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.
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