AFTER ABOUT A WEEK of
commuting from LACC to the ghetto, Stephen put it to me like this, “Ok, Jimmy,
either you are a professional student or a professional musician. Which is it?”
I left school not long after that. I figured I wasn't cut out to be a music
teacher or something of that ilk.
There was this friend of Stephen’s named Mark Bahari, who, being a
close relative of the studio owners, finagled the band into Cadet Studios
wanting only to manage us in return. I heard these studio owners had a
reputation for finding local talent and exploiting them by paying them fifty
bucks or so and then releasing the tracks while raking in all the profits for
themselves. Shysters! Be that as it may, we were recording, and I was addicted
to the whole process. Sessions were recorded live at that time compared to now.
You had to! You only had three other tracks at the most to use for overdubs,
therefore, you had to plan your production in advance. This usually meant
playing the song repeatedly until parts were established and then you rolled
the tape. I wish I had those tapes today, but alas; they exist only among the
countless recordings in the Akashic records.
Mark Bahari had
this friend that went to Beverly named David Simmons. David's father had
something to do with Little Richard. We all walked single file in David's
living room and when the smoke cleared, there he was in his exaggerated
pompadour and his trademark pencil-thin mustache sitting at the spinet piano.
We all gathered around the piano while he did a few songs including his amazing
rocker, Lucille. When the song ended, he excused himself and walked
toward the bathroom. Before he entered, he turned around and said, “now it's
your turn so get ready.”
I sat down at the piano and
felt the keys that were covered in some kind of greasy substance, probably some
Vaseline from his shiny hair. I didn't want to make anything of it, but after I
told asked David if he had a towel to wipe the keys. He must have wondered why
I would make such a strange request. I came clean and said the keys were a
little greasy. Everyone started laughing and making off-color masturbation and
gay jokes. I was embarrassed and hoped that he didn't hear any of this mockery.
Soon the man himself re-entered
the living room and stood right next to me. “Let me hear one of your hits.” I
was nervous, but I told myself if I was going to make it in the biz, I had to
get used to situations like this. I took a deep breath and started into Cornerstone, a
song I had written about my ex-girlfriend leaving me all alone while she
visited her mom in Hawaii. Jon recognized the intro and eased up close to
Little Richard and, I must admit, sang his ass off. We did a couple more songs
and while glancing over at Richard, he seemed to be enjoying the set. At least
I had hoped he was.
“Oh my Lord have mercy but you young’uns are the cutest
thing I've ever seen. What's the name of your little ensemble?”
“We don't really have a
name yet, but we're working on it.” He walked over to Jon and put his hand on
his shoulder. “You have a wonderful little voice, son. What's your name?”
Jon hummed and hawed and squeaked out, “It's Jon Marr, sir.”
“Sir! My father is sir, please call me
Richard, okay?”
“Sure, no problem.”
“You should call yourself, now let's
see, how about Milk and Cookies?”
Everyone began laughing. He continued. “You
say your last name is Marr, how about Jon Marr and the Cookie Jar?” We all
looked at each other in amazement. If we agreed to that silly name maybe Little
Richard would get involved in our careers. With all due respect to the man but,
thanks but no thanks. Looking back, I thought we should have gone along with
the name change. Maybe Richard would have wanted to produce us. That would have
been a good calling card and a resume blaster. But once again, either due to
ego or stupidity, we blew the connection off. We never saw hide nor hair (and I
do mean hair) of him again.
At least, we thought we
were getting our sound down on tape at Cadet, but that wouldn't last
long. Everyone seemed to be going their own ways. Jon was making plans to
become a pilot and would be off to flight school in Oklahoma in the fall. Joey
wanted to escape somewhere either into drugs or his girlfriend Phyllis who
drove that cool Mustang convertible. Peter was around just waiting for Stephen
and me to get something together. After the shock of losing both of our lead
singers, we began rehearsing at Stephen's new abode on coincidentally, Phyllis
Drive just a block down from Sunset near Doheny. He had moved in with his
Debbie Griffin a few months earlier.
It was the summer of 71 when we rehearsed
in that sweatbox of a converted garage in the back. Jon was always trying to
get out of rehearsing saying that the doctors had diagnosed him with pleurisy.
we weren't sure what to believe but it was kind of obvious that it was up to
Stephen and myself to get the songs in order, which would eventually lead to a
band. The trouble was that my voice at the time was. let's say, a little
undeveloped so I would have trouble staying on pitch even though I could hear
it properly. Stephen suffered from a lack of confidence and never really
projected.
Later in 1971 or early 1972, Joe Hamilton
Sr. had organized a recording session for the band at Sunset Sound Recorders on
Sunset Blvd. right across the street from Crossroads of the World where we
would three years later acquire the services of a professional manager named
Larry Gordon. On the session were Stephen, Joey, Peter Gries, Jon Marr, me and
Cubby O'Brien (from Mickey Mouse club fame). We recorded three songs, In
The Dairyland, The Ballad of Lark Chicane, and one of mine, Getting
Through To You. Nothing much became of these recordings, but Stephen and I
had become friendly with Chuck Klaus, one of the assistant engineers there. We
were invited back to Sunset Sounds by Chuck at off hours to record some of our
originals. This was late '71 and in the studio at the time were the Rolling
Stones mixing their classic album Exile on Main Street. Additional
basic tracks, Rip this Joint, Shake Your Hips, Casino Boogie, Happy,
Rocks Off. Turd on the Run and Ventilator Blues were begun in the
basement of Nellcôte, France and taken to Sunset Sounds in LA where numerous
overdubs were added during sessions that meandered from December 1971 until May
1972.
We would go into the studio about three am
after the Stones had left for the evening. How many bands can say they went
into the studio after the Stones had left for the evening? I remember the
Stones had left a half-full bottle of Old Grand-Dad whiskey and remnants of
cocaine and grass left on record album covers at the console. Of course, we
helped ourselves, after all, it was drugs and alcohol leftover from a Rolling
Stones session, and we thought it would give us added inspiration. we recorded two
of Stephen's songs, Bimbo the Clown and Natural Country
Fair. I still think to this day that the former is one of the best songs
that Stephen has ever written. I wish I had a copy of it today.
One night at Sunset Sounds, Stephen had broken a
guitar string and went searching the grounds to find a replacement. He knocked
on the door of studio B and Mick Jagger answered the door. When he asked if there
was an extra high E string around, Mick said, “Hold on a minute,” and closed
the door. A few moments later he came back to the door and handed Stephen a
guitar to borrow. Later when he returned the guitar, they invited us in and
there was Mick and Keith (who was totally absorbed in his work). They nodded to
us as if we were a member of the higher echelon of Rock and Roll society. We
listened to a playback of Shine the Light and All Down
the Line. We thought we must have died and gone to rock star heaven.
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