interview by Steven P. Wheeler)

After a few months wood shedding their songs on the famed Sunset Strip at the bleak hole-in-the-wall known as The London Fog, the band became the house band at the legendary Whisky-A-Go-Go, where they eventually caught the ear of Elektra Records founder Jac Holzman and producer Paul Rothchild.

Producer Paul Rothchild and Jim taking a break outside the Sunset Sound recording studio during the making of their second album, Strange Days, in 1967.

“Unlike the film, I wasn’t at The Whisky at the time that the band got fired when Jim first threw in the Oedipal section during ‘The End,’” explained Rothchild. “But I was at a show there where I saw them perform ‘The End’ and indeed Jac and I did offer them a recording contract right afterwards.”

But it wasn’t love at first sight for the future Doors producer, who recalled that “they sucked terribly during the first set I saw, but the second set was awesome, and the rest is history.”

The Unsung Door

Throughout the short recording career of The Doors from 1966-71, Morrison got all the press and fan attention, but it was guitarist Robby Krieger who wrote many of the band’s biggest hits. The first song he ever wrote was a little ditty called “Light My Fire,” which topped the charts during the Summer of Love in 1967 and set the band on a rapid ascent to the stars.

“Yeah, it’s true that ‘Light My Fire’ was the first song I ever wrote,” Krieger said. “It didn’t bother me too much when people thought that Jim wrote it. But it did bother me a lot when people thought Jose Feliciano wrote it [laughs].” Feliciano’s version of the song became a massive international hit the following summer though, spreading the band’s name to places yet unseen. At this juncture, everything The Doors touched was turning to gold, and fast.

The Doors topped the American charts with “Light My Fire” in the summer of 1967, and the following year Jose Feliciano’s acoustic version became an international sensation.

The guitarist, who also penned the #3 hit “Touch Me” and the other memorable hits “Love Me Two Times” and “Love Her Madly,” admitted to me, “Yeah, I felt a little unappreciated at times over the years because people thought Jim wrote all the lyrics. But it didn’t bother me at the time it was happening, because it was a band and we were all in it together. All the songs were ‘by The Doors.’ But, after a while, Jim decided that people would want to know who wrote which songs, so starting with the fourth album, The Soft Parade [released in 1969], we started giving individual credits on the songs.”

In terms of hit singles, Morrison did write the band’s second #1 hit “Hello I Love You,” as well as “People Are Strange” and their final chart salvo “Riders on the Storm,” which was released just a few weeks before his death in Paris.

The Doors biggest concert at the time took place at The Hollywood Bowl on July 5, 1968.

Changing the Dynamic

As The Doors first three albums sailed up the charts—their third album, Waiting For the Sun, becoming their first to hit #1 in 1968—things within the band were starting to change. Morrison began looking toward other artistic avenues to satisfy his creative spirit, working on poetry and dabbling with two film projects.

In early 1969, Morrison was working with filmmaker Frank Lisciandro on editing the band’s “on the road” documentary Feast of Friends (which was finally released commercially in 2014) and he would soon embark on his personal experimental film HWY (still unreleased) with Lisciandro, Paul Ferrara and Babe Hill. In addition, with the encouragement of poet and friend Michael McClure, Jim would also self-publish his first two books of poetry, The Lords: Notes on Vision and The New Creatures. The following year publishing giant Simon & Schuster would compile these into one book entitled The Lords and The New Creatures, which is still in print 50 years later.

“At first we were good buddies, but then when he started drinking a lot I just couldn’t hangout with him anymore. It became much, much more of just a working relationship. We’d really only see each other if we were doing a concert or rehearsing or recording. Our relationship just wasn’t the same by the end of 1968.”

(Robby Krieger interview by Steven P. Wheeler)

“By 1969, I think Jim was already thinking about other things he wanted to do with himself,” said Lisciandro. “By the time of the Miami concert in March, he had already self-published two of his poetry books and he had filmmaking on his mind. Not fed up with his music career; but surely Jim wasn’t 100 percent dedicated to the band at that point in time.”

There was still also some bitterness from Jim over the “Light My Fire/Buick” situation, but Krieger says the band’s refusal to partake in Morrison’s drinking sessions put up a wall that turned all-for-one into three-against-one. “At first we were good buddies,” the soft-spoken Krieger said, “but then when he started drinking a lot I just couldn’t hangout with him anymore. It became much, much more of just a working relationship. We’d really only see each other if we were doing a concert or rehearsing or recording, which wasn’t a lot of time. Our relationship just wasn’t the same by the end of 1968.”

Densmore echoed those sentiments: “All of [the media hype] was a conscious and unconscious thing that Jim created. He was smart, so he gave the media wonderful quotes like ‘erotic politicians,’ but then the ball gets rolling and it’s a runaway train and the media keeps it going and it gets bigger than you can handle. I was getting increasingly worried about what I felt was Jim’s self-destruction and it was being glamorized by the media. The other three of us sort of pulled away because you can get caught under that cloud yourself.”

Despite the media onslaught of attention, Sugerman believed that “Jim didn’t see himself as any kind of a leader of any movement. I think he was flattered that critics and fans tried to put him in that role and I think he might have even taken it seriously on one or two occasions with songs like ‘Five to One’ and ‘Unknown Soldier,’ but it wasn’t anything he aspired to be.”

The band’s manager in those halcyon days, Bill Siddons, added a personal perspective: “I knew Jim well in that I spent a lot of time with him, but we weren’t best buddies. We didn’t hangout and drink together. I was always the responsible figure while Jim was out doing whatever he was doing. But we were close and I know that I was a trusted confidante that he could speak to openly.

“He was a pretty intense guy when I first met him in ’67, right before ‘Light My Fire’ exploded,” Siddons recalled. “He was very unpredictable in those days. You couldn’t really tell who he was or what he had going on in his mind. Around 1969, he really got a little bored with the whole shamanism thing that he had created with the help of the media. The problem was that in the beginning, Jim went out to have a specific artistic experience with an audience. But the media created a sensationalism around that and effectively destroyed Jim’s artistic intent, because the audiences were now walking in and expecting to see what they had read about in a magazine. When performances were no longer spontaneous, Jim was no longer interested.”

Bill Siddons and Jim have a seat at John Densmore’s birthday party in 1969, with Robby Krieger in the background.

And once he saw their documentary, Feast of Friends, Sugerman believed that Jim had an artistic awakening. “For a while he never seemed to doubt that he was ideally suited for what he was doing, but after seeing some of the filmed concert footage, he commented: ‘I used to think that I was in control of it, but now I realize that I’m just a puppet of forces that I only vaguely understand.’ That’s a pretty astute observation for someone that the media only considered to be a rock singer.”

Lisciandro also points to the fact that Morrison was woefully unprepared for the sudden stardom that came blasting into his life in such a short span of time; from unknown to superstar in a metaphorical blink-of-the-eye. “The whole success thing did make Jim realize that he really was a vital part of this super-structure and that there were obligations and responsibilities drawing on him. But, then again, Jim Morrison was 25 years old at that time; he wasn’t this mature older guy in his forties.

“Here’s the thing. When you get married, have children, etc., there’s an accumulation of responsibilities that build upon you in a gradual or evolutionary way,” he said. “It’s not a sudden thing that explodes on you in the span of eighteen months or two years as it did with Jim and the success of The Doors. Suddenly there was this organizational structure that he had to carry around and support, and I just don’t think he was old enough or mature enough to handle it and, within that context, it’s not overly surprising that something like Miami would happen.”

The Miami Incident

Ah yes, it seems that one can’t talk about The Doors and not discuss the infamous concert at Dinner Key Auditorium in Miami on March 1, 1969, which eventually resulted in Morrison being arrested and later put on trial for lewd and lascivious behavior, indecent exposure, public profanity and public drunkenness. This was the opening show for the band’s first-ever major tour in the States, but it was also at the time when Morrison was following his other artistic dreams that had little to do with music, and now he was on the hook for a lengthy jaunt across America.

“The Doors never toured extensively,” manager Bill Siddons said. “The only extensive tour they did in their entire career was three weeks in Europe in 1968. Other than that, they basically worked weekends because Jim was too unstable. You could never predict what would happen after the third date. He really couldn’t deal with repetitive days on the road and repeating performances the same as the night before. He literally couldn’t do that. He just wasn’t made up to function that way.”

But by early ’69, the time had come to push the envelope and other members of the band really wanted to do a fully fleshed out tour. The band’s fourth album, The Soft Parade,would be released later during the tour, and, at the time of Miami, “Touch Me” had been released as the album’s first single and shot up the charts to #3. And with the band’s third album having topped the charts only months before, The Doors were at their commercial zenith. The sky was the limit, or so it seemed.

Meanwhile Morrison continued his own personal quest to fuel his artistic soul and he attended the controversial stage performances of Judith Malina and Julian Beck’s The Living Theatre just before the tour would begin in Miami. Morrison was mesmerized by the unique stage show in which the performers directly confronted their audience by yelling at and provoking them into action. The goal was to break down and obliterate the invisible wall that exists between performer and audience.

“Jim went to see The Living Theatre several times at USC a week or so prior to Miami,” Lisciandro recalled. “I went to see one of the performances as well; it was amazing what those people were getting into. This was a strip-you-down-and-build-you-back-up-again kind of theater performance, and it was really groundbreaking stuff in 1969. And you can surmise that Jim’s appreciation of The Living Theatre led to some of his over-the-top behavior that night in Miami.”

Segments from The Living Theatre’s confrontational 1969 performance of “Paradise Now” around the time that Jim Morrison attended multiple performances right before the infamous Miami concert on March 1, 1969.

Add to that mindset, shortly before the concert Morrison had a fight with his longtime girlfriend Pamela Courson and missed his flight to the gig. At the last minute, he had to take a series of connecting flights to make it by the starting time of the concert, and he was drinking all the way there.

In the meantime, Bill Siddons discovered that the unscrupulous promoter had ripped out the seats of Dinner Key Auditorium and illegally sold more than double the original amount of tickets and to make matters worse he was refusing to pay the band more than the original contract called for. When the band threatened to leave, the promoters refused to release the band’s equipment that was locked up in their vans.

The backstage chaos continued until Morrison arrived with about a half-hour to spare, and he was clearly drunk. Discovering that the band was not only being ripped off by the promoters, but also being blackmailed into performing, Morrison went onstage and gave his own version of The Living Theatre to the unsuspecting audience.

Densmore who had been fuming backstage waiting to see if Morrison would even show up was not prepared for what Jim had in mind as they took to the sweltering stage, simply saying: “Jim didn’t tell us that he was going to inject confrontational theater at the Miami concert.”

Siddons explained what he saw happening by saying, “The other guys didn’t know what he was about to do, but Jim knew what he was doing that night. True, he was drunk, but he had a very specific purpose in mind and that was to challenge and confront his audience in a way that he had never really done before. It was Jim directly and verbally asking them specific questions. Instead of making enigmatic statements, he put forth a frontal assault on the audience, asking them, ‘What are you here for? Did you come to see this? Or did you come to learn?’ It was totally intentional and powerful.”

Once you watch the above video of The Living Theatre and then listen to this bootleg recording of “Five to One” at the Miami concert, you can see a clear influence that the play had on Jim’s stage behavior that eventually led to his arrest, trial, and ultimate conviction.

The band lumbered through a handful of songs that would be interrupted time and again by Jim’s taunting of the audience. By the end of the hour-long fiasco of a concert, the band was just happy to get off the stage and try and regroup. They all set out for a quick vacation in the Bahamas, along with their wives (with the exception of Pamela), and while they were sunning themselves on the white sand beaches, back home political forces were galvanizing and attempting to close The Doors forever.

The Miami Aftermath

While no arrests were made by any of the 30 police officers who were on duty that night in the Dinner Key Auditorium, once word reached the ears of the local politicians and law enforcement officials over the next few days, politics reared its ugly head. Miami Herald reporter Larry Mahoney kept the event in the news with outraged commentary that whipped residents of the conservative city into a frenzy. It wasn’t until four days later that arrest warrants were issued for James Douglas Morrison.

“The kids didn’t have a problem with it,” insisted Siddons, “but it was not acceptable to the parents in that part of the South. And once the acting police chief and acting mayor and other ‘dignitaries’ discovered that something may have happened that night that would offend them, they launched a campaign to bury Jim. It was absolutely a political circus.”

As the news of Morrison’s pending arrest hit the national media, every single city on the upcoming tour pulled the plug, and some radio stations began removing The Doors from the airwaves. The impact was an atomic blast on the business of The Doors and a devastating blow to the already fragile relationship between Jim and the other three band members.

“That concert was a major turning point in our career, but the band was splintered before that. After Miami, we weren’t able to tour for a while and I was actually really happy about that. Not being able to go out on the road really cooled things out a bit. Whereas other people within the group were screaming, ‘We’re losing money!’ I mean, how much money do you need?”

(John Densmore interview by Steven P. Wheeler)

“Miami did hurt the band,” Krieger explained, “because we had 25 or 30 shows lined up all over the East Coast, which all got cancelled. That was the biggest tour we were ever gonna do. After Miami we couldn’t get a decent hall to play in.”           

“The incident divided the band and it really hurt Morrison personally,” Siddons maintained. “That he could be put through all that while essentially doing what he felt his job was as an artist. The Miami concert was the single most destructive thing in the band’s career and their ability to relate to one another and be responsible to one another.”

One member of The Doors, John Densmore, was actually relieved at the forced break of activity, telling me: “That concert was a major turning point in our career, but the band was splintered before that. After Miami, we weren’t able to tour for a while and I was actually really happy about that. Not being able to go out on the road really cooled things out a bit, so I liked it. Whereas other people within the group were screaming, ‘We’re losing money!’ I mean, how much money do you need?”

Lisciandro spoke to Jim a few times about Miami afterwards, noting: “He was basically telling the audience that ‘I’m not here to entertain you, we’re going to have an experience together.’ He got a little carried away with it, and things got out of hand a bit [laughs]. Jim told me that he didn’t expose himself, and there was never any photographs that showed him doing it and there was conflicting testimony throughout the trial.”

The Miami Trial

The so-called obscenity trial of Jim Morrison would take place in Miami a year and a half after the now infamous concert, from August to October in 1970. Between the concert and the trial, Jim worked on and completed his film HWY, the band recorded and released the very successful Morrison Hotel album, featuring the classic “Roadhouse Blues,” and they began playing live dates sporadically; most of which were recorded and resulted in the Absolutely Live album.

During a break from the Miami trial, Jim and his closest friends went down to the Bahamas for some fun and sun. Frank Lisciandro took this photo of Babe Hill, Jim, and his attorney Max Fink showing off their collective catch of fish.

Charged with one felony count of lewd and lascivious behavior, and three misdemeanor counts of indecent exposure, public profanity and public drunkenness, Morrison faced up to three years in prison. He was ultimately convicted of two of the misdemeanors—indecent exposure and profanity. He was sentenced to six months in jail and a $500 fine. His attorney Max Fink immediately filed an appeal and Morrison was released on $50,000 bond.

While much has been made about Jim Morrison’s estrangement from his father, an Admiral in U.S. Navy, during Morrison’s trial in Miami his father did write a letter in support of his eldest son. Of particular note is that contrary to wide-held beliefs, Jim and his father did speak once on the phone after The Doors first reached fame, describing the conversation as “quite pleasant.” Danny Sugerman had a strong belief that Jim and his parents would have reconciled if he had returned from Paris.

The sham of a trial was led by Judge Murray Goodman, who only a few years later would be charged for accepting a bribe in exchange for reducing the prison sentence of a convicted sex offender to mere probation. In short, he gave a pedophile probation, but sentenced Jim Morrison to six months in prison.

Closing of The Doors

The band wound up the recording of the final album due on their recording contract with Elektra Records, L.A. Woman, at the beginning of 1971. At this point, Jim was done with the band as an obligation. “Our contract was up, so we had some time to think about the future,” explained Densmore, “and Jim did want to write and do some other things, but we had really enjoyed making the L.A. Woman album.”

In this early version of the title track from their final album, you can hear the song developing into one of the band’s most memorable songs with each Door finding their niche.

Krieger also insisted to me that Jim was merely taking a sabbatical: “When Jim left for Paris, it wasn’t the end of The Doors. We had every intention of resuming whenever he came back. There’s no way we wouldn’t have done another album after L.A. Woman because that was a big turnaround for us.”

However, while the other three Doors maintain that Jim did not quit the band, their manager at the time Bill Siddons insisted to me in no uncertain terms that Morrison was done. “Jim did quit the band. That’s not a rumor, that’s a fact. Jim said that he was leaving the band and was going to pursue other avenues for the foreseeable future. In my mind, Jim had left, but because he hadn’t defined his new future as a screenwriter or whatever he wanted to do, he may come back. Either way, I was wise enough to recognize that Jim needed a break. And whenever that break was over, he’d let us know. It might have been a year, it might have been ten years.”

In March of 1971, Morrison went off to Paris, and despite the denials of Densmore and Krieger, Siddons also revealed this shocking news to me: “While Jim was in Paris, the other three Doors auditioned other singers because they knew that Jim might never come back. A friend of mine at A&M Records had recommended this guy that he had heard and I even ended up managing this guy who was going to replace Jim as the lead singer of The Doors. His name was Mike Stull. Jim left for Paris in March and he died in July, so there ended up not being enough time to make it happen.”

Following Jim’s death, the three Doors decided to go it alone and released two post-Morrison albums with Krieger and Manzarek handling vocal duties before eventually closing The Doors for good in 1972. Incidentally, Mike Stull, who passed away in 2002 at the age of 53, did later appear as the singer on Krieger and Densmore’s 1975 Butts Band album, Hear & Now.

Densmore is the only one of the three Doors who spoke with Jim during his time in Paris, and says, “I was the last one in the band to speak with Jim, because he called me from Paris and he expressed interest in making another record. So I wouldn’t say that Jim quit the band.”

Jim’s Move to Paris

Near the end of the final mixing of the L.A. Woman album in early ’71, Morrison began to tell people he was leaving for Paris to spend some time with Pamela, do some traveling, work on his poetry and possibly pursue some film endeavors. Since Jim’s death, various biographers have said that Morrison was deeply depressed at this period of time and fearful of having to serve six months in jail, he secretly fled to Paris to avoid his prison sentence.

All of this makes for a good story by authors trying to sell books, but nothing could be further from the truth. In fact, those who knew Jim all have the same story: “He actually became a lighter human being at this time, not a darker one,” said Siddons. Danny Sugerman agreed, “My personal experience is that he got more friendly and less driven right by the time he left for Paris.”

Lisciandro added: “I don’t understand all this talk about depression or unhappiness. I don’t know where to locate that Jim Morrison. Sure, he sometimes had an intense quality but that was because he had a deep-seeded need to absorb and create, but he was a pretty happy-go-lucky guy. I spent a lot of time with Jim during the last three years of his life and I never saw Jim depressed. Never. I honestly never did. It just wasn’t part of his character.

“Jim had a very positive experience making the L.A. Woman album,” Lisciandro continued. “In fact when I look at all the photos I took during those sessions I see a happy and content guy. He was really at his friendliest and at his most open during that time.”

In fact, two weeks before Jim left for Paris, Lisciandro, Doors concert promoter Rich Linnell, Jim’s closest friend Babe Hill, a teenage Danny Sugerman, and others got together for a game of football in Manhattan Beach. The photos of that day show a happy and revitalized Jim Morrison really enjoying himself with his friends.

Jim Morrison laces up his Adidas for a game of touch football with his friends in Manhattan Beach, California two weeks before leaving for Paris. By all accounts Morrison had a great time and played hard the whole day.
(Photo Credit: Kathy Lisciandro Poma)

“At that time, Jim just seemed happier,” Lisciandro said. “He seemed lighter about everything. It was like he finally had some freedom to really do whatever he wanted, and what he wanted to do was go off to Paris and be with Pam. He was really enthusiastic about the possibilities of what he could do with the rest of his life. The possibilities could have ended up being music, it could have been films, it could have been poetry, or any combination of those things. The important thing—and the reason he was so relaxed and easy-going—was because he was free from any obligations that may have been keeping him from pursuing his own journey.”

While Jim may have stunned his bandmates when he told them he was moving to Paris, it was something that he had been talking with friends about for quite some time. “We discussed his move to Paris a few times actually,” continued Lisciandro. “He didn’t have to do any kind of sell on me at all. I encouraged him to go, because I had lived in Paris for a time during my wayward youth in Europe and I thought it would be great for him to go. And we planned on me joining him over there at some point, either for a visit or to work together if he was able to put together a film project. He was taking HWY with him to show to some French film people that he had met previously—Agnes Varda and Jacques Demy—to get their feedback and opinions as a way to maybe find some funding to make some films. There were multiple reasons and objectives for his going and it was an obvious solution that I thought, ‘Why did it take you this long to do this?’ [laughs].”

The Missed Flight

When Jim was finally ready to close the book on L.A. and leave for Paris, his closest friends all went to the airport to see him off. Pam was already in Paris waiting for him. Frank, along with his then-wife and Doors secretary Kathy and Babe Hill all took Jim to LAX, where they were also joined by another former UCLA film student Alain Ronay.

“We got to the airport early, so we went to the bar and had some drinks,” Lisciandro recalled during our lengthy conversation. “We talked about what Jim was gonna do in Paris. Alain was giving him suggestions about things to do when he got there, and since Kathy and I had been in Paris a year or two before, we were giving him names of people and places we really enjoyed. You know, all that kind of last minute chatter between friends.

“And then in typical Morrison fashion, Jim missed the plane!,” Lisciandro said with a hearty laugh. “They didn’t announce his flight in the bar or we didn’t hear it because we were all talking or it was a combination of all of that. At one point, we looked at our watches, saw what time it was, and rushed over to the gate, but the plane was already on the runway and wasn’t gonna come back.

“So Jim had to spend another night in L.A. I don’t remember how he got to the airport the next morning; whether he took a taxi or what, but he left that next day and he was gone, and we never got to see him again.”

“He was not escaping the country. Jim was determined to finish the legal process. He fully understood that the judge in the Miami trial had acted improperly dozens of times throughout the proceedings and that the verdict was going to be thrown out on appeal and he told me that on a number of occasions. He wasn’t running away or fleeing the country; that’s just not true.”

(Frank Lisciandro interview by Steven P. Wheeler)

This nonchalant attitude of missing his flight would fly directly in the face of those who claim that Jim was fleeing to Paris because he was frightened by the Miami verdict and was going to become a fugitive of justice. Lisciandro laughs at that notion: “I’ve heard people say that but it’s absolutely not true, and I was with him right up until he left and we were talking about everything that was going on with him and why he wanted to go to Paris.

“Jim acted with the full knowledge of his lawyer, Max Fink. He was not escaping the country,” Lisciandro makes clear. “Jim was determined to finish the legal process. He fully understood that the judge in the Miami trial had acted improperly dozens of times throughout the proceedings and that the verdict was going to be thrown out on appeal. There was little doubt in Jim’s mind that he was going to win on appeal and he told me that on a number of occasions. He wasn’t running away or fleeing the country; that’s just not true.”

On a side note, on what would have been Jim Morrison’s 67th birthday on December 8, 2010, Florida Governor Charlie Crist and the clemency board voted unanimously to posthumously pardon The Doors’ lead singer for his 1970 conviction.

The Mysteries of Paris

When it comes to Jim Morrison’s nearly four months in France, which culminated in his death on July 3, 1971, the narrative that comes from various biographies is that Jim was vastly overweight, was drinking more than ever before, and seriously depressed, which resulted in him overdosing on heroin—accidentally or purposely.

Five days before his death, Jim and Pam went out to do some sightseeing just outside Paris with Alain Ronay, who attended UCLA with Jim. This photo taken by Ronay puts to rest the myth about Jim being vastly overweight near the end of his life.

There are a few events that some biographers have used to bolster this assertion, but what most unsuspecting readers don’t realize is that some of these “facts” are completely untrue. Let’s start with the so-called “Lost Paris Tapes.”

The Lost Paris Tapes

In his over-the-top sensationalistic book, Jim Morrison: Life, Death, Legend (published in 2004), Stephen Davis devotes three full detailed pages to an incident in a Paris recording studio, in which an out of control drunken Morrison brings two Parisian street musicians in to record some songs with him. This would become known as the “Jomo and the Smoothies” tape, which is the name Morrison wrote on the box of this 12-minute recording.

The first published mention of this story appears to have been put out by Rainer Moddemann in the early Nineties in The Doors Quarterly Magazine. Not coincidentally, it was published when the tapes first began to be bootlegged and sold as The Lost Paris Tapes. The tale of how the tapes came to be discovered as well as the totally bizarre and concocted story about it being recorded in Paris would then be repeated through the years by journalists and authors who never questioned the original story, as bizarre as it was on its face.

The cover of the notorious bootleg that was nothing more than a lie.

Davis’ 2004 account was the most outrageous as he put together a completely fictional account of the incident as a way of showing that Morrison was totally lost—both personally and creatively—and drinking heavily throughout his time in Paris. Davis not only gives an actual date, June 15, for this event, he even describes the actions of the French recording engineers as if he’s in the room with them: “The studio people were unhappy that [Jim] was obviously drunk. They ran a businesslike operation that usually recorded jingles and classical musicians, and told Jim archly that they were very busy and he could have a half hour maximum with the two freaks he had brought along.”

This lengthy scenario in his book perfectly played into the narrative that Davis’ dark and gloomy tome went out of its way to portray, but there’s one simple problem: It’s complete fiction; an utterly complete and total lie.

These are not journalistic errors. These are absolute and total falsehoods created to sell books. And with so many Morrison bios now in the marketplace, the only way you’re going to get a publisher to do another is to raise the stakes. Good marketing, terrible journalism.

Thanks to leading Doors historian Len Sousa, we now know that the infamous Jomo and the Smoothies tape was actually recorded in Los Angeles two full years earlier with Morrison and his good friend and iconic beat poet Michael McClure. While some researchers had questioned the validity of the “Paris recording” story for many years when people began to hear Doors’ producer Paul Rothchild’s voice on the tape, saying, “I got your action, Jim,” which alone proved the truth as Rothchild was never in Paris with Jim. Yet the myth still continued, bolstered by Davis’ 2004 written account.

Fortunately, because of Sousa’s excellent investigation in 2013, we finally received confirmation that it was McClure with Morrison and that the tape was recorded in 1969 in Los Angeles, not in 1971 in Paris. Yes, it’s a rather useless recording, and McClure and Morrison are obviously hammered, but when you see it through the prism of two friends having a good time in Los Angeles, rather than some crazy and insane Jim Morrison struggling to deal with life in Paris less than a month before his death, you have to question everything else that is being said.

True to form in this day of headlines first and facts second, Davis’ completely false story of a drunk-out-of-his-mind Jim Morrison recording in Paris with two street musicians continues to be repeated, including in Classic Rock Magazine’s 2014 “investigation” into Morrison’s time in Paris. The one featuring the grocery story tabloid headline: “Forget what you think you know. How Jim Morrison REALLY died, by the people who found the body, moved the body and buried him…” Probably sold a lot of copies, but the insanity never ends.

The point being that when one contrived story is proven false, readers must seriously begin to question what else an author is telling you. And the stories have continued to get more and more bizarre with slight new twists or new anonymous sources who provocatively claim to be worried about legal jeopardy nearly half-a-century after alleged incidents were said to have occurred. Time to raise those questioning eyebrows, kids.

Letters Back Home

By most published accounts, Jim Morrison spent his days in Paris, lost, lonely, highly intoxicated, depressed and ill at ease. Since he spoke no French and this was a time when English wasn’t spoken as prevalently as it is in today’s Paris, things indeed must have been tough for someone like Morrison who loved to talk with people in all walks of life, exchanging thoughts and ideas and thoughts.

Yet all the correspondence that he shared with friends and associates during his time in Paris don’t reflect any sort of depression at all. A postcard written to his attorney Max Fink in June reflects some typical Morrison humor, imploring the lawyer to “take a vacation!” and noting that in the “City of Love… the women are great & the food is gorgeous.”

The postcard Jim wrote from Paris to his attorney Max Fink.

Additionally, the letter he wrote to his buddy Frank Lisciandro is anything but sullen: “I had written Jim a letter in May of ’71 saying that Kathy and I were coming to Europe in July,” stated Lisciandro. “We were going to visit our friend—Eva Gardonyi in Hungary—and would be touring around France, Italy, and then go to Greece.

“The letter I got back from Jim was very upbeat and optimistic. He said he had been traveling and he was really looking forward to our visit. Kathy and I were to arrive in Paris in mid-July, and Jim told us to stay with him and Pam while we were there. So we had a good feeling from his letter. It was no different than how he normally interacted with Kathy and I—friendly and always positive. I think we got his letter in early June.”

As stated in his letter to the Lisciandros, during his and Pam’s journey to Spain in May, he had lost his credit cards (“money”). This was somewhat typical of Jim’s nature, since his idea of a wallet was usually just two pieces of cardboard sandwiching a credit card and wrapped with rubber bands.

So in late June or early July, Jim wrote to his accountant Bob Greene. This letter in particular shows Jim being clear headed as he was making plans for the future and moving on from the past. He inquired as to the status of new credit cards (“What’s the problem?”) and that house bills were catching up and to send over $3,000 ($20,000 in today’s money). For someone whose estate was worth approximately $500,000 (or $2.5 million in today’s money) at the time of his death, Jim wasn’t living crazy or high on the hog in Paris.

The letter Jim wrote to his accountant Bob Greene shortly before his death in Paris.

He asks Greene to come up with a financial plan and figure out how long they can stay in Paris, living at their current rate. Jim apparently has no plans to return to the States anytime soon, which he says he has already told the band’s manager Bill Siddons. Interestingly enough, he also asks about his Partnership Agreement with the other three Doors. Could this be a request for dissolution?

Then he talks about the clothing store Themis, which he bought for Pam in late 1968 for her to run as her own business. The boutique, which featured expensive imported clothing from Morocco and France, was never really a successful venture, and eventually served as more of a private hangout than an actual functional business. In the letter, Jim is asking Greene to take steps to turn ownership of Themis over to Pam’s sister Judy and her husband Tom, so that they can get a loan against the property, and then he asks his accountant to begin the process of getting him and Pam out of the business entirely. He also wants Greene to send $100 to Pam’s parents for taking care of their dog, Sage, while they’ve been away.

Does this sound like a man who is depressed? Who has given up on life and is suicidal? It just doesn’t add up to the narratives that have been circulating for decades.

“Last Word, Last Words…Out”

Another questionable “fact” has to do with some of Jim’s writings, which were brought back from Paris by Pamela. One page ripped from a book, like many others, is the brief passage of “Last Words, Last Words, Out,” which auctioneers and biographers have turned into a literal statement of Jim’s final written words.

Was this truly Morrison’s final statement?

The fact that this simple statement is something that Morrison wrote in various notebooks a handful of times over the years would put this in a far different perspective; most likely it’s nothing more than a Morrison-esque salutation that he would put at the end of a particular notebook before moving on to a new one. One thing is certain: it was not any sort of self-written epitaph or death statement penned in Paris on his last day. So save your money at that auction.

The Paris Journal

Despite what has been said about the so-called “Paris Journal,” one of Jim’s many notebooks and other writings that he had with him in Paris, there is more evidence that it was not written during his fateful trip in 1971. Rather, it could very well have been written during his Paris trip a year earlier in 1970 or not in Paris at all.

Jim’s controversial Paris Journal.

The fact is that after Jim arrived in Paris in March, he called Kathy Lisciandro at the Doors office and asked her to send him some notebooks and other things he had left behind, which she did. So at the time of his death, Jim had a wide selection of writings and notebooks with him in Paris that had been written as much as years before. However biographers continue to claim that all of these notebooks and loose pages were written during his time in Paris as a way to create a contemporaneous mindset of his final days.

The notebook in question also contains a section of a poem that Jim recited onstage with The Doors in 1970. The writing in the journal reflects other things that Jim was writing during that time frame as well. Frank Lisciandro, who has spent years compiling, categorizing and organizing every page and every notebook of Jim’s writings on behalf of the copyright holders, is firm in his belief that at least some part of what is written in the “Paris Journal” was written prior to Jim’s final visit to Paris. “It could very well have just been a name or a title of that particular notebook. It isn’t what people are making it out to be: Jim’s final words.”

The End

When it comes to the death of Jim Morrison, the never-ending parlor game of how he died rivals events like the JFK assassination in popular culture. Over the years, many fans are now convinced that the late icon died of a heroin overdose. It fits in with the trademark rock & roll narrative of a troubled artist and drugs, but what many people don’t realize is that Jim Morrison was never a user of heroin.

“He did take drugs. I’ve seen him do it; we did it. But the man was definitely not into drugs on a regular basis. We did acid maybe six to eight times total. We did a lot of cocaine for about eight to ten days, when he and Michael McClure were working on that screenplay. Heroin? Never.”

Jim’s closest friend Babe Hill, from our book Jim Morrison: Friends Gathered Together.

In our book, Jim Morrison: Friends Gathered Together, Babe Hill, who was Morrison’s closest companion during the last three years of his life, and candidly admits to dabbling in all sorts of substances over the years, states unequivocally: “He did take drugs. I’ve seen him do it; we did it. But the man was definitely not into drugs on a regular basis. He drank more than I did and I smoked pot. We did acid maybe six to eight times total.

“Jim wasn’t too much into marijuana,” Hill explained. “He said, ‘It turned on me. I don’t enjoy it any more.’ We did a lot of cocaine for about eight to ten days, when he and Michael McClure were working on that screenplay about the cocaine dealer: St. Nicholas [based on McClure’s book, The Adept]. Heroin? Never.”

“I never thought Jim would die,” said Doors’ guitarist Robby Krieger. “People had said that Jim was dead before, so we just thought it was another bullshit story. But we sent our manager Bill Siddons to Paris and he called to say it was true, even though he didn’t see the body, which became the root of all the controversy.”

Contrary to another widespread rumor is that Jim was buried in a cheap casket. Siddons recalled seeing the sealed coffin in Jim and Pam’s Paris apartment describing it as a “beautiful white oak casket with big brass bolts that screwed it closed.” Jim would be laid to rest a few days later in the famous Pere Lachaise cemetery in Paris on July 7.

For Jim’s closest friends Babe Hill and Frank Lisciandro, the fateful call they received from the Doors manager in Paris was a shock. “We got a call at our house from Bill Siddons on the Fourth of July,” said Lisciandro. “It was a Sunday. Babe was over for a barbeque and we were just hanging out, drinking a few beers on the holiday weekend. Bill called us in the afternoon that day.

“The house was pretty empty,” he explained, “because we had boxed up a lot of personal belongs because Kathy and I were leaving for Europe that week, and we would be seeing Jim in Paris at some point during our vacation there.”

Hill, the first one to speak with Siddons, picks up the narrative of that tragic phone call: “I couldn’t even tell [Frank] about it. I put down the phone and walked out. I said, ‘Bill, you tell them.’ Just shock and tremendous sadness, where you just have to go away somewhere and cry about it.”

Lisciandro added: “We sat there in shocked silence for several hours. We cried and we probably cursed him as well. Did we expect it? No. I honestly felt that somehow Jim would survive, that although he drank very heavily he would live on.”

Conspiracies

As noted previously, many people believe that Morrison died as a result of a heroin overdose. There are numerous such tales, from the ridiculous, like Jim overdosing in a nightclub and being secretly whisked away and carried back to his apartment by mysterious people in the dead of night where he is placed in his bathtub.

Then there’s Danny Sugerman, who later wrote in his book Wonderland Avenue that Pamela Courson had told him that Jim snorted some of her heroin, thinking it was cocaine and overdosed. Of course Pamela died 15 years before Sugerman published this particular story; a story, incidentally, which he never bothered to mention in his 1980 Morrison biography No One Here Gets Out Alive, even though he had to have known this story by that time since Pamela died in 1974.

More recently, Marianne Faithful came out with a book declaring that her boyfriend (and Pam’s occasional boyfriend) Jean de Breiteuil was the drug dealer who sold the heroin to Pam that killed Jim.

Conversely, Jim’s good friend and poet Michael McClure, who was also close with Pamela stated in our book, Friends Gathered Together: “[Pam] was in a state of ecstatic grief; I’ve never seen anybody in a greater state of grief. I believe most of what Pam told me and nothing about heroin ever came up [in regards to Jim’s death].”

Ockham’s Razor

Ockham’s Razor is a principle that generally recommends that when faced with competing hypothesis that are equal in other respects, you must select the one that makes the fewest assumptions.

With this principle in mind, one of the most ignored facts of what was happening with Jim just prior to leaving for Paris is that he injured himself after falling from a ledge at the Chateau Marmont, while hanging out one last time with his on-again/off-again friend, the late actor Tom Baker.

“Tom was very much unbridled,” explained Frank Lisciandro, who was friends with both men. “He did what he wanted to do whenever he wanted to do it. When Tom Baker was drunk, he really didn’t know any boundaries. I know there are people who had problems with Tom, but on the other hand, he was a wonderful guy. He was very creative and very talented. But when Jim and Tom were together and they were both drunk, it was a disaster.”

This potent combination of craziness led to the previously mentioned incident at the Chateau Marmont, which very well could have played a role in Jim’s ultimate death a few months later. As Michael McClure described in our book: “Shortly before Jim left for Paris, Jim was doing one of his catwalks along one of those high walls and he fell. He fell flat almost [on the pavement below].

“Then while Jim was in Paris he went to a doctor [for respiratory problems he was having],” McClure went on to say, “and the doctor looked at him in regard to the childhood problems he had with asthma, which almost had an embolism-like quality. It was almost as if something would float around in your lungs.”

Jim was coughing up blood in April, soon after arriving in Paris, and saw a doctor. But things didn’t improve and his respiratory difficulties continued. He was still coughing up blood in June and now also fighting bouts of uncontrollable hiccups throughout the month, resulting in another doctor visit. It was during this appointment that Jim was prescribed the drug Marax.

As we revealed in our book, Friends Gathered Together, upon learning that Morrison was prescribed Marax, we discovered that the drug is no longer available in the United States. The key ingredient in Marax, Ephedra, had long been linked to a high rate of serious side effects and death and was banned by the FDA in 2004. It was also a very dangerous drug to mix with alcohol, Jim’s drug of choice.

JIm and Pam enjoying themselves in France. Jim would die less than a week after this photo was taken by Alain Ronay.

Knowing that Jim never used heroin, despite experimenting with a wide array of drugs during his days in Los Angeles, and that he had a negative view of the drug because of Pamela’s usage of it, one has to question if heroin ever entered the picture in relation to Jim’s death.

What we do know for certain is that Jim had a disastrous fall only days before he left for Paris. He experienced intense respiratory issues throughout his time in France, including the coughing up of blood and being overcome with severe hiccups over his final month. We also know for a fact that Jim was prescribed and taking a now-banned drug that was known to have caused serious side effects including death, whether or not it was even mixed with alcohol.

Welcome to Ockham’s Razor. The choice is up to you.

Steven P. Wheeler is an award-winning journalist and former Editor of Music Connection Magazine, Happening Magazine and L.A. Vision Magazine. In 2014, he collaborated with Jim Morrison’s close friend, film partner and photographer Frank Lisciandro on the myth-shattering book Jim Morrison: Friends Gathered Together.

For more on Jim Morrison, be sure to read my extensive nine-part interview with Frank Lisciandro, The Calm Calculus of Reason.

For a revealing glimpse into Jim Morrison the Man, take a listen to this lengthy and often humorous interview with journalist Howard Smith from November of 1969 that took place in the Doors office. Jim can be heard talking with the Doors secretary Kathy Lisciandro, as well as a couple of his friends like Tom Baker.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OiQnqA6zRkE

25 Years Ago Today: Dancing Naked with John Mellencamp

25 Years Ago Today: Dancing Naked with John Mellencamp

By Steven P. Wheeler

Back in May of 1994, I sat down with one of rock’s biggest stars of the era and a true legend today, John Mellencamp, to discuss his then-current album Dance Naked, which was released 25 years ago today, June 21. Featuring the hit single, a cover of Van Morrison’s classic “Wild Night,” Dance Naked would become the ninth consecutive platinum album by a man who literally dominated MTV and FM rock radio throughout the Eighties and Nineties.

So I dusted off my old tape of my interview with the man who we first knew as Johnny Cougar, then John Cougar, then John Cougar Mellencamp (with 1983’s brilliant Uh-Huh album), before finally leaving the “Cougar” behind for good in 1991 with the platinum hit album, Whenever We Wanted. But more on that later…

For many rock fans like myself, the Eighties were a time of transition from radio to a new visual outlet called MTV. Not to mention a sea of concerts for various causes, including Live Aid and Farm Aid (which Mellencamp started with friends Willie Nelson and Neil Young after an off-the-cuff onstage comment from Bob Dylan at the previous Live Aid). And John Mellencamp was at the forefront of this changing tide.

Throughout the Eighties and Nineties, John Mellencamp would establish himself as one of rock’s most prominent and often controversial voices. But the road to notoriety was a long one indeed for the often ornery artist, whose own pseudonym for his producer duties was tellingly Little Bastard. And there were some traces of that reputation that seeped through during our lengthy conversation.

Teenage Husband & Father

Back in the mid-Seventies, a young John Mellencamp had visions of making it as a recording artist in the music industry, which was no easy feat for a teenage husband and father working odd jobs in the wilds of Indiana. He might as well have been in India.

In those days he was no different than millions of other musicians trying to get noticed while balancing the realities of life. Or as he would later write in his 1985 hit single “R.O.C.K. in the U.S.A.”: “Pipe dreams in their heads and very little money in their hands.”

“I don’t feel like I matured any quicker or any slower than anybody else,” he said in response to my question about the impact of marriage and fatherhood at such a young age. “And as far as following any kind of rock & roll dream, initially, I just wanted to make a record. I didn’t really have any illusions of grandeur or any dream about what I should become or what I shouldn’t become. I just had a lot of determination. Hell, I never planned anything in my life.”

Whatever It Takes

Playing by the usual rules of the music business in those days, Mellencamp played the game that the booming industry had established by the Seventies: “I had been in bands for a long time, singing in bars and fraternities, but I remembered thinking at the time that being ‘discovered’ was kind of a joke,” said the longtime heartland resident. “You had to go out and seek them, they weren’t going to come and seek you out.

“So I took every cent I had, sold a bunch of stuff, sold a lot of my record collection, sold a lot of equipment that I had gathered up over the years and raised a couple of thousand bucks and made a demo tape.”

(Interview by Steven P. Wheeler)

Of course, this was real life and not some Hollywood movie. Success wasn’t sitting around waiting for this small town boy to make his mark on the music world. “I sent that tape out to different managers and record companies, and it was rejected worldwide,” he says, without a hint of exaggeration. “I mean, hundreds and hundreds of rejections came in, and I had worked that tape in all different manners for like a year.”

John Mellencamp turned Johnny Cougar in 1976.

Lowering his goals to perhaps jumpstart his dreams, Mellencamp and his wife ventured across state lines on a day that ultimately changed his life forever. “I decided to go down to small record label down in Louisville, Kentucky, with that tape. I remember physically driving down there that day. And I remember being told that they didn’t think that I was right for their label, and I thought, ‘Jesus Christ, I can’t even get fuckin’ signed to a little local label in Louisville, Kentucky’.”

Despondent over that soul-crushing trip in 1975, Mellencamp recalled: “So I was driving home with my first wife, Priscilla (their 11-year marriage would end in 1981), and I thought I had better start re-thinking what I was gonna do. But when I got home, the phone rang and it was [David Bowie’s manager] Tony DeFries asking me to come to New York, and I said, ‘Hell, I was just in New York and I can’t afford to come again,’ so he offered to pay for a plane ticket.

“I realized that was the whole key,” he said with a laugh. “When they start paying for you to do things, you might have something happening.”

Introducing Johnny Cougar

After meeting DeFries, things moved quickly. Not unlike Greg Brady being told that he would now be named “Johnny Bravo” in that memorable episode of The Brady Bunch, DeFries landed Mellencamp a record deal with MCA Records, although he failed to mention to the young kid from Indiana that he also now had a stage name: Johnny Cougar.

“DeFries started handing me this stuff like, ‘Well, you’re either gonna be Johnny Cougar or we’re not gonna release the record.’ Of course, I had already shot my mouth off to everybody at home, telling them that I had an album coming out and everybody’s going, ‘Sure, sure, sure.’ So I kind of had to get right with the program; I had to kind of get my mind right and get into the Tony DeFries mode of thinking.”

That mode of thinking resulted in a 1976 debut album that died without a trace. Chestnut Street Incident featured Johnny Cougar’s versions of such rock classics as Roy Orbison’s “Pretty Woman” and The Doors’ “Twentieth Century Fox.”

Johnny Cougar’s cover of The Doors’ “Twentieth Century Fox” from his ill-fated 1976 debut.

For someone who grew to become one of America’s greatest songwriters, there was no trace of that to be found on his debut album, which was only half filled with originals. Looking back, Mellencamp freely admits that he had no idea what he was doing artistically on that first recording.

“I had only written a handful of songs when I got my first record deal,” he noted. “In terms of songwriting, I definitely grew up in public. When I made that first record, I just played songs that I liked. That album really had no direction. I was completely lost about what it was that John Mellencamp was supposed to be doing on a record. My dream, or my plan, hadn’t gone that far because my initial quest was just to get a record deal, so once I got that record deal I didn’t quite know what to do with it.”

Phase Two Begins

Not surprisingly, after the failure of his first album, MCA dropped the young artist like a rock, as did DeFries. The following year in 1977, Mellencamp left Seymour, Indiana for Bloomington and quickly formed the nucleus of a band he called the Zone (featuring his longtime guitarists Mike Wanchic and Larry Crane). Songwriting also became a priority and soon afterwards he hooked up with Rod Stewart’s manager Billy Gaff, who also happened to have his own record label, Riva.

The 1978 album, A Biography, was recorded in London, but was only released in the UK and in Australia. Ironically, his song “I Need a Lover” became a Top Ten hit Down Under. With this growing confidence came his 1979 album simply titled John Cougar (no more Johnny), which would get a stateside release and also feature “I Need a Lover,” which became his first American Top 40 hit. Buoyed by much stronger material from Mellencamp’s pen, the album would go Gold.

But the best was yet to come when a young female rocker named Pat Benatar recorded “I Need a Lover” as the first single for her monster debut album, In the Heat of the Night.

Rookie rocker Pat Benatar recorded Mellencamp’s first American hit, “I Need a Lover.”

“Quite honestly, I was happy that Pat Benatar had a hit record with ‘I Need a Lover.’ I knew that it couldn’t do anything but help me, and that song was also a hit in Australia for me. So that song—regardless of what people think of it or what I may think of it today—really helped me considerably at that point in my career. I mean, Pat was one of the biggest breaking female artists at that time, so I was happy with any type of success I could get.”

(Interview by Steven P. Wheeler)

One Step Up, Two Steps Back

After extensive touring helped build a healthy core of fans for the newly christened John Cougar, the singer-songwriter returned to the studio with legendary guitarist/producer Steve Cropper to work on the all-important follow-up effort after his first taste of success. However Mellencamp says that the title of his 1980 album Nothin’ Matters and What If It Did, pretty much summed up his feelings at the time.

“I wasn’t particularly interested in having a career in the music business at that time,” he said candidly. “I had just met a girl, and I wasn’t too involved with the making of that record. I was either really pissed off or really jubilant during that time.”

Although the album contained two Top 40 hits, “Ain’t Even Done with the Night” and “This Time,” and eventually went platinum, Mellencamp’s ongoing distaste for the business of music came through loud and clear on the sarcastic “Cheap Shot,” which closed the album:

The record company’s going out of business
They’re pricing records too damn high
The boys in the band can use some assistance
Get a daytime job to get by

John Cougar’s 1980 hit, “Ain’t Even Done with the Night.”

The sentiments of “Cheap Shot” aren’t a whole lot different than how the industry veteran feels today: “I have always had a love/hate relationship with the record company; more hate than love,” he smirks. “I wrote that song basically to tell those people to kiss my ass. Young guys tend to do that, ya know.”

Superstardom Comes Knockin’

With two consecutive gold albums now on his resume, and new powerhouse drummer Kenny Aronoff joining the band, the small town rocker began work on his next album, but no one could have predicted what happened next. In fact, when Mellencamp delivered American Fool to his record company in 1982, the suits rejected it.

“The fuckin’ record company hated that album. They hated it!! They wanted ‘Nothin’ Matters’ to continue, and they wanted me to become like Neil Diamond or what that Michael Bolton guy is today. That’s how Mercury Records saw me at the time.”

(Interview by Steven P. Wheeler)

Standing firm against the powers-that-be, Mellencamp and the naysayers watched American Fool become the Number One Album in America, selling five million copies, on the strength of three hit singles—”Hurts So Good,” “Hand to Hold On To” and a little ditty about “Jack & Diane.”

“Yeah, I was surprised by the success of that record,” he told me. “We had two Top Ten singles and a Number One album at the same time. John Lennon, Michael Jackson and I are the only people that have accomplished that.

“We were just happier during the making of that record. We were a big bar band at the time, playing every club in the world. It was black leather jackets, motorcycles, tattoos, earrings, and that whole bit.”

(Interview by Steven P. Wheeler)

Tale of a Ditty

The story behind Mellencamp’s only chart-topping hit “Jack & Diane” is the tale of a song that almost never happened. It was guest guitarist Mick Ronson of David Bowie fame who actually saved the song from the dust bin of history.

“I had run into Mick Ronson in New York and he said that he wanted to come down and play on my album. So he came down to Miami, where we were recording American Fool. We had already recorded ‘Jack & Diane’ and it was ready to go in the shit can, because I just didn’t like the way it sounded and I didn’t really care for the song.

“Ronson had previously heard the tape in his apartment and he asked me if we were going to do anything with this ‘Jack & Diane’ song, and I said, ‘Well, it’s really not working for me.’ So he says, ‘Well, Johnny, you need to put some baby rattles on it.’ And I thought, ‘Baby rattles? What the fuck’s this guy talkin’ about?’

Mick Ronson pictured with David Bowie during their Ziggy Stardust period.

“So a couple of days later in the studio, Ronson kept asking to work on this ‘Jack & Diane’ song, and I kept telling him to forget it and to work on something else. So one night when we finished working on what I wanted to work on, he said, ‘Let’s work on this ‘Jack & Diane’ song [laughs].’

“I finally said, ‘Alright, but the middle section, the bridge section of the song isn’t happening at all.’ So what Ronson did was he punched out all the guitars and took them totally out of the mix. So you had this little choir singing, ‘Let it rock, let it roll, let the bible belt save your soul,’ and it sounded great. Then we just beefed up the drums.

“So, yeah, Ronson really turned ‘Jack & Diane’ around by eliminating the guitars in the middle bridge part and the ‘let it rock, let it roll’ part became this male choir, kind of a cheerleading section. And that’s the story of how Mick Ronson saved ‘Jack & Diane’.”

Flexing Some Muscle

With the blockbuster success of American Fool, Mellencamp felt in control of his artistic career for the first time in his life. And the follow-up, 1983’s Uh-Huh album, would be the first to feature his given name, although “Cougar” was still there for the time being.

“I was just tired of fuckin’ around with the ‘Johnny Cougar’ business, it had been an albatross around my neck for years,” he responded when I asked about why he kept his stage name after his initial success. “So I went to the record company and said, ‘Look, I know you guys have spent a lot of dough on this Cougar business but I want my real name on this album.’ They had no problem with it; they were pretty accommodating. It wasn’t any big independence thing, it was just something that should have been done long before that and I just didn’t do it.”

The compromise was to also keep the Cougar branding for the Uh-Huh album, but adding his given name to an album that featured much more personal songs made sense. In fact the first side of that album—”Crumblin’ Down,” “Pink Houses,” “The Authority Song” and “Warmer Place to Sleep”—remains of the greatest album sides in rock music. It was truly as if the Rolling Stones had been transplanted to America’s heartland.

Bolstered by three hit singles, including two more Top Ten hits—the angry “Crumblin’ Down” and the classic tale of small town life “Pink Houses”—Uh-Huh was the first album in which the singer-songwriter put together an entire album with no filler.

But don’t go thinking that Mellencamp has any idea what the magical formula for a hit song is. “As far as ‘hits’ go, I usually don’t start thinking about hit records until the record company gets involved,” he laughs, “because that’s always their first question: ‘How many hits do you got on it?’

“They don’t give a shit if the album’s any good or not, they only care about the two songs that they can sell to radio. It’s really quite an unnerving question to be asked after you’ve made an album because, to me, it really cheapens the whole album-making process.”

Oops!

Although Mellencamp scored nine consecutive platinum albums over the course of 15 years at the time of our interview, the sales of his last four million-sellers were down in comparison to the previous four albums, which had sold between three and five million each. In response, Mellencamp bristled at my question about record sales, with his easy-going demeanor showing signs of annoyance.

“I don’t understand these questions about sales, I don’t relate to them. I don’t understand what the fuck difference it makes. It’s nice to sell records, but, to me, the quality of music has maintained over the years.”

(Interview by Steven P. Wheeler)
Performing “What If I Came Knocking” from 1993’s Human Wheels album.

“It’s not like I went out and made a shitty record, although Whenever We Wanted probably wasn’t the greatest record. Big Daddy was a good record and I think Human Wheels is the best record I ever made. Even Paul Simon went through a period where he didn’t even sell 150,000 records, and then he makes Graceland in the late Eighties.

“Younger people want to have their own music, and I think that’s the way it should be,” he maintained. “But I don’t think my work has diminished in any fashion. I also think we sold more than three million copies with the last few records, but that’s not even the fuckin’ point. It doesn’t matter.

“The point is that I’m making the records that I want to make, I’m doing it at a pace that I want to do it, and I’ve always maintained that if people want to buy my records that’s great, and if they don’t that’s okay, too, because I do this now because I want to. Not because I have to or I need the money or because I feel like I have to prove something to somebody.”

Art vs. Commercialism

Taking a purely artistic road has its pitfalls for any recording artist. Some fans want to hear the same thing over and over, not unlike the record labels who like targeting a specific market. Artists from Dylan to U2 have all had to deal with this dichotomy throughout their career, and Mellencamp the artist is no exception.

“I don’t mean to sound jaded or mean-spirited,” he said after voicing his strong opinion, “but I’m not looking for a commercial bonanza. I need to make records that are entertaining to me, and to the guys in the band, things that are challenging to us.

“The thing is, I could probably go out and make a very commercial record if I wanted to, drawing on what’s going on today and the experience I’ve gained over the last 20 years in the music business,” he noted, without a hint of cockiness.

“As a matter of fact, I feel like you, Steve Wheeler, and I could go in the studio with you as the lead vocalist and we could probably cut a hit record, but it just depends on whether you want to be that corny or not. Where’s the line that a guy is willing to cross.”

“Radio has become a very throwaway type of situation today. I mean, Janet Jackson has had millions of hit records and I can’t name one of them to you, but I hear them all the time. The music on the radio today is more like elevator music.”

(Interview by Steven P. Wheeler)

“It’s like my song, ‘Biege to Biege’ says. Songs have to be beige, they have to fit into a very generic format so that these people can sell their advertising. I don’t feel compelled to make a beige record in order to fit into some Program Director’s format. If it happens by accident, that’s fine, but I don’t feel that I should plan it out or calculate it. Those types of things are better left for people like Bryan Adams or Jon Bon Jovi. I’m not particularly interested in that.”

Don’t Call Him a Spokesman

Beginning in 1983, with the popularity of “Pink Houses,” the media began labeling Mellencamp as a spokesman of sorts for those living in middle America’s heartland. This would become even more enhanced with 1985’s monster hit Scarecrow, which featured such hits as “Small Town” and the powerful musical statements targeting the plight of American farmers in “Rain on the Scarecrow” and “The Face of the Nation.”

This massive commercial success would continue with 1987’s The Lonesome Jubilee with classic songs like “Check It Out,” “Paper in Fire” and the fond look back at growing up in rural America on the intoxicating “Cherry Bomb.”

But Mellencamp downplays the media’s attempt to bring him into the role of Spokesman for the Heartland. “I never felt that it was my job to hang on a cross for anybody or to articulate how any particular sector of the country felt,” he explained. “I can only write about what I know about or what I aspire to be. When people did ask me about it, I just kind of laughed it off. I really didn’t pay that much attention to it.”

Wouldn’t that fly in the face of being one of the founders of the long-running benefit concert series known as Farm Aid, which continues to raise awareness and money for American farmers? The summer concert series began in 1985 and has continued for the 33 years with only two exceptions in 1988 and 1991, and has raised more than $50 million in the process.

Not so, says Mellencamp, who is still on the Farm Aid Board of Directors to this day, maintaining that the intent behind Farm Aid was not some naïve or idealistic belief that they would change the world. 

“Farm Aid was put together only to raise awareness. I always knew that we were never going to change any political or social policies, and we didn’t,” he explained. “Back in the Sixties, it took an entire generation of people fighting in the streets to end a war. That’s the kind of participation that it takes to change social policy or to change anything that’s going awry in this country.

“The idea that I could write a song or that Woody Guthrie could write a song that could change political policy is really nonsense. So the idea that writing a song or having a concert is going to do much more than entertain people and maybe raise a few dollars is really silly.”

John Cougar Mellencamp performing in 1985.

“I don’t mean to sound disgruntled or negative, it’s just the reality of the situation. If you look at anything that happened during the Eighties, whether it’s Hands Across America or Farm Aid or Live Aid or This-Aid or That-Aid, I don’t really think any of them made that much of a significant impact on the powers that be.”

(Interview by Steven P. Wheeler)

Final Thoughts

Since my interview with John a quarter of a century ago, the singer-songwriter has not slowed down in the recording studio, having released 11 more albums. Mellencamp, like Robert Plant, continues to explore new artistic territory when most of his contemporaries have either retired or tour the world resting on their laurels. And that is the essence of a true artist.

A few years ago in 2015, Bob Dylan was honored as MusiCares’ Person of the Year and the ceremony included Mellencamp and other artists performing songs from Dylan’s legendary catalog. And during his acceptance speech, Dylan said: “And like my friend John Mellencamp would sing, ‘one day you get sick and you don’t get better.’ That’s from a song of his called ‘Longest Days.’ It’s one of the better songs of the last few years, actually. I ain’t lying.”

Mellencamp said that this endorsement from The Bard himself was worth more than 10 Grammys. And after a career that now spans more than 40 years, John Mellencamp can indeed be mentioned in the same breath as the greatest American songwriters to have ever picked up a guitar and put a pen to paper. We are lucky he is still around 67 years on.

Remembering Harry Nilsson

Remembering Harry Nilsson

By Steven P. Wheeler

On what would have been his 78th birthday today, June 15, I’m remembering the late great singer-songwriter Harry Nilsson. A few months before his untimely death in January of 1994, I was fortunate enough to interview this Grammy-winning musical enigma. Sadly, it was one of the final two interviews Nilsson ever did.

Watch the trailer for the powerful 2010 documentary, “Who Is Harry Nilsson (And Why is Everybody Talkin’ About Him?)”

At the time of my meeting with him in late 1993, Harry Nilsson was known as much for his incredibly versatile and golden voice, amazing and wide-ranging songwriting talent and often confusing choice of musical directions as he was for a legendary hedonistic streak that was now finally in the rearview mirror. He may have been going through personal and health issues when we met, but his sense of humor was still fully intact.

“Harry was a big bunny… with really sharp teeth.”

Paul Williams, songwriter/friend

During my days in corporate America, I used Harry’s brilliant lyric line from “Old Dirt Road,” recorded by his longtime pal John Lennon, as my email signature: “Shoveling smoke with a pitchfork in the wind.” While the bosses may never have liked it, those who did were instantly bonded with me (and Harry).

Speaking of Lennon, The Beatles were Nilsson’s biggest fans at a time when the Fab Four were the most colossal thing on Planet Earth. And after the Beatles’ split in 1970, Nilsson and Lennon worked together creatively (on Nilsson’s 1974 Pussy Cats album) and also gained infamy during Lennon’s “lost weekend” period at the time. A wild and crazy era that culminated with the drunken duo being literally thrown out of the Troubadour in West Hollywood, which became the stuff of legends.

Harry Nilsson and John Lennon are pictured being ejected from the Troubadour club after famously and obnoxiously heckling The Smothers Brothers who were performing. Nilsson would later tell Rolling Stone: “That incident ruined my reputation for 10 years.”

This Beatle connection continued through the years as Ringo Starr served as best man at Nilsson’s 1976 wedding to Una O’Keefe, who remained his wife until his death. The two had six children together to go along with a seventh child from one of Harry’s two previous marriages.

Bride Una and Groom Harry at their wedding in 1976. Ringo was his best man.

From Banker to Songwriter

Nilsson began his music career as a songwriter in the early Sixties, while still keeping his full-time job as a computer specialist for Security First National Bank in Van Nuys, California. His amazing singing voice was also starting to get noticed in the recording studio by other artists who were recording his early songwriting attempts; artists like Little Richard. He even worked with iconic producer Phil Spector at one point in 1964, co-writing some tunes.

The Fab Connection

By 1966, Nilsson released his debut album which went nowhere, but his sophomore effort Pandemonium Shadow Show at the end of 1967 caught the ear of the Fab Four and things would change forever. Nilsson’s album included two Beatle covers (“She’s Leaving Home” and “You Can’t Do That,” which became a modest first hit for him) and his self-penned “Cuddly Toy,” which was also recorded by The Monkees that same year.


Nilsson’s innovative cover of “You Can’t Do That” in 1967 includes more than a dozen lyrical snippets from other Beatle songs. One can consider it the harbinger of today’s “mash-up,” some 25 years before the term came into being.

During a press conference at the time, when asked about his favorite American artist, John Lennon said “Nilsson” and Paul McCartney agreed. This led to an avalanche of media phone calls to the little known American artist, and a trip to meet the Beatles soon followed.

It was in 1968, while Nilsson was scoring legendary director Otto Preminger’s soon-to-be celluloid flop, Skidoo. “I got a call from Derek Taylor [the Beatles’ publicist], who said that the boys wanted to know if I’d like to come down and see their sessions for the White Album,” he recalled during our conversation. “So I asked Otto for a week off and he agreed.” Harry does a humorous imitation of the German-born director, saying, ‘Yes, go see dem and ask dem to zing in my moo-vie’.”

Accordingly, Nilsson talked the director into paying for his flight to London, where he met Taylor at Apple headquarters. “Later that same afternoon, Paul McCartney called the office to say he was looking for songs for Mary Hopkins’ album,” he recalled. “So I wrote a song for her right then [‘The Puppy Song’] and Paul produced it.” Nilsson would record the song himself the following year, and his version would be used 30 years later in the opening credits of the Tom Hanks/Meg Ryan box-office hit, You’ve Got Mail.

“I went to John’s house and it was the same day that [John’s wife] Cynthia moved out and Yoko moved in. John and I stayed up all night and into the next day, just talking about life and philosophies and wives and divorce.”

(interview by Steven P. Wheeler)

But it was later in the evening on that same day which birthed a deep friendship with Lennon. “I went to John’s house and it was the same day that [John’s wife] Cynthia moved out and Yoko moved in,” he said, matter of factly. “John and I stayed up all night and into the next day, just talking about life and philosophies and wives and divorce.”

Fame Comes Knockin’

Mass success soon followed the Midas touch meeting with the Fabs with the release of his album, Aerial Ballet. Bolstered by the iconic hit “Everybody’s Talkin’,” which, a year later, would earn Nilsson the first of his two Grammys when the song reached dizzying heights by being featured in the classic Jon Voight/Dustin Hoffman film Midnight Cowboy.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2AzEY6ZqkuE
Nilsson performing the classic “Everybody’s Talkin'” in 1969.

While that song was penned by Fred Neil, another song from that same album, written by Nilsson, “One,” would became a million-selling hit for Three Dog Night. And when you’re on a roll, everything turns to gold, and anyone remembering the hit television series The Courtship of Eddie’s Father can instantly sing the theme song “Best Friend” that Nilsson wrote and sang during the making of Aerial Ballet. That famous song was strangely enough never included on a Nilsson album.

Three Dog Night sold a million copies of their version of Nilsson’s song “One” in 1969.
Harry, Ringo, Elton, Paul and Linda hanging out in 1976.

Throughout the early part of the Seventies, Nilsson’s legacy was cemented into pop music history with such iconic and varied hits as the Grammy-winning ballad “Without You,” the hilarious calypso classic “Coconut,” “Me and My Arrow,” “Jump Into the Fire,” “Spaceman” and “I Guess the Lord Must Be in New York City.”

Nilsson had an unlikely Top Ten hit with the humorous ditty, “Coconut,” released on the same album as the classic mournful ballad “Without You,” which topped the charts the same year.

And being the maverick that he was, all of this success was accomplished without Nilsson EVER performing a concert or going on tour. When we discussed this bizarre fact, Nilsson would only say, with a laugh, “I never did a concert, and I think I may be the first singer-songwriter to not do that,” before adding that he did join Ringo Starr onstage for one performance of “Without You” in September of 1992.

Harry, sandwiched between two of rock’s craziest drummers, Ringo Starr and The Who’s Keith Moon. Sadly, Ringo is the sole survivor of this talented trio.

“It’s funny because Ringo and I met in our twenties, and in our thirties we talked about performing in our forties. But we didn’t actually get around to doing it until our fifties [laughs].”

(interview by Steven P. Wheeler)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sEd6Wkx_rCI
One of pop music’s greatest ballads was written by Badfinger’s Pete Ham and Tom Evans, but it was Nilsson’s vocal performance that brought the song to life, sending it to the top of the charts and securing his second Grammy Award.

Studio to the Screen

Beginning with his 1970 album The Point, which was followed by an animated film adaption written by Nilsson and airing on ABC shortly after the album’s release, the singer-songwriter dabbled with the visual arts throughout his career. He starred with Ringo in the ill-fated rock-horror-comedy Son of Dracula in 1974. In the Eighties, Nilsson formed a production company, Hawkeye, with screenwriter Terry Southern. He also wrote all the songs for the Robin Williams film Popeye, and even co-wrote the screenplay for the 1988 Whoopi Goldberg film The Telephone, which was directed by Rip Torn. However, ultimately, the success Nilsson found in music he didn’t find in film.

Final Words

At the time of our interview, Harry Nilsson was recording some demos with the help of producers Mark Hudson and Andy Cahan. In fact, it was Cahan who contacted me asking me to do an interview with Harry as a way of letting record companies know that the former star was working on new material.

The reasons for this were two-fold. Nilsson, who hadn’t released an album since 1980, would need a record deal and he also had some very bad luck in the previous two years. First, it was discovered that his longtime accountant had been embezzling from him, resulting in Nilsson having to file for bankruptcy. At the time of our interview the accountant was serving a four-year prison sentence. Then on Valentine’s Day in 1993, Nilsson suffered a major heart attack.

Despite it all, his sense of humor shone through in discussions about his flamboyant past and even when he talked about his latest material, which included a country-styled song he called, “What’s a 245-Pound Man Like Me (Doin’ On a Woman Like You).” Now that’s Harry.

His final words to me that day spoke volumes: “I need things to make me laugh these days.” Harry Nilsson passed away from heart failure on January 15, 1994.

Posthumous Releases

A year later, in 1995, the two-CD anthology Personal Best: The Harry Nilsson Anthology was released. And fifteen years after that the long-awaited and powerful documentary film Who is Harry Nilsson (And Why is Everybody Talkin’ About Him?) was finally released to theaters and DVD in 2010.

The wide-ranging cast of famous friends and associates who speak candidly about their one-of-a-kind friend in the film is staggering, from the musical world (Brian Wilson, Randy Newman, Al Kooper, Yoko Ono, Jimmy Webb and Paul Williams) to the comedy and film universe (Robin Williams, Eric Idle and Terry Gilliam). It’s a riveting warts-and-all look into the life and times of a musical genius and totally unique artist.

A must-see film which ranks with the best music docs ever made.

I’m humbled I got the chance to spend some time with Harry and I find it nice to think of Nilsson and Lennon sharing their thoughts together again. Oh to be a fly on that wall…

Since it’s the weekend, here are two of Harry’s most off-color cult favorites “You’re Breakin’ My Heart” (aka “The F#@k You Song”) and “I’d Rather Be Dead.”

Featuring an all-star band of Peter Frampton, Klaus Voormann, Nicky Hopkins, Barry Morgan, and the Rolling Stones’ horn section of Bobby Keys and Jim Price.
Harry leads a choir of British pensioners, some of whom seem quite confused by the song.
David Bowie: Man of a Thousand Phases

David Bowie: Man of a Thousand Phases

By Steven P. Wheeler

Today, June 11, marks the 50th anniversary of the release of the late David Bowie’s 1969 hit, “Space Oddity.” To celebrate, I’ve gone back through the tapes of my 1995 interview with the rock legend. Hope you enjoy this refreshed take on this special man (see “class act, gentleman”), who is still missed three years after his untimely death.

22-year-old David Bowie performing “Space Oddity” for the first time on television.

IF ever there was a rock star who epitomized the life of a musical chameleon, it would be David Bowie—not only in his art, but in his look and attitude. I had the pleasure of sitting down and speaking with Bowie, who was at the S.I.R. Rehearsal Studios in New York rehearsing his new band in preparation for his upcoming concert tour behind his just released Outside album.

Unlike his previous rock star roles, with Outside, Bowie took on not one, but seven new characters in this strange musical drama that documents the diaries of fictional detective Nathan Adler during his investigation of ritual art murders. At the time, Bowie spoke of possibly bringing this to a full stage production, which he described as “Nicholas Nickleby on acid,” however this idea was ultimately never to come to fruition.

David Bowie, at the time of our interview, in 1995.

As questionable as Outside was as a commercial venture, you would expect nothing less from a rock legend who in the past had duetted with a bizarre blend of performers, including Mick Jagger, Freddie Mercury and… Bing Crosby?

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n9kfdEyV3RQ
In one of those head-scratching musical moments, the eccentric rock star David Bowie got together with pop crooner Bing Crosby for this yuletide duet on the 1977 TV special Bing Crosby’s Merrie Olde Christmas. Crosby died five weeks later. A single of the song was finally released in 1982 and became one of the biggest hits in Bowie’s career. The duet remains a classic holiday hit around the world to this day.

Throughout his 50-year career, Bowie shed his various personas like a snake abandons its skin, never content to expand on successful characters, instead choosing to move in entirely different directions at the height of his various stages of popularity—and doing it more often than lesser artists would dare.

From his early days as Davy Jones in the mid-Sixties (he would adopt the name Bowie when another “Davey” Jones gained stardom with the American TV group The Monkees) and his self-titled stage name debut in ’67 to his glitter-glam era as Ziggy Stardust in the early Seventies—Bowie mastered the value of shock-rock by playing up social taboos.

For example, in 1971, he made news during his first visit to the States after wearing dresses in public appearances, and then admitting his bisexuality a year later. Bowie actually posed in a dress for his now-landmark album The Man Who Sold the World, although his American record label nixed the dress pic and replaced it with a cartoon of a cowboy in front of an insane asylum.

Bowie donning his “man-dress” for the album cover of 1970’s The Man Who Sold the World. Mercury Records in the U.S. refused to use the cover for its stateside release, instead using a cartoon of a cowboy standing in front of an asylum.

Since that time, Bowie has been married a couple of times, including his final marriage to supermodel Iman, leading many to wonder over the years if he was merely using the earlier bisexuality angle for promotional purposes.

“It wasn’t a shock value thing,” Bowie told me. “It was just the way I was at that age. Frankly, I don’t think there was anyone else around working so provocatively at that particular time, but [bisexuality] was a taboo subject, and I felt that it was something that probably needed to be brought out.”

Bowie performing as his most famous alter-ego Ziggy Stardust in 1973.

Unlike the commercial consequences that happened to Elton John’s career following his own bisexuality admission in 1976, Bowie’s commercial fortunes continued to soar, reaching new heights with The Rise And Fall Of Ziggy Stardust And The Spiders From Mars (#75), Aladdin Sane (#17), the Orwellian-influenced Diamond Dogs (#5) and the R&B-flavored sound of Young Americans (#9), featuring the chart-topping ode to hedonism “Fame,” co-written with former Beatle John Lennon, which perfectly encapsulated the excesses of the Seventies rock lifestyle.

John Lennon and David Bowie pictured in 1975. They co-wrote Bowie’s classic “Fame.”

During his brief stint as the Thin White Duke—a period which included his highest charting album, Station To Station—Bowie’s life in the fast lane was fueled by cocaine. He finally left the Tinsel Town in 1976 after being quoted at the time as saying that Los Angeles should be “wiped off the face of the earth.”

When we talked about this period of time, Bowie said that it was the hedonistic lifestyle, more than his often schizophrenic role-playing that led to his exodus and a new phase in his roller-coaster career. “I think my own personal life put me in some fairly chaotic and dangerous states in the Seventies,” he said. “But I had pretty much gotten out of playing characters in ’76, which is when I moved back to Europe—to West Berlin—and started to work with [producer/Roxy Music alumnus] Brian Eno. By that time, I was trying to approach things from a very different standpoint.”

Bowie performing “Heroes” on Top of the Pops in 1977.

The change was significant. Bowie and Eno would incorporate the European techno sound in a trilogy of albums—Low, Heroes and Lodger—three of the most influential albums of his storied career, whose impact on a new generation of musicians is perhaps even stronger today than it was at the time of their release.

Role-Playing & Artistic Freedom

Bowie’s penchant for role-playing remains unparalleled in rock history, but the ever-changing rock star says this was the only way to guarantee him artistic freedom: “As an artist, I was never interested in developing and having a continuum in style. For me, style was just something to use. It didn’t matter to me if it was hard rock or punk or whatever, it was whether or not it suited what I was trying to say at a particular point in time.

“It has always been essential to me that my public perception was such that I’d be left free to kind of float from one thing to another. That’s just how I work. I’m not a guy who learns a craft and then refines that craft over 25 or 30 years. I’m not that kind of artist. Maybe it sounds pretentious, but I feel that I’m much more of a post-modernist than that.”

(interview by Steven P. Wheeler)

Of course, the other side of the music “business” is occupied by those suit-and-tie folks wanting to maintain a successful formula, something that Bowie has had to battle throughout his storied career: “It’s extremely hard to have somebody from a record company continually coming into the sessions and meddling about. I really can’t work under those circumstances,” he says, before adding with a hearty laugh, “That’s generally what leads to my breakdowns: record companies.”

Film vs. Music

In addition to his recording career, Bowie was also one of the first rock stars to dabble seriously in film. His fascination began in 1969 with a 30-minute promotional film, including the then-yet-to-be-released single, “Space Oddity,” with its lyrical tale of a man detached from society, desperately trying to get in touch with those who control his destiny. It was pure Bowie, and it set the stage for the otherworldly image that would dominate his early career.

During the late Seventies and early Eighties, Bowie took his film desires to a new level, bringing his knack for characterization to the Silver Screen and receiving positive reviews for his performances in such films as The Man Who Fell To Earth, Just A Gigolo and The Hunger, as well as taking over the lead role in the stage version of The Elephant Man, where he would gain critical acclaim while breaking box-office records. Bowie also played Andy Warhol in 1996’s Basquiat, a film starring Gary Oldman, Christopher Walken and Dennis Hopper.

Bowie, pictured with co-stars Catherine Deneuve and Susan Sarandon, on the set of 1983’s erotic horror film, The Hunger.

But the renaissance man notes that he was never in danger of actively pursuing the thespian life: “No, I never thought about giving up music for acting,” he said. “Acting is not on my list of priorities. It’s actually extremely boring. I can’t understand how actors can do it; it’s so vegetating.”

As for his role as the iconic Warhol in Basquiat, Bowie did meet the real Andy, but there wasn’t much there for him in terms of researching the character: “I met him five or six times, but I can’t say that I knew him. It was more like [imitates Warhol’s whispery voice], ‘hi…..great,’ and that was kind of the depth of our dialogue over the years [laughs]. But I kind of got a vibe of what he looked like and how he sounded and that sort of thing.”

Bowie as Andy Warhol in a scene from 1996’s Basquiat.

Still, many felt his film and stage career had been to the detriment of his recording career, although 1980’s Scary Monsters (And Super Creeps) would help re-establish Bowie on the American charts.

New Highs & New Lows

In 1981, Bowie teamed up with Queen to score a hit with “Under Pressure,” but the best was yet to come. In 1983, with a new label in tow, EMI America, he released his commercial blockbuster, Let’s Dance. Its three hit singles—the #1 title track, “China Girl” and “Modern Love”—solidified the return of one of rock’s most flamboyant personalities, proving that he had not forgotten how to make great accessible music.

The subsequent Serious Moonlight Tour would be Bowie’s biggest and most successful of his career to that point. Incidentally, a remastered two-CD recording from the tour, featuring 21 tracks, was finally released just this past February.

The follow-up, Tonight (featuring the Top Ten hit “Blue Jean”), kept Bowie alive on the charts, as did his Top Ten duet with Mick Jagger on their revival of the Martha & the Vandellas classic “Dancing In The Streets,” which they recorded for the famed Live Aid concerts in 1985.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eNvkOLYz9I4
Bowie joined Tina Turner on her 1985 tour for this medley performance of “Let’s Dance.”

However by the late Eighties, Bowie’s career took a commercial dip, and his 1987 release, Never Let Me Down, became his lowest charting album in a decade.

Ironically, critics and fans alike seemed surprised—strange as it may seem considering this musical Lon Chaney’s bizarre past and multi-faceted career. Such changes would seem expected from a man who discovered stardom by following his artistic instincts rather than trendy mass mentalities that drive most rock stars.

Tin Machine Project

But no one, least of all his label, EMI America, could have expected what came next. The ill-fated Tin Machine project surely had EMI executives biting their tongues and scratching their heads as Bowie approached them with tales of his new band—one in which he was merely a member and no longer the star.

EMI released the band’s self-titled debut in 1989, and it proved to be a major commercial disappointment. Bowie left EMI for the greener pastures of fledgling label Victory Music, which released the band’s equally unsuccessful sophomore effort.

Bowie having fun with Tin Machine bandmates during a television soundcheck.

With his solo career in limbo and his last two projects having bombed, Bowie—who had previously been able to hit paydirt throughout a majority of his various incarnations—had finally raised questions within the industry as to whether or not he still had what it took to capture the public imagination in America.

“The Tin Machine project more or less broke down any context about who the hell I was or what I was doing and kind of left everybody wondering, ‘What the fuck is he? Wasn’t he the bloke in a suit in 1983 [laughs]?’”

(interview by Steven P. Wheeler)

For the man himself, he noted that it was just another necessary move to find a new muse: “For me, when Reeves Gabrels and I started Tin Machine, it was a very freeing process. The Tin Machine project more or less broke down any context about who the hell I was or what I was doing and kind of left everybody wondering, ‘What the fuck is he? Wasn’t he the bloke in a suit in 1983 [laughs]?’ It was just a great way to move forward and get back the excitement that I was missing within my own writing in the mid-Eighties.”

1993’s Black Tie, White Noise didn’t change anyone’s mind either. Bowie, having left Tin Machine behind, signed a solo deal with a new label, Savage, then watched as the new album sank without a trace in the U.S. (although it reportedly sold more than a million copies internationally). Savage eventually closed its doors, almost at the time of the album’s stateside release.

Was it fate or was David Bowie’s career in the U.S. just snakebitten?

Whatever the reason for the U.S. failure of Black Tie, White Noise, one would expect this to be the time for Bowie to return to the mainstream, to recapture the glory days of the Seventies or even the commercial blockbuster era of the early Eighties.

The Eno Reunion

So what does the former Mr. Stardust decide to do?

He reunites with the most eccentric of his former collaborators, Brian Eno (their first reunion since 1979’s Lodger) and Tin Machine guitarist Reeves Gabrels, and releases Outside. And if you were expecting a return to the pop sounds of Let’s Dance, you would have had to raid the classics already housed in your CD collection, as there was no joyful pop to be found.

This musical reunion came about in the strangest of ways, as then-groom David Bowie laughingly recalls: “We had hardly been in touch throughout the Eighties, but I invited him to my wedding in 1992, and he came with his wife, and we spent most of our time at the party afterwards talking about what we were both doing musically.”

The two men soon took over the DJ booth as well, probably to the chagrin of his new bride: “We were going back and forth to the DJ putting on different tracks that we were both writing [laughs]. It almost became a listening session, with people dancing until the record was taken off, and then another one would go on.

“But from that meeting, we determined that we both still had very similar musical ideas, so it was obvious by the end of that day, that it was time for us to start working together again—although it wasn’t until February or March of ’94 that we actually entered the studio.”

Is this any way to re-capture old fans and win new ones?

The answer to that question was what Bowie had always done. Challenge old and new fans alike, even bringing in Nine Inch Nails’ Trent Reznor to remix the album’s first single, “The Hearts Filthy Lesson,” which put him back on the American Singles Charts after a long stateside drought, while continuing his British success.

Europe vs. America

As for the different successes in his two homelands, Bowie said: “I’ve always been aware that in Europe I’ve carried a certain amount of weight and I kind of know what my contribution to European music has been over the last 25 years. But in America, I’ve never really been sure. It’s always been fairly ephemeral. I sort of come over and do a tour and go away again. You never hear people say, ‘Oh yeah, Springsteen, Pearl Jam and David Bowie’ [laughs]

“You don’t think of me and American music. It’s only since the late Eighties that a new generation of bands has seemed to hone in on a lot of what I was doing—things as varied as the Scary Monsters album to the Aladdin Sane and Diamond Dogs stuff, and the trilogy I did with Eno.”

(interview by Steven P. Wheeler)

Across the pond, he senses more artistic freedom for artists in general, pointing to some of the artists who were making noise in the Nineties. “In Europe, it has really become a stylistic free-for-all,” he says, “which I find incredibly exciting, especially with bands like Portishead and Tricky and PJ Harvey—artists who move around virtually anywhere they want. It feels like they’re my children [laughs].”

Additionally, Bowie’s continued influence over bands in the States cannot be overstated and he is quick to note how much he was not only surprised but incredibly grateful. “Starting with bands like the Pixies and moving through bands like Stone Temple Pilots and Smashing Pumpkins, I started reading a lot of interviews with these bands that were sent to me by my PR firm, and these bands were citing me and my music as being an influence on what they were doing.

“Then the Nirvana thing happened where they covered ‘The Man Who Sold The World’, and then I read a piece on Nine Inch Nails, where Trent was saying that my album, Low, was sort of his morning listening before he went into the studio when he was recording The Downward Spiral. I must admit that my ego was massaged like you wouldn’t believe.”

The Burroughs’ Effect

Probably no other literary figure in history has influenced as many rock musicians as one William Burroughs, and no artist as much as Bowie. One of the primary central figures of the Beat Generation, the influential author of the 1959 novel, Naked Lunch, had a profound impact on Bowie, especially in his bizarre lyric-writing method which he never stopped utilizing.

“As a lyricist, I chop up all my ideas in the typical William Burroughs way that I’ve been utilizing since the Seventies,” Bowie explained. “I guess I used this process for the first time on [the 1974 album] Diamond Dogs, because I was—and still am—a real fan of William Burroughs [who passed away in 1997].”

Bowie demonstrates his lyrical “cut-up” technique that he learned from William Burroughs.

“I used to do it with scissors and glue—cut and paste—but this time I had a computer program to do it, which makes it a lot faster than doing it by hand. So the computer contributed an awful lot to the lyric writing.

“I would type in three different subjects into the computer, and then the computer has a randomizing program, and it would take each sentence and divide it into three or four and then remix with one of the other sentences, so you get an extraordinarily weird juxtaposition of ideas.

“Some of the sentences that came back out were so great that I put them straight into the songs, and some of them just sparked off further ideas. There would be some weird reverberation that I’d feel from one of the sentences, and I’d just fly off on that.”

(interview by Steven P. Wheeler)

Around the time of his Ziggy Stardust days, Bowie actually did get to spend time with his literary champion. “Yeah, I got to meet [Burroughs] in 1972, and he became my mentor,” he says with a fond smile. “I just felt that he was so stylistically important to the end of the 20th Century. Frankly, that’s where my fondness for trilby hats came from [laughs]: Big Bill in his suit and tie and hat and that crazy mind inside. I always found that kind of character really appealing.”

Bowie posing with William Burroughs for Rolling Stone in 1974.

Legacy & Tributes

One thing that never happened during Bowie’s lifetime is that he never endorsed a proper tribute album of songs from his extensive catalog, recorded by other artists. Something he fought against at the time of our interview. “Not if I can help it [laughs], and believe me that many-headed Hydra has come up quite a few times.

“Funny enough, I got a report back from my publishers just last week, and in June alone I had eighteen covers, which is extraordinary to me because I thought they were kind of hidden from the world. But recently, that’s been changing. Dinosaur Jr. even did ‘Quicksand’ [laughs]. It’s really odd to suddenly see all these songs getting another life in another area.”

As for another honor, induction into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, Bowie said he had absolutely no interest in becoming an inductee. “It doesn’t bother me at all, not even faintly. I’ve got too many other things to do to even think about that situation. I look at that place as just another institution, nothing more than that.”

Ironically, in 1996, one year after my interview with Bowie, he was inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame. And true to his word, Bowie did not attend the ceremony nor did he even issue a statement in acknowledgement of the honor. Instead Talking Heads’ leader David Byrne handled the induction speech and Madonna accepted the award on Bowie’s behalf.

David Bowie was always true to his word and his art. And while we need more like him, there will never be another. RIP David.

For a Laugh

Last thing I’ll say is that David Bowie was truly a class act, a gentleman with a contagious laugh and a quick wit, who didn’t take himself too seriously. I am thrilled that I did get to share some laughs with him, if even for just an hour. A true honor. Here are just a few vids for some laughs…

Conan O’Brien takes a walk down memory lane at the time of Bowie’s passing in 2016.
I can’t help but believe Bowie would laugh uproariously at this silent footage of the “Dancing in the Street” video that he and Mick Jagger made to help raise money for Live Aid in 1985.