FROM 1977 THROUGH early 1980, Stephen was somewhere in
transit from Santa Monica to Burbank with West Hollywood sandwiched in between.
Basically homeless, he slept most nights on Jon Marr’s couch in the living room
of his one-bedroom apartment at The El Cortez. It was a tough time for him,
especially when Jon’s fiancée, Carol, was around. Carol had an apartment on the
first floor directly below Jon’s and disliked Stephen, to put it mildly, and
the feeling was mutual. To escape from the turmoil, he would take the bus to
Burbank and visit with Renee, who was becoming a famous Hollywood actress. He
would sleep in her spare bedroom and sometimes would knock on Renee’s locked
door to enter, hoping he could cement their relationship, or at least take it
to the next level. She would always have an excuse, she was tired, or was
reading, and they never did move to the next level. Stephen, to her, was more
of a spiritual advisor. He would analyze her astrology chart and decipher her
numerology, although being with her in the Biblical way, was just not in the
cards for him. Speaking of Biblical, she had now re-acquainted herself with
Jesus and, for Stephen; any thoughts of a deeper love with Renee were all but
lost. She had Jesus and that was enough for her now.
The day that Stephen
realized that Silverspoon was finally over (if he ever truly has) was sometime
in 1978. It was at Jon Marr’s apartment. Joey and Jon were arguing about vocal
harmonies while I just sat there with my guitar in hand waiting for the dust to
settle. It didn't. Blair was there too but left as soon as he saw the
writing on the wall. It was the same old story, Jon was trying to teach Joey an
intricate harmony which he couldn't grasp, a fight ensued, and I, having
had enough, was out of there, too. Knowing that I had Robin Stewart waiting at
home, who was more than happy to help write another song increased my feeling
of independence from the dwindling, almost non-existent band. Stephen was
mortified, finally realizing that a group with Jon, Joey, Blair, and me was out
of the question. Not only that, but his love life was in utter chaos; between
Renee, Robin (who always came in and out of his life like a yo-yo) and
Stephanie, the beautiful French model. He would fly to Vegas and visit with
Stephanie and all they ever did was have sex. Who could blame him? But when he
came back to LA she rarely visited him. He knew he could always count on Robin,
showing up at precisely the wrong time to squelch a budding relationship with
someone new. He also had Renee, if he wanted spiritual companion, but most
times he left feeling frustrated and alone.
Having no money and
impacted teeth, Stephen was in dire straits. Ever since the death of his
stepfather, Tom Gries, in 1977 and the events of the Red House with Christa’s
murder, he was a lost soul drifting from place to place in the city of angels.
Not being welcome at Jon’s apartment because of the animosity between him and
Carol, Stephen began staying at John Shoemaker’s place not more than five
hundred feet away. Shoemaker was a sports loving, druggie derelict who needed
someone to share his cocaine delusions, although I don’t think Stephen took
part in any of the drugging. He was barely hanging on to reality and cocaine
was the last thing he needed. Alcohol, on the other hand, was a major
distraction for him now, me too, unfortunately. I would see him from time to
time in Venice. We would hang out by the beach, play a little guitar and
reminisce, and later go to the bar. He had gotten a job at Merlin McFly’s as a
doorman and would leave work wasted at three in the morning and somehow make
his way back to Shoemaker’s apartment. Stephanie tried to convince Stephen to
move to Atlantic City where her father was a pit boss at one of the casinos
there. He couldn't see leaving LA, the hub for all the music, film
and the rest of the arts, to be stuck in some godforsaken place where the only
music was covers of cheesy sixties hits. They subsequently broke up.
There was another young
woman who lived at the El Cortez, Maria Corvelone who, if you remember, was
responsible for introducing the band to Bob Ringe, the hapless agent from
William Morris two years earlier. It was now the end of 79, and I was living
with Marly, who I had met in January of that year. Maria was acting as my agent
and had procured a gig for me at a place in Venice called F. Scott’s on January
9, 1980. I had hired a band of musicians I had found from the Musician’s Contact
Service, except for Brent Nelson, the drummer, who I had worked with before
with Stephen Paul. Brent was a fine drummer who had an excellent voice, very
reminiscent of Joey’s high tenor. Even though Stephen Adamick-Gries was around
somewhere and Blair too, I had no intention of using them in my band.
I didn't want another version of Silverspoon. We rehearsed some of
the songs I had recently written for a week or two and it was show-time. The
place was packed. Chas had brought Bette Midler (I will go into more detail
about this later), who he was seeing on a regular basis. My sister, Susan, was
also there all jacked up on something. I remember her yelling at the engineer
behind the console in between songs to fix the sound, being somewhat distorted.
Hey, we were loud, and the sound guy was doing the best he could to match the
vocal volume with the screaming guitars, thundering bass and booming drums.
Then Susan stormed out of her seat to fix the trouble herself. She rushed by my
vocal mike which banged against my front teeth. I announced to the crowd that
she would get the bill from my dentist. A cheap one-liner. She then tried to
grab the controls of the console even though she didn't know the
first thing about mixing. The engineer was at a loss for words but managed to
keep my older sister’s hands off the faders. The performance was shaky at best
but was saved when I came out to do a solo encore. I did a heart-felt version
of my song, Final Bow (Susan’s favorite of mine), and the crowd
responded in an enthusiastic way. After that show, Bette had told Chas that she
liked some of my songs and wanted to record one called Mr. Lonely.
I’m not sure what happened, because she never recorded it. I think she and Chas
had broken up—so much for that.
Stephen had enough of the
pain that Los Angeles had caused him and decided to go up to Carmel to live
with his father, Chick. He got a job as a busboy at one of the golf courses at
Pebble Beach, the western Mecca of golf in the US.. He would wait hand and foot
for the elite; people like Clint Eastwood and Johnny River’s ex-wife, the
latter of which he had designs on. I don’t think that ever happened, but it was
a good time for Stephen to get out of LA and bond with his birth father. He had
saved up his money and bought a guitar and amp to replace the one that Mikel
and Ciri Japp had stolen from him. When he came back to LA, he told me he was
ready to join the Two Guys From Van Nuys, but I told him we were
going to keep it as a duo—just Blair and me. I wanted a situation where we
would play live and from past experience with Stephen, we never really did play
live. I needed to get my road legs exercised, and the only way was to perform
in front of people and not just in the studio, a place where Stephen shined and
still shines. Blair had plenty of live experience from Vegas and beyond and I
thought the nucleus of the Two Guys should be us. I didn't mean to
hurt Stephen’s feelings, which apparently I did, but I was on a mission and
could not let friendships get in the way.
Stephen told me of his
escapades in Carmel and I was a bit jealous. Having gone back to the great game
of golf and I played at least once a week at Roosevelt, a course in Griffith
Park. Golf was a game I began to take seriously at the age of twelve when my
father took me out to Rancho Park. By the time I was fourteen I was, much to
his chagrin, beating him at his own game. My dream was, and still is to be
invited to play the Pro-Am at Pebble beach links, but to do so you have to be a
celebrity. Maybe someday? But for now, or then as the case may be, I was
pursuing a solo career in music, living with Marly and playing golf. Reuniting
with Silverspoon was the furthest thing from my mind, although there would be
one more reunion in the near future.
No comments:
Post a Comment