SCENES FROM ROCK AND ROLL DAYZ

Cuz everything isn't about voter registration you know

Every once in a while we need a break. Today is one of those days.

First, I want all of you to know that I personally add your name to my substack list. I have “met” every one of you, and take NONE of you for granted. You’re only here because I can provide information, insight, or occasional entertainment. So thanks.

(All these stories are here:)

I wanted to step back to the early 1970s with some anecdotes I thought you’d like. One of the reasons for this is I was going through “Reels” on Facebook and saw an artist—-can’t remember who—-recording in a studio and thought . . . “I KNOW THAT STUDIO!” It was the Record Plant in Los Angeles.

We had big dreams. We had cut a 45 (if you are too young to know what that is, consult an encyclopedia) with “Didn’t Want to Have to Say Goodbye to You,” an up-tempo rocker on one side, and “Part Time Lover,” a slower but funky tune on the other. “Didn’t” was just 2 minutes or so, “Part” was over 5. Our idea was that at the time there were “AM” stations that played the “hits” which were all 2.5 minutes or shorter, and “FM” stations that played long tracks, sometimes entire album sides. We pressed 300 copies of the record and sent it to every A&R man (“artist and recording”—-the guys who really found talent) and every radio station we could possibly accommodate. One ended up being K-100, the biggest station in LA. As we were driving into LA in the van, with the radio on, here came “Didn’t Want to Have to Say Goodbye to You” over the radio!

Anyway, somehow we toured the Record Plant in hopes of recording an album there. The studio is all beautiful wood inside for great harmonics. But it kind of hid doors. As we were walking, a door in front of me popped open and Jim McGuinn of the legendary 60s band, “The Byrds,” stepped right in front of me and I knocked him over.

Not long after that, we played the Troubadour, where Elton John got his US start. It was a Monday “open mic” night, but they made a special allowance for us to play a whole set. No sooner did we start than the “Who” (not the WHO) came in and sat to our right. They stayed the entire set, grooved, and when we left, a very drunk Pete Townsend came up to me, slapped me on the back, and said, “Good show, wot?”

While in LA I met—-sometimes just encountered—-an amazing array of stars in music, film, and television. Going into our agent’s office, we met Lou Rawls; going into a liquor store we met Gabe Kaplan (“Welcome Back Cotter” where John Travolta got his start). We exchanged some pleasantries with an aged Groucho Marx, wheeled outside his estate to get the mail. We saw a black convertible Mercedes pull up with a man in a black suit driving and a woman with shocking red hair in the driver’s seat—-LUCY!! It was Lucille Ball and we hung our our windows and in our best Ricky Ricardo voices yelled “Ohhhhh, Lucyyyyyy!” She laughed and waved.

The most incredible experience was in a neighborhood near Beverly Hills—-but not as toney. We saw Betty White watering her yard, so we five long-haired hippies stopped the van and talked with her for over half an hour. What a nice woman.

I’ll save the bomb scare; the time I almost burned down the Yuma, AZ, convention center with my flaming drum solo; the time our guitarist got “Maced” in the face and didn’t even miss a note; or the time we were the Allman Bros. guests in Cincinnati.

Rather, I’ll leave you with this one. We were invited through our agent to the Starwood, then a venue for unveiling new acts. We had press passes so we got in free, but the boys (not me) started drinking big. They were stacking up tequila shot glasses like pyramids.

The band came on: “Ace.” They had a recent big hit, “How Long (Has This Been Goin’ On?)” headed by the great singer Paul Carrack (he later was in “Mike and the Mechanics with their hits “Silent Running” and “The Living Years,” then had his own big hit, “Don’t Shed a Tear”). Carrack was good, but “Ace” sucked and my guys said so. LOUDLY.

”Ya’ll suck” they yelled. I was embarrassed for the band, but my “Rampage” bandmates didn’t let up. Finally, our singer Doug went to the bathroom. In those days they still had pay phones attached to a wall. The receiver was connected to the phone itself via a long wound-wire cable. Doug had ripped it out, hid it under his trenchcoat, and when “Ace” (thankfully) stopped one of their very bad songs to near silence, Doug stood up and pulled the phone out, holding it up. “It’s for ya’ll. It says, ‘YA’LL SUCK.’”

We never made it big. Perhaps it was cosmic justice for that moment.

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Larry Schweikart (@LarrySchwe94560)

Rock drummer, Film maker,NYTimes #1 bestselling author

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