BLAIR WAS NOW living in one
of the apartments at the Record Plant in LA and was working for Gary Kellgren
at his home studio in the Hollywood Hills. There were three rooms in the back
of the Plant. One was called the Dungeon Room, another was the Sissy Room, and
the third was the Boat Room. I think Blair stayed at the former and sometimes
the latter when the room was needed by a client. I am sure he did a lot of
shuffling around to make way for the rock stars inhabiting those rooms. The
Dungeon Room was exactly that, furnished with racks and other torture equipment
while the Sissy room was decorated with white wicker furniture with pink and
white bedding and curtains with a white gazebo in the middle of the room. The
Boat Room, for the lack of a better description, looked like a boat.
Chas
had returned from Europe and had brought with him a Welsh singer, Mike Japp,
who had replaced lead singer Hugh Nicolson in the band, Marmalade. Mikel had an
amazing voice that was very reminiscent of Paul Rogers from the bands Free and Bad
Company. Chas had contacted Bob Merritt (the engineer we had worked with at The
Record Plant) to finish up some tracks they had cut in England. After hearing
the tracks Bob had especially liked the song, Piece of the Action, but
thought that it would be better to re-cut it from scratch. at first they had
used ex-Spoon drummer Marshall Battjes, but it seemed like he just wasn't
making the grade. Chas was and is very particular and demanding about his
choice in drummers and replaced Marshall with some other dude with a more
simpatico style. Also on the recording was Matthew Fisher who played Hammond
organ on the 1967 Procul Harum song, A Whiter Shade Of Pale.
There
was a new studio D out back by the apartments and shop that Chris Stone said
was not especially useful. Bob asked if he could experiment with the room and
was then allowed to have free reign over it. Chas and Mikel's band. Waterfall had
lucked out and were recording in that studio free of charge, just like
Silverspoon had done a couple of year before. They played so loud that the
walls were vibrating in studio C next door and the band in that studio couldn't
take it anymore. The whole band including the producer went over and banged on
the control room door. Bob finally answered the knock when the music stopped
and let them in. “We have been subjected to this barrage of sound and can't get
this tune out of our heads”, the lead singer said in his high-pitched English
accent. After they were invited in, Mikel recognized the producer from England
by the name of Ron Nevison. The tension in the room eased. The lead singer was
John Waite, and his band was called The Baby's. It's funny how things happen
like that but because the song was so infectious the band ended up recording
the song and it appeared as the final track on their second record Broken
Hearts.
In the meantime, Silverspoon was
desperately trying to re-invent itself. Joey was put on suspension for his love
of substance proved to be more important than his commitment to music. Who did
we know that could sing that high and blend with Stephen and myself now that Jon
Marr was back in school at Marymount College and could not make himself
available? The answer was right in front of our noses. Mikel Japp was a prime
candidate even though he was working with Chas. Not only did Mikel have one of
the best and purest voices we had ever heard he could also play a mean guitar.
There was one major drawback though - he was the worst, or best drunks I had
ever had the pleasure or misfortune of knowing. Sure, Stephen and I would have
a drink and Blair was no tea toddler, but Mikel took the door prize in that
contest.
We
had booked a room at Studio Instrument and rehearsals were going well until he
started showing up late and then not showing up at all. We found out later that
Mikel had fallen in love with Ciri, a young woman who was a clothing designer
for Donna Summer and they had moved into an apartment right across the street
from Palm Plaza. A few week later he told us that he had married her. It looked
like we were back to square one again.
Mikel and Blair were in my mom’s Mercedes
with me at the wheel when we saw this cute red head waiting for a bus on
Sunset. We pulled over and tried to sweet talk her into the car and she tried
her best to resist but our innocent charms were undeniable, and she eventually
got in. I was attracted to her and told her she reminded me of a cross between
Ann-Margaret and Inger Stevens. We told her there was a party at Stuart Collins
house on Larrabee and we all cruised over. Stuart, another Englishman born
within the sound of the Beau Bells, had a Rolls Royce and we all got in and the
party moved across the street to Paul Downing’s house. Paul is a left-handed
guitarist from Yorkshire that used to play with John Phillips from the Mamas
and the Papas with Don Adey (the gent that worked at SIR and got us free time
there). They had a band a few years earlier called The Jamme which was also
very Beatle influenced. There was another member of the band, Terry Ray, who
would be hired as a replacement drummer in Silverspoon, but that only lasted a
few weeks because we were so untogether and scatter-brained at the time (what
else is new). There was a Florida room in Paul’s house with a waterbed
where the red head, Robin Stewart and I filled that whole afternoon a kissing
and a hugging. We spent the next two years together and she proved to be a
great distraction for me in my quest to escape the madness of Silverspoon.
It was about a week before the bicentennial
when I moved into her one room apartment on Ozeta Terrace just up the road from
the Whiskey. She had just finished her gig with the Ike and Tina Turner Revue
as a back-up singer and dancer and was designing her own costumes. That place
was so small, and stacks of clothing were piled up everywhere. Now I’m not the
neatest person in the world but this place was a mess, even by my standards. I
knew that I had to get a job so we could make plans to get out of that prison
of a place.
I
was pouring through the want ads and found and eventually found a job in a
phone room run by some Hungarians selling industrial light bulbs on commission.
The hours were early in the morning, around six am until eleven, which took a
little getting used to. The room was stacked with telephone books from every
city and state in the US. I picked out some of my favorite areas on the east
coast and started dialing for dollars. Because there was a three-hour time
difference, when it was six in California it was nine in New York or
Boston. I was getting discouraged after not making a sale for three days
and I was thinking of quitting when by sheer determination or luck I finally
made my first sale. The manager of the boiler room directed me into the boss’
office of the mad Hungarian. He had long stringy hair that was greased back
into a ponytail with long fingers and fingernails that would make Dracula
envious. He patted me on the back and took out some white powder from his desk
and inserted his pinky fingernail into the vile. “You did good kid” he said as
he stuck his finger in front of my nose. I knew it was cocaine and I
reluctantly snorted it. I was disgusted but I didn’t want to offend him. That
job didn’t last too long but it was my introduction into the wild and wacky
world of telephone sales.
Meanwhile Stephen was
having problems with the Robin of his own. As I mentioned before she was a
gorgeous Playboy model at seventeen and was being hit on by every guy that came
within arm’s length of her, and he found it too hard to deal with. She would go
out for a pack of cigarettes or something and come home five days later, but he
was in love with her and was trying to make things work. They were still living
together at Palm Plaza when he came home one day and found her passed out on
the floor after ingesting a handful of valium and he was terrified that she was
going to die. These were the days before 911 so he called the police when she
began to stir and stagger over to him. He was panicked but was thankful that
she was alive. When she tried to grab the phone away from him he tried to shush
her up, but she wouldn’t relent. Out of frustration, or just being plain old
freaked out he gave her a tap on the head with the butt end of the telephone
receiver. She passed out again as he hung up the phone. Eventually after
bringing her tea and water and trying everything he could to keep her from
dying he realized that she was breathing normally and around four in the
morning he fell asleep while sitting up on the easy chair.
When
he woke up a couple of hours later she was gone. He called everyone he knew
asking if they had seen her. He even went down to the places she used to hang
out in the neighborhood without any luck. Later that day there was a knock on
the door. He opened it and there was Robin and this guy, who was Jim Croce’s
brother who said, “Hey man you can’t go around hitting women. Robin is now
staying with me and were here to pick up her things.” Stephen was at a loss for
words but thought, who the hell is this guy walking in here like her knight in
shining armor when he doesn't even know what had transpired. He tried to
explain himself, but they wouldn’t hear it. He was guilty without a trial or
jury or anything. She was gone again but it wouldn't be for the last time.
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