Monday, July 22, 2013

Chapter 57 – Mr. Accessory Becomes Mr. Extravagant


CHAS HAD PARTY after party in his house on Milner Road and later in his villa on Queen Victoria Drive in Woodland Hills. Did Chas single-handedly change the course of American history? It’s possible—anything was (and still is) possible with him. I remember once his grandiose imagination had gotten the better of him and he was going to hire a 747 jet to fly to Africa and transport a studio full of vintage gear that was up for auction. It almost became a reality but soon realized that it wouldn’t be cost effective, and besides George Martin or Geoff Emerick had gotten the jump on him and procured the sought after studio equipment for Abbey Road Studios in London. Yes Mr. Accessory (or as my Mom used to call him Mr. Accoutrement) was now known as Mr. Extravagant. He was blown up out of proportion, in more ways than one and was travelling in some fairly heavyweight circles. Every night was an event of outlandish proportions, each night outweighing the next until it seemed like there was nowhere else it could go but down—but it didn’t. He would always be at the head of the table at the Rainbow and would run a tab that must have reached into the hundreds if not thousands of dollars. I was happy to participate and get my complimentary151 Bacardi rum and cokes. He was the new BJ Taylor, but at least he had the talent to back it up. How he kept it together was one thing I could never figure out. He would be one day from disaster and eviction when a check would mysteriously appear in his mailbox and save his ever-loving hide. He would be lying face up under the dangling Sword of Damocles and would always escape unfettered and unscathed.

All this schmoozing, boozing and bamboozling finally paid off. He had a hit with Missing You by John Waite of the Baby’s and now was courting Stevie Nicks after she had recorded his song, Talk to Me, a song he had written for his girl, Elise, who always confided in me about her trials and tribulations with him. I can’t tell you how many of his girlfriends I fulfilled that role for. Let’s see, there was the sexy Bonnie B. who I would pick up five mornings a week and drive her to central Supply in Van Nuys so she could earn a living and on the way I would have my ear bent off from stories of how Chas did this or that and what was the best way to handle him. Before that it was Pam B., who would pick my brain like a vintage Telecaster about his inner most thoughts—like I knew what they were. I don’t think anyone knew that—not even Chas.

 Looking back, I wonder what people must have thought of me always tagging along and riding on his coattails. Was I a Sancho Panza to his Don Quixote? Was I a Tonto to his Lone Ranger, or maybe a Lou Costello to his Bud Abbott? At the time I didn’t seem to mind, but I was usually high or drunk and that state of mind clouded my judgments. I guess I must have thought that by being around Mr. Extravagant, some of it would rub off on me, but it didn’t take.

 How did Chas get that song to Stevie Nicks, you might wonder? He had sent a demo of the song to Jimmy Iovine, famed producer of many rock icons and more notably, one of the judges or mentors on American Idol. What a sad commentary on the state of things in the world when a person is more noteworthy for being on American Idol than producing records by Bruce Springsteen, John Lennon and Tom Petty. Anyway, Jimmy was driving around for over a year with a cassette of Talk to Me trapped between the seat cushions and floorboards of his Porsche, and one day, after slamming on the brakes to avoid a collision, the tape surfaced at his feet near the clutch pedal. He popped the cassette into the player and, after hearing it, called the phone number on the label of the cassette. Chas wasn’t home but when he did arrive he played back the almost indistinguishable message of some raving lunatic with a grating tenor New York accent. He got the gist of the message. Jimmy was producing a record for Stevie Nicks and thought that his song would be a major hit for her. Chas was basically producing the record since Jimmy was always off somewhere doing something else. The original basic track of Chas’s demo was used for the record and Stevie’s vocal was “comped” (a composite vocal) into one final and finished vocal performance, which, according to Chas, was no easy task. He had to fly in some of her vocals from another take of the song which was also in another key. This all happened in the days before computer programs and digital recording allowed one to manipulate, change the key, and auto-tune the vocal. He had to do it manually with a VSO, or variable speed oscillator. There was even one section where he had to punch in his own vocal and make it sound, as much as he could, like that warbling, nanny goat of a songstress.

It in the spring or summer of 1981, (right after I had my close-up in the Robert Altman film, A Perfect Couple), I was invited down to the video shoot of the record and was sitting in the trailer with Chas and Stevie when Tom Petty stumbled in. He was wearing a multi-colored, patchwork suede jacket that I admired greatly. When I mentioned how I liked the jacket he said, “How much will you give me for it?” I had no intention of making him an offer on it, so I smiled and said that I only liked it. He wouldn’t let go of the notion. He kept on and on about the jacket like a used car salesman trying to pawn off an old vintage Camaro and went on and on about it like he was on some kind of cocaine induced rant. After what seemed like hours of deliberating and proselytizing he got onto a new tangent which relieved me to no end. I never bought the jacket. Maybe I should have!

Moving the story forward to April of 1987, former Senator Gary Hart announced the beginning of his second presidential campaign and somehow ended up at one of Chas’s opulent parties. There were dozens upon dozens of beautiful women, rock stars and rock star wannabes mingling and mixing around the living room while Chas blasted his latest demos from the state-of-the-art sound system. Gary Hart had focused his attention on one woman in particular and asked Chas to introduce her to him. Chas smiled and said it was no problem. “Gary, I would like you to meet my friend, Donna.” Yes, it was that Donna.

 Less than a month later, the Miami Herald published a photo of a young woman leaving Hart's residence. The candidate expressed outrage at the paper, but within a week the Herald received tips that Hart had visited Bimini with a woman who was not his wife, then published photos showing a 29-year-old model, Donna Rice, sitting on Hart's lap. Less than a week later, Hart announced he was dropping out of the race (he would later re-enter, unsuccessfully). Chas was, and still is an enigma, a one-of-a kind character and a big part of the drama played out in the crazy but true-to-life story of my life, pre and post Silverspoon. I must say, he was a lot of fun to be around, most of the time—so I got plenty out of being his best friend. It was like the old Woody Allen joke in Annie Hall about the guy who had a brother that thought he was a chicken. When a friend suggested he go see a shrink about the problem the guy said “I would, but I needed the eggs. Like Woody Allen, I guess I also needed the eggs.



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