Chapter 21 - The Beat Goes On

pictured - John Marshall Battjes

 

 

MEANWHILE BACK ON planet Earth, Joey was still part of the band when he absolutely needed to be, otherwise he was nowhere to be found while chasing the elusive dragon. I can only guess it was something to make him feel whole or maybe give him a sense of individuality. It really was a shame because Joey had a heart the size of a Mac truck, but his demons proved to be too strong. Nevertheless, when it was time to record at the Plant we were all there with bells on, even Joey. While Miguel was playing drums for his mother and also pursuing his father's trade of acting and Chas was warming his hands by some English country fire, we were pounding the sunny streets of Los Angeles looking high and low for a new bass player and drummer.

There was this drummer we all knew from the Rainbow named John Marshall Battjes, who looked a lot like a Cajun pirate with his long black hair, mustache, and golden earring. He liked being called by his middle name, but I couldn't help calling him John. The year before he had come over to Oakhurst Drive, my old haunt, in his Ford Econoline van. We were just about to head out to Palm Springs when he noticed Mick Jagger dressed in white clam digger pants and blue and gold Hawaiian shirt walking down the path of the duplex right next door. While I was waiting on the front lawn, Marshall screeched the van to a halt, jumped out of the car yelling, “Hey Mick, what's going on?” I couldn’t believe he had the moxie to run right up to Mr. Jagger like that, even though I had met him a year or two earlier at Sunset Sounds. I always felt that famous people ought to be given their space, but it was right next door to where I spent the better part of my life, so I played along. Standing alongside the two of them, I listened to Marshall go on about how he had met Mick before in this, or that place. I smiled uncomfortably, thinking how we were taking up the time of such a busy man when Mick unexpectedly returned the smile and I saw it. He had what appeared to be a diamond in his front tooth glistening off the late morning sun, almost blinding me. I imagined saying how strange it was to meet up again, and what in heaven’s name brings you down to Baja Beverly Hills. I then heard him laugh at that turn of a phrase. In reality, I don't think I said more than a “Hello Mick” or a “How, you doing, man.”

    After fond farewells, we got back in the van and headed east on Interstate 10 looking for trouble. We ended up spending time with George Gobel's (famous comedian and entertainer from the 50's) daughter who had an enormous stucco retreat in the desert with a nice pool. Once again, as it happened so many times in my life, someone else got lucky while I got a tan. Marshall eventually moved to Florida where he worked construction while still partying and playing his drums. I heard he took a terrible fall on the job that severely inured his back. I don't know if it was related to his fall, but he sadly passed away on August 30, 2012. He will be missed by many.

Marshall was invited to play drums on some tracks in the studio while I played bass. Blair played piano and Stephen sang lead vocal on a beautiful song they wrote together called Angelique It was very classically influenced and spoke of tales of auld England and a man who came to be with his true love by way of a time machine. Very Wellsian. At this time, I never really knew if Jon Marr was in the band or not. Stephen insisted that we needed better vocals and Jon is a “natural singer” which I am not. He did have an amazing blend for harmonies, especially with Joey. Either you’re a singer or a stylist and I was the latter. What makes all the difference is swagger and I had plenty of that. Jon, not so much, down deep I think he suffered with a bad case of good old stage fright. Maybe that’s why he made so many absurd excuses. “I can’t rehearse today, I just found out I have pleurisy,” or, “Guess what, I’m leaving tomorrow for pilot school in Oklahoma.” It all comes down to confidence and belief in yourself.

We did cut this great track called Here I Am with Marshall on drums, I played bass, Blair on the 88's. Later, Stephen and I overdubbed a couple of dueling Fender guitars at the end of the song. There were some really lame lyrics in the verses but the chorus' were solid, especially these great back up parts, the "tell me, tell me's," that Jon and I sang at the tag. At one point, in the beginning of the vocal overdub recording, we were singing on separate Neumann U-87 microphones and Bob Merritt was getting some interference, some kind of a conflict in the sound. He couldn't figure out what it was, but I thought it may be the conflict in personalities causing the disturbance. We ended up singing the part into my mic which solved the problem.

There was a giant pipe organ in studio C, the kind you might see at St. Patrick Cathedral in New York. It was a monster with more stops and presets than you could ever know what to do with. Bob managed to get us a few hours in that sanctimonious chamber to have Blair overdub a part on that beast. This, I think, was the greatest among the many contributions he ever donated to the cause, that part was brilliant. The tantalizing reed and bell sounds gave it that Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band vibe, years before he would cut Hungry Heart. The overall sound was a cross between Derrick and the Dominoes, Badfinger and the Boss, but unfortunately the verses were never fixed and the only mix that survives is an instrumental with the "tell me, tell me's" backup part at the end.

    Now it was the middle of October and more than just the leaves were changing. There was a pretty buck-toothed blonde that Blair knew, Candace, who seemed to have more money than sense. She offered to send him to New York to attend Peter Gries' wedding to Louise Clark. It was going to be an upscale event by the banks of the Hudson River, real Sleepy Hollow territory.  I felt left out again. Being the middle-child, I had experience with this. When I was about six or seven my dad was in my room with my sister, brother and me putting together a bed. Trying to make a game out of it, he suggested we all think of our favorite western hero. He knew how much I loved the old westerns, my two main heroes were Daniel Boone and Davy Crockett. Robbie blurted out, “I'm Daniel Boone,” then Susan shouted, “I'm Davy Crockett.” Left without a hero to claim I said, “I'm not playing”. This is a recurring defect in my personality that I have tried to conquer but it may be too deeply ingrained.

          I didn't want to be the odd man out. Candace, who saw me brooding and pacing around the floor, asked what was the matter. I told her the truth, I wanted to go but didn't have more than fifty bucks to my name and I wasn't about to hock my 54 Sratocaster, serial number 0535, for a wedding. “Oh Jimmy,” she said, “that's no problem. I'll buy you a ticket.” I felt guilty as hell. This was Blair’s girl or whatever she was to him, not mine. How could I pay her back in any reasonable time? So, times being what they were, I accepted her kind gift. I figured time away from LA would give us all some perspective, maybe write to a different beat, new influences, besides it would be fun.

The red and orange leaves scattered on the Hudson greeted me as I imagined a headless horseman galloping at any minute through the wedding procession. There is nothing more beautiful than October in Upstate New York. The next day we went back to the Plaza Hotel on Columbus Circle where Martine and Robin (Blair’s former squeeze) had gotten a room there. I remember watching a new channel on the tv that had music videos. It was MTV. All music television, It ain’t that way anymore, baby!

There is nothing like a trip to the Big Apple, my hometown, to spark up one's enthusiasm, and I was in full throttle now. In the city, in every restaurant, every club, we were singing. Even Blair started to show some confidence in his voice. For the first time in my life, I felt I was part of something bigger than myself. Even though I wasn't Daniel Boone or Davy Crockett, I was becoming something. Was it part of what we hoped would be the next big thing in music? Who knew? I was glad to be living in these times and couldn't wait to get back to LA and finish our record. Unfortunately, there were a few bumps in the road coming that would change things for Silverspoon again.

 

 

 

 

Chapter 20 - Drop Off The Key, Lee

IT WAS A matter of days after the incident on Blue Jay Way when our resident guru materialized outside the front door of Blair’s Mediterranean Village apartment. Blair was seated at the piano while Stephen and I flanked him on either side intensely working on a new song. I'm not sure if there was a knock at the door or if it was merely noises from behind it. Blair got up from the piano bench and looked outside and saw this slight, baby-faced Peruvian looking man standing motionless and silent at the threshold. He spoke. “I have been hearing yous music, it is special. Please may I come in? I must tell yous about what yous saw.” Blair's eyes widened as he invited him in. I have never seen anybody that had eyes like his. Although I'm colorblind, they appeared to be a reddish-brown color and were the widest set apart pair I'd ever seen. He was the closest thing to what I imagined an alien would look like if he took human form; not someone from another country mind you, but one from outer space.

I felt uncomfortable when he sat down at a barstool in the kitchenette and guzzled down three or four glasses of water. He then refilled his glass and repeated the action. “I know what yous saw the other night.” We were dumbfounded, shocked as if he was setting us up with this yarn, this elaborate scheme, trying to yoke us as three of his yokefellows. How could he know what we saw or thought we saw the other night? He didn't know anybody we knew, and we had never seen him before in our lives. He had our undivided attention now. Blair interjected, “What exactly do you mean, saw?” Without any hesitation he said, “Yous know what yous saw.” How did he know? What exactly did he know? Who was this strange little fellow that had practically materialized in the living room? His English was broken, and we later found out that he couldn't read or write well at all, but he mentioned in passing that he came from a small town in Colorado. 

          He got down off the barstool and proclaimed that "Yous are." What in the world was that supposed to mean? Yous are? We are what? He went on to explain how the three of us were a link to some kind of ancient code and had the key to unlock some kind of universal message and basically change the world. I think Blair burst out laughing at this point and Stephen was trying to quiet his outburst, he didn't want to be rude to this guy especially if it meant we were so important. I was holding on to the arm of the piano hoping to regain my balance. 

          Lee never talked about the past or future only the present. He had no idea about any world events going on such as Watergate or President Richard Nixon. He had never even heard of the Beatles for God sake. I don't know about Stephen or Blair, but I thought this guy was either the real deal or he was completely out of his mind and could be dangerous. I wondered if he was carrying a weapon and I walked behind him to see if there might have been a gun or a knife in his back pocket. There wasn't, of course, but I still felt nervous. He talked in riddles which seemed like it was meant for us to figure out. He didn't go into detail about the sightings on Blue Jay Way, but we felt this guy knew something about the mysteries of life that we didn't, and I felt, as we all did, that certain things could be found out from him. 

          He stayed for a few hours, at least it seemed like it, then wandered back up to his apartment on the second floor. Over the next few weeks, he came by on a regular basis and we realized he meant no harm, even if he was from another galaxy far, far away. He was trying to steer our music in a more spiritual direction. At times it seemed absurd. There we were writing and playing songs with this effeminate ageless mystery man sitting on a stool waving his slight hands in the air, his vapid alien eyes staring out and then slowly closing like he was trying to reel in messages from places I've never been before.

          It was right around then when we met a girl who lived in an apartment down the hall named Lisa. There was something very sisterly about her, maybe because she was another member of the tribe that Blair and I came from, or it could have been her deep love of music. We didn't have a record player in the apartment, but Lisa did, and she was gracious enough to invite us over. We would play the ELO album, Eldorado, the one with the picture of Dorothy from the Wizard Of Oz touching the ruby slippers. We listened to that record repeatedly, especially the cut entitled Can't Get It Out Of My Head. Ironically that the album was released on Jet Records, owned, and operated by British mogul, Don Arden who a couple of years later would be in negotiations with Silverspoon for a record contract.  

          Another artist we listened to and were greatly influenced by was Cat Stevens. His Buddha and The Chocolate Box album release earlier that year was a musical bible to the band, at least it was to me. The song Home In The Sky crystalized the emotions and direction we would follow in the next short while with the lyrics, Come the morning I'll be far from here. Slowly rising in another sphere. Old world goodbye, cause I'll be Home In The Sky in the morning, bye bye. Blair and I had visions of Lee vanishing into thin air and returning to his home in the sky. Maybe he was on one of those ships of light we had seen a few days earlier. We were so gullible and impressionable in those days. Things don't happen like that anymore; they happen differently now.

          We were trying hard to find a balance between the mundane and spiritual but were fighting a losing battle. Things were getting very intense now, but we couldn't tell anyone except those we trusted or were part of the experience. This was around the time when Stephen and Blair came up with their stream of consciousness masterpiece lovingly known as The Space Tape. It was Blair playing a classically influenced piano part with Stephen making up this crazy stuff on the spot. My mind went blank on an interstellar trip, etc. I wish we still had that tape but alas it is locked away somewhere in the Akashic records. As Neil Young once said, "If you guarantee the postage, I'll mail you back the key." 

Chapter 19 - Blue Jay Way

THE NUCLEUS OF the band was Stephen, Blair and me. We were inseparable. Lee, our resident guru, had christened us with the magic number 43, and Triangle 43 productions was born. These were times when things happened and could not be explained with any kind of rationale. I've tried to reason some of these things out in my mind but what happened on Blue Jay Way that early October evening in 1974 still gives me pause. I know many of you will think this was all part of a chemically induced hallucination or mass hypnosis but think what you will, this happened to the three of us.

It was around dusk, and we drove up to the top of the hill in my mom's 1969 coffee with cream colored Mercedes and we sat in the empty lot next to the house where George Harrison was staying when he wrote “There's a fog upon LA”. It was always a special place to go for the three of us, a place where we could try and connect with that Beatle vibe. This, after all, was our life's passion at the time. 

   To get to this location you had to go up Doheny Road past Gil Turner's Liquor through the West Hollywood Hills to Thrasher Drive and make a left onto Blue Jay Way. It was a tremendously steep road with a cul-de-sac at the top. Beyond that was a dirt utility road that led to a water tower or a small electrical power station. There was a Keep Out sign draped on a rusty chain that hung suspended between two cement posts. A few minutes earlier, Stephen and I were sitting in the Mercedes listening to a Carpenter's song ironically, On Top Of The World. With the dense fog below, we were safely draped in a sanctuary of orange-red sunlight above. The next moment the radio went dead, and the car wouldn't start. Stephen got out of the car to find Blair who was wandering around the lot up near the tower.

The fog was beginning to lift and was creeping closer, only fifty feet below the surface of the road where the car was parked. Stephen looked down at me struggling with my car dilemma when he saw a beautiful girl, like an angel, come out of the fog calling out “Jimmy, where are you?” I never did see what he saw, but I could tell by the way he was acting something out of the ordinary was happening. I got out of the car and walked up the hill to try to get help. Stephen was the first to see it. In the seconds that followed I looked out and there were four transparent shapes hovering in the western sky above us. If it weren't for the sunlight refracting through them I would not have been able to see the group of four ships, or whatever they were. The ships seemed suspended in midair, when out of the blue, a fifth craft jetted up to join the formation and within a second they had warped into deep space somewhere into the great beyond. Gone!

We stood there speechless for what seemed to be hours but I'm sure it was only a matter of minutes. At that moment I really wasn't sure of anything except that I was still here, and those ships of light were gone. Had anyone else seen it, I wondered? Maybe, maybe not, because all of it seemed to be happening in a vacuum meant for the eyes of the privileged or ill-fated few to see. I came to my senses and knew I had to deal with the reality of getting the Mercedes back to its home on Oakhurst Dr. We walked down that hill vacillating somewhere between disbelief and utter amazement, got in the Merc, turned the key and voila, it started. Ok, maybe I flooded the carburetor, and I gave it enough time to recover but I figured fate was telling me I had seen enough for one evening and it was time for this one to go home. 

We never called the papers or the UFO hotline and merely mentioned the incident to some choice people. Things were so bizarre most of the time that this seemed to be another run-of-the-mill experience in the day-to-day life of a Spoon. I must say that after this things began to change. I noticed that on occasion streetlights would flicker and burn out when I passed under them and sometimes, the computer would go on the blink when I was checking out at the grocery store. I had a new nickname after this: the Human Sunspot. That evening on Blue Jay Way was my first unexplained sighting but it would not be my last.

Chapter 18 - England Swings

NOT LONG AFTER Chas was let go from Silverspoon, he went to the Rainbow Bar and Grille and ran into BJ now working as the DJ up in the Crow’s Nest playing early disco records. When I walked in I would always get a kick out of hearing him spin records like Wall Street Shuffle or Rubber Bullets by 10CC. I am pretty sure he was the one who introduced Chas to this big long-haired black dude waiting impatiently by the roaring fire downstairs. "I hear you're a pretty good guitar player and I'm leaving next week for Norway. Do you want the gig?" Chas thought he was being handed another bunch of the typical Hollywood bull and this was the place where the best musical BS was being dished up and served cold, but being in his position, nineteen years old, full of piss and vinegar with nothing really left to lose, he followed up on the lead. Plus, good old Beej could always detect super BS from the average run of the mill BS. 

A week later he was in Oslo with the big dude whose name happened to be Ric James. After the gig he flew down to London to meet up with some of his European friends and American transplants. Ric had promised he would be flying in to catch up with Chas and the rest of the musicians in a couple of days to continue the makeshift tour. He never showed up and Chas was stranded in London without a dime, or a shilling. He did wire home for some bucks and went on with his search for work as a guitar player in a new and strange environment. Now you must understand Chas, he is always right at the edge of disaster no, he is over the edge hanging by his fingernails and somehow he always manages to not only pull through but come through with flying colors and all of his sails intact. He figured he was an American in London, and the gigs would be flying off the table into his lap, but it wasn't that easy over there for a Georgia born Los Angelino boy; you had to go through proper channels. You couldn't just prance in off the street into some record exec's office and have your tape played. Somehow he got hooked up with some other American musicians at Island Records. Tony Braunagel on drums, "Rabbit" on keys and later a fantastic Welsh singer, guitar player, Michael Japp (Marmalade). They called the band Waterfall. Right around that time he and his mates had secured a gig with Valerie Carter and opened for "The Eagles" at Wembley Stadium in London. He was doing more than all right and was quoted as saying, "Getting fired from Silverspoon was the best thing that ever happened to my career." This all may sound a little like a "Monty Python" skit, but that's the way things felt sometimes.

I had no idea that seeds were being sown then that would come to widen my outlook, but I can see now that it was starting to show in my songwriting and day-to-day philosophy. I could for the first time see life for me outside of Silverspoon, not that I wanted to leave the band at this point, but I felt there were other things out there, other musicians to play with, and other experiences to write about. Stephen was now living with Robin Olson on Flores, sleeping on a mattress on the floor. Blair was still living at Mediterranean Village. Before a rehearsal one day, Stephen and I had cut out pictures of Cyndi Wood, a favorite Playboy centerfold of his, and pinned it up above the piano with everything nature had awarded her staring him right in the face. We did give him a tough time, but it was nice to see that he had a tender side— he really was, or thought he was in love with her.

As fate would have it, we were back at the Plant doing overdubs and Joey's brother, Jeffrey, and one time Spoon drummer John Marshall Battjes (who enters the story in more detailed later) had arranged for the real Cyndi Wood to come down to the session. Jeffrey was the younger of the same dynamic duo I had met when I first moved to LA, as I mentioned in chapter one. He was always around Silverspoon in the early days until he went to cosmetic school studying to be a Hollywood make-up artist. Carol Burnett, his stepmother said that as long as he kept clean, or at least under the radar, he was a shoo-in for a bright future in showbiz. Nepotism at its finest. I guess the same could be said about Silverspoon. We had every opportunity but, as Blair says now, we fucked every one of them up. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves.

It was hard to keep the secret, but who knew if Ms. Wood would really show up. In the studio, there was a Liberace style candelabra placed neatly on a lace doily over the Steinway grand piano. Blair must have known something was up when, as he sat down at the piano, we dimmed the lights. After the first take he saw some people enter the studio. He recognized Jeffrey but couldn't be sure about the young fox he was with. Either she looked identical or was none other than his dream girl from Playboy magazine. Speechless, he still managed to give the performance of his life with Cyndi swooning over the edge of the Steinway. That piano part was a definite keeper.

That amazing gesture was the first of many between Jeffrey and Blair, which cemented their relationship as best friends. It would continue until Jeffrey's passing at the tender age of forty-one twenty years later. Blair didn't go out with Cyndi after that, but soon he would meet another Cyndi (or Cynthia as the case may be), a pretty Farrah Faucett blonde who drove a late model Corvette Sting Ray. She would become a mainstay in his life and the life of future Spoon guitar player, Michael Kennedy. 

Chapter 17 - The Changing of the Guard

AFTER THAT MEMORABLE ALL-NIGHTER at the House of Dolenz it was back to business as usual and besides the partying and general carrying on it meant finishing our record at the Plant. We were like kids in a candy shop, and we wanted all the sweeties we could manage without making ourselves sick. We spent hours and hours on this one song, Shades of You, which had this duck synthesizer battling a fly Stratocaster. One night Joe Walsh was hanging around outside studio B, then popped his head in after hearing pop sounds leaking out from the control room. In his opinion the song needed a synth, so he generously donated an Arp Odyssey and thus a duck was born.

     Joey sang the lead vocal, and I was singing the low harmony, but I knew there was something intrinsically wrong with the lyrics, the main problem being - it didn't rhyme in the verse.  A few minutes later after a little chemical inspiration, I burst into the control room and said, “Bob, turn on the microphone I am going to change these lyrics right here on the spot”. I came up with all this rubbish but inside the garbage was a touch of brilliance, or so I thought. Blair was saying, “either this guy has the biggest ego in the world or is really a f****** genius.” I think it was mostly the drug, some kind of THC powder I snorted, but my ego was out of control in those days. It’s a lot smaller now, but it’s still there.

I don't think Bob Merritt will ever forget having to sit behind the board watching this menagerie of man-child’s antics through the thick glass window. At least he could turn it down or off but out there in my sea of Silverspoon I felt like I was swimming against a riptide. Where was Mal our supposed co-producer through all this? I didn't know at the time but there was plenty on his plate.   
     Mal was involved with The Beatles from the get-go and was accustomed to having everything complimentary. The price he paid for this was more than he had bargained for because he was paying his own way now. He had written many lines from actual Beatle songs that he never got credited, and now he was writing songs on his own that nobody seemed to pay any attention to. He had this one song that was kind of cool called I'm Not Going to Move about meditation. It seemed our band was going to back him up and record this song, but it just wasn't in the cards. It did get on a Ringo album after a co-write with George Harrison, later going by the title You and Me (Babe). Not only was Mal having to deal with his own demons of depression and anxiety, but there was also a rift on the Two Sides of the Moon record. A battle for control of the project was being waged by the dark side and they were influencing Keith and his entourage to make a change. 

Mal was living with his girlfriend Fran, a red-headed, freckled-faced woman fourteen years his junior, who worked in the accounting office at the Plant. She was a single-mom renting in a nice two-bedroom duplex apartment on Fourth Street just down the road from her work. She had a two- or three-year-old daughter Jody, with the same red hair and freckles as her mom. I used to be amazed when Mal would invite us over to the apartment. One time we were all watching Yellow Submarine and Jody said. “Look it's Uncle John and Uncle George. Look, daddy, it's Uncle Paul and Uncle Richie”, She knew enough about the Beatles at that age to know Ringo's real name, which is of course Richard Starkey.

     Stephen tells of a time when he and his girl-friend Robin, the barely legal enchantress, went over to Mal and Frannie's place to baby-sit for Jody. Mal had mentioned that he was in possession of the letters from Hamburg from the "boys" and he kept them in a suitcase. I am not sure how they found these letters or if they were out in plain sight but there they were. There were letters from John, in his early twenties, complaining about the horrific living conditions and wanted to come home. George, at the tender age of nineteen, said that he was starving to death and couldn't take one more day living on uppers and cigarettes. There were heart-felt letters from Paul, Stuart Sutcliffe and Pete Best; Ringo wasn't even in the picture yet. I am sure they read every word of every letter that night in total awe and amazement. I would have.

Weeks later Mal got fired from the project and Darth Vader and his fellow Storm Trooper took over the production of the album. Everything went downhill fast from there. Mal sank even deeper into his depression then locked himself in his room with nothing but his Elvis records and western gun collection. In the studio things started changing for the worse. I was in the hallway frantically pacing back and forth like a wild man while my bass part was being replaced by a "professional bass player". I wanted to storm into the control room like a Holy Crusader and demand that my part be saved. Luckily, I was restrained by my cohorts and after calming down decided to leave it alone. I was learning the ropes now in a new and painful way. It was a tremendous blow to my ego, and it hurt me to the core but after a few more of these kinds of episodes I realized that was "show biz" and I shouldn't take it personally. Even now, it still hurts a little. Later, I heard my bass line mysteriously show up in the string arrangement of the song. Sure, I was being used without credit, but still felt vindicated knowing that my bass part was hooky enough to be used on a record. I took that as a sign of good things to come.

Chapter 16 - The Party 3

WHILE RECORDING THE ALBUM with Keith there were lots of parties, but the one that takes the cake was that bash up at Mickey Dolenz’s tree house in Laurel Canyon. You had to walk up this long and winding driveway to a hobbit-like wooden door which was ajar, so Stephen, Blair and I just walked right in. Before my eyes was a "who's who" of rock and roll majesty. Seated on the floor playing his banjo was Doug Dillard, next to him was the notorious Phil Specter in dark shades and blue shark skin jacket. I thought I recognized Joe Walsh, who was in a band called the James Gang, talking to some beautiful Swedish girl in the corner. 

Seated at the organ in a bathrobe and fresh out of his "room" was the one and only Brian Wilson. He just kept staring into space playing the same riff repeatedly saying, “This is what my brother Carl used to do.” He would bang out some surf progression and sing in a wavering falsetto. I couldn't believe this was the same man that created all of those unbelievable hits like Good Vibrations and Surfer Girl. Nevertheless, I was glad to be in the presence of such greatness. There were plenty of chemical refreshments and I did help myself to a few of the said party favors. The women were ungodly the alcohol was the best and free. It was the epitome of the high life, a real rock and roll Hollywood party. So, what do you expect?

There was another young musician there named Mike Staton aka Billy London, who used to play guitar and sing with his brother Jeff. I met Mike in Nashville years later when ex-Silverspoon guitar player, Michael Kennedy (who will be discussed later in detail) told me there was a Hofner Beatle bass on eBay in Franklin, Tennessee, the next town over from where I live now. It was the Fourth of July, and nobody was bidding on this 1970 gem that was advertised as being owned by Les Paul's nephew. So, I put a bid on it for $500 and I ended up buying the bass. I drove over to his house and when he opened the door I thought that he looked familiar. He invited me in, and I saw an array of guitars and amps and even a pedal steel guitar. We talked about old times in LA and people that we might have known when it hit me. After he told me he played with The Monkees I said, “Weren't you at that party at Mickey Dolenz's house in 1974?” “

“The one with Brian Wilson in his bathrobe and Phil Spector running around like a madman."

"You were there?" I said.

 “Yes!”

It was amazing we would meet again over eBay after thirty years. He is a great rock-a-billy singer and guitarist and probably knows more about that kind of music than anyone I know. We stayed good friends until his premature death from complications of Covid 19. I still have the bass. 

After that party, Keith and Ringo got in touch with Brian Wilson and somehow booked a gig at the Beverly Hilton Hotel. Almost everyone from the sessions at the Record Plant showed up, including Nilsson. Ringo was there and I believe he played the drums while Brian, in his trademark blue and white bathrobe, was playing keyboards, Nicky Barclay and the rest of her band, Fanny, sang back-up vocals and once again I was playing bass. I think Stephen was playing acoustic guitar and Blair played the grand piano. I'm not sure how any of it sounded because I was too star-struck to have had any capacity for the audible, or as James Joyce puts it, “The ineluctable modality of the audible”, but I suppose we pulled it off and we sounded passable, all the while I knew history was being made and I was trying to slow down the hands of time to bask in the glory of the beautiful moment. 

    Harry at the microphone next to Keith was trying to help the struggling rock star with his lead vocals, especially on Don't Worry Baby. Keith was a gentleman and a first-class prankster but had a bit of trouble staying in tune. At the Record Plant Stephen, his brother Jon and I would spend hours in the studio with him trying different vocal techniques we had picked up over our short stint in show biz, and he did get a little better, but it was a far cry from decent. If you have a chance, pick up a copy of the book Full Moon by his main man, Dougal Butler. It is an insightful read about the life and times of "Mooney".

     That was a gig that should have lived on, but it was never filmed or recorded, as far as I know. In a way it is a shame that we didn't have the internet or You Tube. A lot of things might have survived that are now only in the fading minds of those who were there. But I can say without a doubt that this was the only time that Nilsson ever played live, at least in the 70's and unfortunately it would be one of the last live performances of Silverspoon as well.

Chapter 15 - Meeting With The Master

I REALIZE THIS NEXT story goes back sometime before the showcase so let’s back up a bit. It must have been in March or April of 1974 when Blair and Stephen had wandered into the Record Plant sweet talking the attractive blonde girl at the front desk into letting them past the iron-clad wooden door. This door, once entered, you were among the elite musicians and recording artists of the day. It was nirvana (not the grunge band) a rock and roll Valhalla. While wandering through the sacred halls, they saw a man a few years older working in the dubbing room with the door open editing tape with a razor blade, very old school. They stood by the door waiting for him to notice them and when he finally did they went into their well-rehearsed rap how they had a band that sounded like The Beatles blah, blah, blah.

          Bob Merritt, a second engineer, must have been intrigued by this daring duo who had the chutzpah to finagle their way past the guard dog at the front desk and approach a perfect stranger like they had known them all their lives. But that was Blair’s smooth style and Stephen could also talk a good show. He invited them back again, so I guess it worked.

 A few days later, we heard that John Lennon was producing an album with Harry Nilsson which would later be called Pussycats. As fate would have it, I was at the Rainbow one night with this young Russian girl named Ilana when Stephen burst downstairs and said, “Jimmy you won't believe who is upstairs in the Crow’s Nest and wants to meet you.” I looked at him with inquisitive eyes. “OK, I give up, who?” “John Lennon, that's who.”

“Shut up!”

“No really, man. I told him all about you, how you were a genius songwriter and he said he wants to meet you.” I couldn't take the girl, or more honestly, I didn't want her to cramp my style. If I was really going to meet John Lennon I had to be totally focused, not having to deal with an awkward first date scenario, so I rushed Ilana home to her apartment and drove like a madman the six or seven blocks back to ”The Bow” and found a parking space right down the street. No easy task. Walking with a purpose up the driveway into the parking lot, I waved to Tony at the door, and weaved my way through the “moving stars" then leapt up the swirling carpeted stairway to the room at the top –the Crow’s Nest. Turk recognized me and opened the door and then I saw. It was him. Over in a corner booth below a bunch of pipes hanging from the ceiling was John Lennon. What was I going to say to this man who I have idolized since I was twelve years old and saw him on the Ed Sullivan show? The butterflies in my stomach were running a demolition derby. This was the period in his life when John had separated from Yoko and was hanging out with Mae Pang, his personal secretary and Yoko's friend and it was Yoko who encouraged the relationship between the two, thinking at least John would have someone to lookout for him.

He was sitting having a drink with some business manager and a few other people I didn't recognize. Now Stephen approached Mr. Lennon and said, “Hi John, Is there anything you need, or anything I can do for you?” John quipped, "You can buy my new album.” I was thinking, oh great, he really laid into Stephen what is he going to do to me? I stepped forward feeling like the cowardly lion approaching the great and powerful Oz. “John", Stephen said, “This is the songwriter I was telling you about. Mr. John Lennon, please met Mr. James Wesley Haymer, from one genius to another.” How could he set me up like that? There was no way I could ever come close to the sheer brilliance of this icon of a man twelve years my senior who just happened to be the leader of the biggest and best pop group ever, and there he was seated not more than two feet in front of me! I thought he was going to cut me a new one, instead he extended his thin, pale right hand to me, looked me dead in the eye and said. “It really a pleasure to meet you, your friend has some very nice things to say about you.” I was stunned but managed to reply, “It is an honor to meet you, Mr. Lennon, but I must confess I don't know whether to praise or curse you, if it wasn't for you, I would have never wanted to be a musician in the first place.” He just smiled and said. “Oh, I'm sure you'll do alright.” While this was happening, I could see Stephen out of the corner of my eye doing pull-ups on the pipes like a scene out of A Hard Day’s Night. I ignored his antics instead savoring the magic of that special night.

          A few evenings later it had rained heavily leaving puddles everywhere in the potholes of the Rainbow parking lot. I am not sure where Blair was that particular night, probably with Cynthia, his new blonde girlfriend with the yellow Corvette, but what was to happen next was meant to be, kismet, fate. Stephen and I were penniless and trying to figure out what to do that night when I noticed there was a piece of paper that looked like a dollar bill in one of the puddles some poor drunk patron must have dropped. It was a five-dollar bill. We looked at each other and smiled. The next thing I knew we were in a taxi headed back down to the Plant.

That night in studio B, Lennon was doing a mix of the Jimmy Cliff song, Many Rivers To Cross being performed by Harry Nilsson. Stephen and I listened in the shadows and when the music stopped we opened the heavy wooden door and walked in. The music started up again with nobody seeming to notice us. Lennon was seated in the main chair behind the console and Harry next to him on the left. I sat down on the floor not more than five feet from Lennon’s right. The music stopped yet again, he turned toward me, and shot me a cold dark stare. “Who the fuck are you?” he asked not so politely. “It's me, Jimmy. I met you the other night at the Rainbow...” John scrutinized me for a few seconds which seemed like minutes, “Oh yeah, you’re cool.” I was cool? John Lennon said I was fucking cool! I stayed there listening to that song all night without uttering another word afraid that I might say or do something to offend, which sometimes, even now, I tend to do. How about that! Two John Lennon meetings in one week. That is hard to top.

Chapter 14 - Moon over Los Angeles

ONE FATEFUL EVENING IN early August of1974, we were at the Rainbow with Mal, when his old pal (and boss) Ringo had shown up with fellow drummer from the fabulously mod rock band, The Who, the undisputed duke of debauchery, Mr. Keith Moon. We were all sitting down at a table in the room upstairs called the Crow’s Nest. It was like a ship at sea with anchors, netting, and other nautical decor. It even had a real ships bell, which one would ring out for the arrival of pirate party time.

Mal, Ringo, Keith, and I were singing oldies for hours and drinking round after round of Cognac and orange juice. We sang everything, even instrumentals, but for e reason we kept coming back to the Beach Boys song, Don't Worry Baby. Keith had a thing about surf music. Whenever he was depressed or feeling bad he would always crank up The Beach Boys, Jan and Dean, The Ventures, or The Shadows (with Hank Marvin and Cliff Richard). I was following Keith who had wandered behind the walls and started banging on the drywall urging him not to do what I knew he was about to do. “Please Keith, no, don't do that, Oh God!” but I knew he could not help himself. If something needed destroying, he was the right man for the job. He turned his left shoulder into a ramrod and bulldozed his way through the drywall knocking down the interior wall landing on a paying customer. I don't think Keith broke the lady’s arm, but he had done some major damage to the room. “Oh, I'm terribly sorry for that, my good woman”, he said in his best James Mason-like accent to the manager who was rolling his eyes knowing full well the damages would be paid for, in fact the Rainbow (and many other establishments) would profit greatly from Keith's faux pas'. Hotels and bars looked forward to his rants of destruction.

We left the Rainbow that night around three in the morning and didn’t get to sleep until four or five. Two or three hours later the phone rang in the apartment in the Village. I got up from my sleeping bag on the yellow carpeted floor and wearily answered the call. It was Mal telling me that after the rollicking fun time he had last night, Keith wanted to do a solo album. I was to wake the boys up and head down to the Plant ASAP so I would have time to write charts for Don't Worry Baby, the same song we were singing just hours earlier. I was in semi-shock when I hung up the phone. Blair was non-responsive, so I tried to wake Stephen having the same results. Now I know how the scarecrow felt in The Wizard Of Oz when he tried to wake Dorothy up in the field of poppies. All I needed was a little bit of snow, any kind of snow, and that wasn't likely at this hour in the morning even in Los Angeles. I had to shake them both and nearly poured water on their heads when I saw Blair stirring. Stephen sat up on the couch. “Did you say we are doing an album, Jimmy?”

          We all stumbled into a taxi and took it down to the Record Plant and got there about 9 am. The song was easy to chart, and copies were distributed among the various music stands out in the cavernous studio C. One by one the musicians arrived. First was John Sebastian (Lovin' Spoonful), who would sing the work vocal in his unmistakable soft baritone. Next came Jim Keltner, the top studio drummer of his day followed by Danny Kortchmar (Kootch) who had played guitar with the likes of James Taylor, Carole King, Carly Simon, and Graham Nash, just to name a few. Then in walked Ringo Starr followed by Harry Nillson, and members of the all-female band, Fanny.

It was after 10 am now and the session had begun. Ringo and Jim Keltner were on drums, Kootch on guitar, Sebastian singing in the isolation booth, Blair Aaronson on piano and on bass was none other than myself. I could hardly believe I was playing bass with Keith Moon, Jim Keltner and Ringo Starr and I wasn't really a bass player at all. It's funny that if you google that record called Two Sides Of the Moon, it says that my name was James Ed Haymer, and I was credited with playing drums. It just goes to show you how wrong these sources can be and is one of the main reason I wanted to write this down to set the record straight. I was nervous but that energy kept me awake - that plus the gallon or two of coffee I had ingested. 

There I was with a Fender bass in my hands with a handful of the best, if not most famous musicians in the world. I felt like Wayne when he met Alice Cooper in Wayne's world (but that movie wouldn't be out for another ten years) “I bow down to you and your glorious rockdom.” After about four or five takes we walked back into the control room and listened to the playback. I remember thinking how amazing it sounded and wondered if everyone else in the room was thinking the same thing. I didn't have to ask, the contented smiles on all the faces in the room told me all I needed to know. Years later Jon Gries (Stephen’s younger brother who had driven Keith’s Rolls Royce to Tower records to pick up a copy of Don’t Worry Baby at the ripe-old age of fifteen), had run into John Sebastian. They began to reminisce about the old days when Jon mentioned the time he was at the Record Plant in ’74 during the first Keith Moon sessions. John Sebastian’s jaw dropped. “Are you kidding? You were there? That session is renowned. It was known by all the musicians as THE SESSION.

The next day it was time to cut Teenage Idol and Blair was again behind the 88's but unfortunately, I was left off this one. It was still a thrill to be in the studio where I knew I was part of something huge, and my counsel was called upon from time to time.  The thick control room door opened and who would walk in to overdub guitar? None other than the king of surf guitar himself, Mr. Dick Dale. He played a gold Stratocaster with a gold metallic pickguard. With his salt and pepper hair in a ponytail, he entered the studio wearing a white parachute jumpsuit, (maybe he was going through an Elvis phase or something). It wasn’t long before he was blistering his strings with reverberating penetration as waves of brilliance emanated from his guitar. Bitchen and twitchen, to say the least.

The best part about the Plant, besides the fantastic ultramodern equipment, was the lounge. There was a Fireball pinball machine that always had extra plays on it, right beside a coke machine with ice cold bottles of Coors beer for only ten cents a pop. I mean you could stay in there all day and be thoroughly wasted for less than a dollar.

One day while Stephen was behind the controls of Old Fireball, Steve Mariott walked in, took one look at Stephen, and almost lost it. He said, “Brian, is that you?” Stephen did have a slight resemblance to Brian Jones with his blonde straight hair in a Prince Valiant cut. He went on and on about how sorry he was about something he must have said to Brian in the past and kept apologizing to Stephen. It would have been laughable if it weren’t so pathetically sad. What’s sadder still is in 1991 he died when a fire, which was thought to be caused by a cigarette, swept through his 16^th century home in Arkesden, Essex.

Chapter 13- The Hammer Comes Down

 

 

JULY OF 1974 SAW more changes of personnel in the band. Blair was expressing unhappiness with the rhythm section (bass and drums) and the "silver chalice" was spilling over both Stephen and me. He wanted a much heavier sound than we were coming up with, having no real bass player (Stephen, Chas and I were trading off in that department). But I must say now, in retrospect, Miguel Ferrer was the perfect drummer for the band, but as fate would have it, his career would soon turn in the direction of his father, Jose Ferrer's. He did go on to secure some major roles in television (Crossing Jordan) and movies (The Stand) with his dead-pan delivery that always reminds me of Jack Webb. Just the honor of securing and pulling off the role of Lloyd in a Stephen King movie is amazing enough on its own, It's a career maker.

        While I was south of Pico snuggling up with a much older woman of at least 28; I am struggling to remember her name, but I think it was Cheryl or Vickie. She was athletically built with short dark hair and a scar on her left cheek. I think everybody has scars, some show and some don't. I still thought she was beautiful, and I think I was in love with her for about three or four weeks. This was 1974 remember, and I didn't have a cell phone and beepers were just coming into place, but usually reserved for the wealthy or for drug dealers, neither of which I was. I had to call in to the "Village" or to Larry Gordon's office if I wanted to know what was going on. I didn't even have a phone machine until the eighties. It was easier then to slip away and not be contacted if you wanted to go incognito.

        Even though I had no idea it was taking place, there was a meeting called to order by Mal and Bob at the Record Plant and Stephen was named to be my proxy. According to Stephen, “I was hanging out in the pinball room when Joey came down the hall to find him and tell him of the little gathering.” With a concerned look on his face, confused by the sudden news he asked, “What's this all about?” Joey said sheepishly, in that little boy lost way, “I haven't got a clue,” but Stephen knew something was up. 

      Mal was seated behind the desk in Chris Stone's (co- owner of the Record Plant) office and Blair. was sitting cross-legged on the desk with a dead pan smirk on his face. (I didn't know until later that he and Stephen had been given a choice with the five dollars they had. Either food or acid. They chose door number two). Miguel was pacing around the room wearing a path in the carpet, and Chas was over in the corner in a chair reading a magazine or something trying to seem aloof. Mal said, “Out of the six members of Silverspoon only four people should remain in the band.” Chas felt his heart sink to the bottom of his stomach. Could it be him, or Jimmy, who isn't even here?” Mal continued, “Now you boys can do whatever you want but if you want Bob and myself to continue with this project I feel we need to make some changes in the rhythm section. Sorry Miguel, but I feel we need a different drummer, and Chas, you just don't have the Spoon vibe. I'm sorry."

          Chas was devastated and Miguel was extremely upset, especially at Stephen; they went back a long way. He felt betrayed and told him to not so kindly piss off before jolting out of the door for the last time. I hope he has forgiven us. When I finally walked home I got the message from my brother, Robbie, that Stephen had called, and it was urgent. I called him back and nearly dropped the phone when he told me what went down at the Plant. How could they do that without me being there? What could we do? We could have pulled up our bootstraps, banded together and tell Mal and Bob to go stick it where the sun don't shine, or we could go along with the politics of the situation and continue the journey without Chas and Miguel. We chose option number two. Fortunately, we did have the two of them on tape, recorded on the basic tracks to You Hurt Me So. 

          Now came the search for a new drummer and bass player which continued for years and could go on to this day, if the band were still together. It was also the time to make a hit record and You Hurt Me So was a definite contender.  Mal said, “It needs a harmonium just like we used on We Can Work It Out”. That was all we needed to hear to get our Beatle juices flowing. Are you kidding? This was one of the guys who was there in the studio with John, Paul, George, and Ringo when they were writing and recording that song. It is ironic that Lennon came up with the middle eight, with the lyrics, “Life is very short and there's no time for fussing and fighting my friend.” Tragically, his life was cut short just six years later.

          With all the tracks recorded and the vocals finished Bob and Mal attempted to mix the tune. It sounded good but not great. Something was missing. One night after Bob had gone home and Mal was at home dealing with his troubled relationship with his girlfriend, Mike Stone came into Studio B. He had been given a copy of the Merritt/ Evans mix and was impressed by the direction of the band. He was a brilliant young engineer with experience way beyond his years, being the son of co-owner, Chris Stone, he had plenty of hours behind that console. He agreed to give it a shot. He had that sixteen-track machine humming with the compression pumping away like gangbusters. It sounded brilliant, hands down the best mix this novice band had ever been a part of. How could we play it for Mal and Bob without some egos being badly bruised? This would prove to be a moot point soon.

Chapter 12 - The Party #2

AFTER THE GIG, we all got into a black stretch limo and headed for Sunset and Kings Road – the infamous Riot House. As we pulled up the circular driveway we could all see the marquis reading “Welcome Silverspoon”. It was party time. The staff escorted the newly crowned princes of pop and their entourage up to the ninth floor of the Hyatt House where our two adjoining rooms lay waiting for us. It was a madhouse, wall-to-wall people. How did so many people find out about this party when there were no more than fifty people at the showcase itself? There were several music industry people there and among them was the famed Beatles road manager - Mal Evans. He had come by with Bob Merritt, a recording engineer at the Record Plant on Third Street over by La Cienega.

It was total debauchery at the riot house - sex, drugs and rock and roll. My brother Robbie was there watching his big brother snort a white powdered substance in a closet with Mal and two big breasted bimbos, where the mirrored doors had been ripped from their hinges. I was worried this was going to get back to my mother and father and I would be disowned or something, but Robbie was cool and never reported me, at least nobody ever said a word. There were groupies and rock wannabes in all shapes, sizes and colors, mingling, eating, smoking and drinking. I was having way too much fun to notice, but I am thankful we didn't have to clean up afterwards. It wasn't like we threw any couches out the window or nailed tables and lamps to the ceiling, but it was most definitely trashed. 

    I felt, as a band, we had finally done something substantial; something we would all look back on as the start of a booming career in show biz. How could we miss? With all our connections and talent somebody was bound to pick up on it. I was officially on cloud nine for a few days after the showcase but as the days passed, I was starting to get a little worried since no one had responded yet. Larry kept assuring me these things take time in Hollywood. Nobody wants to be the first one to dive into the pool— like being the first to arrive at a party, it's awkward. Now I was feeling how my dad must have felt while sitting at the round kitchen table waiting for the phone call from his agent. While waiting, he would play gin rummy with his younger brother, (my uncle Ellis) and I would love to watch. I've got a bit of the old Mississippi gambler in my blood passed down from generation to generation, Hallelujah!  When the phone finally rang I could see disappointment written all over his face. I think those scenes affected me more than anything else as a child and might be why I have such a terrible fear of rejection. But if my dad could do it, could too. I pressed on.

The days turned into weeks and still nothing. I called a meeting with Larry and the boys for the next day. While we were in his office that Monday the phone rang. Larry Gordon kindly had asked his secretary, Linda, a sweet hippie type with long, thin dark hair with probably some kind of flower pinned neatly in it, not to be disturbed. The intercom buzzed.  “I told you we didn't want to be disturbed, Linda,” Larry Gordon remained on the line. “Really, put him through”. He picked up the land line. “Oh hello, Mr. Evans," My jaw dropped. We all looked at each other with banjo eyes and bated breath. “That sounds great to me. I will run it by the boys and see what's what,” another pause in the action., then... “Ok I'll let you know as soon as I can, goodbye.” I jumped up out of my seat as soon as he hung up the phone. “What did he say?,” I shouted. Larry G. looked at every one of us individually with a dead pan look soon breaking into a Cheshire cat smile. “Mal Evans and Bob Merritt want to produce the band right away at the Record Plant.” At this point Blair, Stephen, Joey and I were all standing in a circle around Larry. jumping up and down with arms around each other’s shoulders. It was like being a kid and winning the Little League World Series. The Beatles road manager, who had been with the group since the very beginning wanted to produce our little band from Beverly Hills. Hell Yes! 

    Mal was the guy who would drive them from gig to gig as early as 1961 or so. He used to tell us that when the "boys" would ask him how much further it was to the next gig, he would always answer, "200 miles to go". I had written a song by that very name but Stephen always told me it sounded like the theme song to Gilligan's Island so I never finished it. It is a pivotal theme in my life. If someone kills and idea or puts it down, unless I feel 100 percent about the song or whatever, it dies and it's off to the next project.

 So now we were doing demos at the famed Los Angeles Record Plant and were mixing with rock and roll stars such as Steve Marriott from Humble Pie, Stevie Wonder, who I am convinced is not totally blind after seeing him kick one of the engineers arse in a wrestling match on the floor of studio C. Harry Nillson, John Lennon and Ringo Starr were always popping in and out.

    We would begin our demo sessions at odd hours usually around two or three in the morning because we had to wait for a studio to become available. The hardest part was always cleaning up and rolling the cables at seven or eight in the morning after we were dead tired, but Bob Merritt was like a sergeant-major and we had to listen or risk being excommunicated from the studio, our Shangri-La. Mal wasn't the best producer in the world but we didn't care, he had Beatle stories that nobody else had and we listened attentively. He used to say, "I used to have four brothers, John, Paul George and Ritchie but now I have nine, Jimmy, Stephen, Joey, Chas and Miguel. He used to pronounce Miguel's name like it had a "W" instead of the "U" sounding like Migwell. It didn't get much better than that.

    Most bands in the world would go on the road for years before they entered the studio but Silverspoon was doing things their own way. We didn't earn our road-legs no, we were earning our studio legs and learning a lot about recording. We spent a lot of time experimenting with sounds and effects because we had the luxury of unlimited time at the Plant. If you see the documentary "Who Is Harry Nillson" there are many parallels drawn with the band and him. I am not saying that any of the members of Silverspoon came close to the plethora of talent spewing from the vocal chords of Mr. Nillson but he never played live;(except for one night at the Beverly Hilton Hotel, which I will get into later), just like Silverspoon.