THERE WAS A recording
session at Larrabee Studios which was being produced by Al Schwartz, a wannabe
music aficionado who lived across the street from the Red House on Kings Road.
He was a no nonsense craggy faced, bald dude with a take no prisoners attitude
that demanded respect — this is what Silverspoon desperately needed. We were
still under contract with Larry Gordon, and we were trying our best to get out
of it. Al was trying to help in that area, but Larry was being obstinate ever
since we decided to leave his imperial domain in favor of Mal. He and Mal had a
split because Larry's partner, Jim Nash, had him convinced that Mal was only a
figurehead not being able to produce his way out of a paper bag. Nevertheless,
Al felt confident that Larry was a non-issue, and we were heading into the
studio anyway.
Three songs were
picked, Everything's Gonna Be Fine, Cornerstone and Give
Me Back That Love, all three of which I had penned. While Stephen and Blair.
were busy going through their traumas, I was going through some of my own. The
only difference was instead of hanging out at the Rainbow or chasing alcohol, drugs,
or pussy, I would write songs. By this time, I had compiled a list of songs
that numbered almost 600. I wish I still had that list but alas it was lost
over the many moves I made while living in LA. I made a list of that as well
and came up with thirty-three different apartments and houses from birth until
1979. I am happy to say now that I am not quite the gypsy I was back then.
Joey was out of the band
now, but Jon Marr was back in and was designated to sing lead vocal on Cornerstone,
a song I had written while I was living with Debbie Taylor on McCadden Street
in 1971. Al had a nephew named Evan who was slated to play drums but as usual Blair.
thought he wasn't cutting the mustard, neither did the rest of us for that
matter and Al got Beau Segal to replace him. He had a bass player, Chuck Fiore,
who he worked with on earlier sessions, but was out of town so instead Peter
Freiberger filled in. These guys were professional musicians with a capital P,
and it felt awesome to finally be playing with LA's best. A few years later
Chuck and Beau would go on to produce and play on my Electra Records demo in
1979 and I would reacquaint with Peter in Nashville when we both had an
interest in playing the pedal steel guitar, probably one of the toughest string
instruments there is on the planet.
These sessions went on
without much of a hitch and Al did his best trying to promote them to a few of
the top record companies in LA— unfortunately without success. He started to
lose interest in us, not only because we were constantly bickering over
nonsense, women, Stephen showing up late for rehearsals or not showing up at
all and Blair could never decide on arrangements or musical parts. I was
getting a bit cynical which I'm sure didn't help matters either. Al was now
focusing his attention on screenwriting and was working with Jon Voight on a
project that later would be sold and released in 1982 called Looking To
Get Out starring Mr. Voight and Ann-Margaret. After a few months of
this, Al had had enough and gave us the boot; at least we had to tapes to try
and do something with and there were plenty of people, or at least we thought,
who would pick up the slack. Stephen and Blair. had moved into the Red House to
collaborate with the disco queens, Patty and Christa and Robin Stewart and I
moved to Detroit Street near La Brea and 6th Street that October.
After quitting my job
with the Hungarians, I got a job at Mr. Coney Island across the street from the
La Brea Tar Pits slinging New York style hot dogs for ninety dollars a week
while Robin tried to get work as a back-up singer while working temp job as a
secretary. I will never forget the acrid smell of grease and smoke that clung
to all my clothes and was impossible to wash out. The place on Detroit was a
large one bedroom with wooden floors but the neighborhood was a bit funky and
far away from where things were happening especially without a car. It only
took me half an hour to walk to work and that seemed to be my life, work then
coming home and drinking beer with the neighbor across the hall, a guy named
Walter Ferguson who was an aspiring actor that looked a cross between Jack
Lemon and Buddy Holly. My best friend was this feral cat I called The General
because he had half of his left ear missing probably from a fight with a rival
alley-cat. He was tough as nails, and I could only imagine how the other cat
looked. The landlady, Mrs. Lambert, was this real piece of work who reminded me
of Mrs. Peenman, the landlady from the movie, The Mask with
Jim Carrey, and I couldn't wait to move out of that place and dreamed of the
day we could own our own home; a pipe dream that wouldn't come true until 1991
and it wouldn't be with Robin.
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