Chapter 7 - BJ Taylor

HE WALKED THROUGH the front door of Oakhurst Drive in Beverly Hills in February of 1972 wearing a blue mohair turtleneck sweater. He had the voice of an FM DJ doing a late-night jazz show. That velvet “Hi” was all he needed to say, and you knew he was smooth, and it was going to be an adventure, no matter what you did. His girlfriend, one of many I would meet over the course of time, was Vivian Flesch. BJ had come over because my sister, Susan, had told Vivian that her brother was a musician. Vivian worked for Tom Laughlin of Billy Jack fame and BJ was targeted to do the soundtrack for the film. My sister also worked for Laughlin, hence the connection.

          BJ was tall, about six feet four in boots, had long, black rock and roll hair and a black goatee. He looked a lot like Clarence White from the Byrds. I was always jealous of people who could grow their hair long, mine just grew out and up in a Jewfro. He sat down at the baby grand piano (which my father refinished in 1960 and now sits in my office/ recording studio) and started playing a ballad in A minor. I reached for my Martin D-18 and added some accompaniment. I could tell by the approving glance he subtly threw over his shoulder that he was impressed.

           We started hanging out at Vivian and his apartment on Doheny Drive not far from the Troubadour. He had a two-track reel to reel recorder and had asked me to overdub some guitar parts on his demo. I think he changed his name to BJ Taylor because he wanted people to confuse him with BJ Thomas who sang Raindrops Are Falling on My Head by Burt Bacharach and Hal David. That apartment building housed many up-and-coming models, actresses and musicians. This is where we met Pamela Norman, the wife of Larry Norman the original Christian rocker who came up with the logo of a pointed index finger raising up to the heavens and called it “One Way”. It seems that every religion has their version of it. Pamela was the Miss Ferrari at the 1972 LA auto show. She had a friend, Evelyn, also a model, and the two of them invited BJ and me up to their apartment (while her husband was away), to sample some of their red cake. There must have been something intoxicating in that cake because I began hallucinating. Either that, or I was falling in love (or lust) with the two models.

          There was a new nightclub opening on Sunset Blvd. called the Rainbow Bar and Grill. I had gone in for lunch one day and was given the grand tour by Tony the maître d. It wasn't long before BJ had been given his own table there, table number 14. I told him that I didn't like that number much and that I preferred the number 11. The next night we were seated at our regular table - table 11(formerly table 14). The Rainbow soon became the hangout for all the real and wannabe rockers, groupies, and whatnot. People would line up in the parking lot at 2 am to see what party, or who would go home with whom that night.

          It didn’t take long until BJ was crowned king of the Rainbow, and I was the crown (or clown) prince. I remember having a huge crush on Kathy Gibbany, one of the waitresses that worked there. She was blonde and Irish-cute with a beaming white smile, and I had written a song for her called She is the Woman. One night I brought in my guitar, sat down by the roaring fire in front of table 11 and sang the song to Kathy in a heartfelt manner. Little did I know that Manfred Mann was sitting a few tables back listening to every word. Later that night, BJ told me Mr. Mann was interested in doing the song. I was so cocky back then I told him to somewhat politely piss off and get his own song. Nobody was going to do my songs but me...or maybe The Beatles or Dylan, but they wrote their own songs so that wasn't very likely. Ah the folly of youth. But as you will see this is a re-occurring theme in the life of Silverspoon.

          It wasn't long before Vivian and BJ broke up and he was left without a place to live. I still lived in the Back Room which was a converted garage apartment behind my parents on Oakhurst. That back room was like a sanctuary to me and my cohorts. I remember painting the soundproof tiles chocolate brown and pasting on orange or tan velour paper over the ceiling pipes while listening to the debut of the White Album on KLOS in 1968. My parents were so supportive of my music and were pleased to meet and help any of my transient friends (of whom there were many), and he was added to the list of residents on Oakhurst Drive. BJ knew it would only be a temporary measure. He had a way of opening doors, and it wouldn't be long before many were flown open, and we would have to hurry in before the wind of fate slammed it shut in our faces.

Stephen and I used to rehearse in the back room with our Martin guitars singing Beatlesque original songs and BJ was our sounding board. It was good to have a professional opinion, after all he had an album out with Rock Island in 1969 that had a cult following. He thought that Stephen and I were the real deal and vowed to get us (as well as himself) a huge recording contract. This was the birth of Silverspoon, although we were not officially named that until John Mernit from Maryland (one of the Spoon's first drummers) suggested we call the band “Silverspoon” because of our showbiz ties and rich parents. At least most of the parents were well to do. My father at the time was still a struggling character actor and we lived on the poor side of Beverly Hills, if there is such a thing. So, it was the Rainbow and Roxy at night and then back to the seclusion of Baja Beverly Hills for BJ and me. We wrote songs and entertained the ladies but mostly he entertained while I serenaded. We wrote a song called Three Cigarettes in the Dark about being like a third wheel on a bike or scooter. a little extraneous. I'm sure you can imagine the rest.

          BJ had somehow come across Charlie Meeker, a lawyer from O'Melveny and Meyers who lived in a plush condo on Olympic drive in Beverly Hills. Charlie was a Bostonian who took immediately to BJ. I guess it was fun for a strait-laced attorney to be a part of the rock and roll lifestyle. Charlie had a client named David Ladd who had a young fiancé named Cheryl Stopplemoor. She was the “White Rain” girl and did the voice of Josie from Josie and the Pussycats. The girl could sing, and BJ had arranged an audition for Joe Smith, the president of Warner Brothers records with yours truly providing the guitar accompaniment.

Sitting in an office in Burbank with gold and platinum records covering the walls was a little intimidating, but I was a professional now, at least that’s what I had to tell myself. She got the gig and later married David and became Cheryl Ladd the blonde angel from Charlie's Angels. A bit ironic.

          BJ was now living at Charlie Meeker's pad where we had some fantastic cook-ins making those special burgers with onions and garlic, grilled right there on his electric hibachi, in the gray and black kitchen. I even brought over my records, which to this day, I'd like to think, may exist in one of Charlie's storage boxes in a Bekins warehouse or somewhere in the ether. Andy Warhol's electric chair was hanging over the brass mock fireplace, and that night BJ and I left Charlie with the burgers and headed off to the premiere of Raw Meat staring David Ladd as a zombie in an underground sub-culture. Cheryl had brought a friend, a messy but attractive blonde wearing a thick, green woolen sweater, the kind your grandma must have knitted for Christmas. It was Valerie Perrine before the days of Lenny. Who would have thought?

To be continued...