Other Fein Messes

Mess Feb 01 Among My Souveniers I have a couple of things of interest to music people. - A checkbook made by inmates in Huntsville Prison in Texas, sent by Cajun producer Huey P. Meaux, incarcerated there. - A book from Elvis's house. In 1979 some Colonel guy, not Parker, ran an auction of Elvis's Trousdale estate furnishings at the Hollywood Palladium. I attended with nary a pfennig, and watched as glamorous items were sold to swells like Jimmy Velvet and Bob Hilburn. (He bought Elvis's typewriter. You know, the one he wrote all his songs on.) I even lost out on less-demand things like Elvis's toilet-seat cover: Michael Des Barres outbid me, at around $60. Late in the auction Elvis's books were offered, and after a dozen had gone at $50 apiece the crowd got restless, realizing his Shakespeare set had 20 volumes, and demanded they be sold as sets. Luckily before the lot sales, which failed, they offered "Everything You Ever Wanted To Know About Sex," which I figured was at least a book he opened, and I bid $20 and got it. When I get a DNA kit, I'll apply it to every page. Funnily, during the time I spent with John Lennon (Yes, I will stop talking about it), I adamantly threw away all scraps of paper he wrote on, like the list of records he wanted from Specialty Records. I was aware that his imprint had some value, but to be treating it as holy would have removed me from the moment. Among My Friends' Souvenirs Probably the greatest artifact-holder of my acquaintance is Bill Liebowitz, the owner of the Golden Apple comic book store in Hollywood. Scanning a local penny-saver in 1989 he spotted an ad for "Isaac Hayes' cape," and went to see it. Isaac had borrowed money from a guy and left his cape, a 6-foot square gold fringed tarp with the Lion of Judah on one side and Isaac's puss on the other, as collateral and never paid it back. Bill forked over $200 and now dons it on occasion. At over 6-feet, he can do so without the weight of the thing knocking him over. Joanie Get Angry Seeing Nancy Sinatra at the Whisky Dec 29th, 2000, I was reminded that "These Boots Are Made For Walkin'" steals underlying music from Joannie Sommers' "Johnny Get Angry."* Wouldn't It Be Pedantic It's great to live in L.A. and get things off your chest. Around 1990 I was at Barney's Beanery, and a guy was introduced to me as Billy Joe Royal's manager. I pulled him aside to offer some advice. "Down in the boondocks doesn't make sense. It's a clumsy compound of two phrases. Things are OUT in the boondocks. The boondocks are like the toolies, they're remote. But you can be down in the dumps.** Everyone knows that. So just as you cannot be OUT in the DUMPS, you cannot be DOWN in the BOONDOCKS!" For some reason, he regarded me with caution. Commercial Music In movies, products are thrust in our faces: Jerry Lewis, the movie producer, was a pioneer in this distasteful field. But do I mind them in songs? Not til recently. I thought it clever that the Kinks rhymed Lola with Coca-Cola. And of course Paul Simon with Kodachrome. Remember George Hamilton IV's "Rose And A Baby Ruth?" But my daughter listens to Radio Disney where the hits never fade (some have "charted" for years), and one lingering song really gets my goat. I don't know the name of it but it's by LFO and has the line "I like a girl who wears Abercrombie & Fitch." I think it corrupts kids' minds to hear some swiney white-rapper say he cares what a girl wears. (What kind of guy cares what a girl wears? They only want them to take OFF their clothes.) To champion this clothes line is to nudge girls to a certain store. It makes me puke. A&C is a preppy or L.L. Bean type place, Brooks Brothers for casual clothes. Who on earth wants to see such stuff? What sort of teenage guy is turned on by them? Probably the songwriter has stock in the company. Wither All Here's a story opening that never ran in the LA Times: "On a poster, Bruce Springsteen's face looked down on five hundred people waiting in line outside Tower Records. That's the good news. The bad news is the people were in line to see Dave Matthews." It's imaginary, but it's easy to imagine. The newspaper writer sees people cheering, and tells them they're wrong. I don't like Steely Dan. That's no criticism, it's a statement that I don't care for the music. It's of interest to nearly no one. Yet rock writers in consumer papers daily belch opinions AS IF THEY HAVE MEANING.*** I remember a girl at the LA Times waxing wroth about Woody Allen's sexual hangups because SHE wasn't interested. A friend of mine attacked Tom Petty, writing "I don't see what's so special about HIM." Gina Arnold, an up-north idiot, attacked Marshall Crenshaw "because it had to be said." Rock writers live to sneer.**** They delight to report that a new album sold less than its predecessor. They gloat when someone stumbles -- say, Garth Brooks' unsuccessful rock album. And if someone made a misstep in their past, they rejoice in rehashing it.***** They live in isolation, and make pronouncements that jar ordinary readers. I remember a positive review of a Hootie & The Blowfish album in the SF Chron. If the writer simply called it good he might be taken for a fan, so it was couched with "we all know their other album's no good." The headline, "Deal With It -- Hootie's New Album is Good," screams condescension. WHO is to deal with it? The hundreds and thousands and millions of fans who like the band? No, the seventeen rock writers who care about the WRITER! The errant elitism of these pinheads is almost unbearable. Of course, rock crits are not alone in their derision. In our entertainment-crazed world, everyone lights into accomplishers. TV "anchors," humorously named for lead weights, joke about a movie's failure. People on Skid Row mutter "What is that Madonna DOING?" And recently, an ad for a Kathie Lee Xmas book at the 99 Cent Store offered the line "They wanted $19.95 for this!" Snobbery has filtered down to the 99 Cent Store! Regular show biz has its targets: usually it's someone who's been successful and is no longer. A mention of Erik Estrada is a reliable laugh-getter. John Travolta was everyone's punching bag til he came back. Snob publication Entertainment Weekly runs "hot" and "not" lists so we can snicker (who really cares who's 'hot'?) at others' failings. So even in their naysaying, rock crits are following the pack. Ketchup In Bob Hilburn's Lennon-hugging 12/8/00 piece in the L.A. Times, he recounts how he was introduced to Lennon by Phil Spector at the Whisky, citing Spector only as his conduit to King John. Bob's priorities are wrong. John Lennon's music is OK, but Phil Spector's is..... magnificent. I'm glad my introduction at the Whisky was the other way 'round. And in citing Patty Goldstein's****** sickening rock-writer nostalgia piece spurred by "Almost Famous" last month, I neglected to mention that in saying he was influenced by publicists he slept with, he brayed grandly "We were all whores." Speak for yourself, Bozo. Buona Sera, Steverino With the death of Steve Allen in December, rock & roll lost one of its...... I dunno. Rock & roll fanatics hate him for what he did to Elvis -- putting him in a tux, making him sing to a dog, having him play a hillbilly in a cowboy suit in his breakthrough July 1, 1956 appearance on Allen's Sunday night show. But as Steve said, he ran a comedy show, always incorporating guests into skits. Why would he stop his format for this guy? Besides, Elvis was eager to be in legitimate show biz. He headed for the movies immediately, and after the army pursued general, low-impact entertainment. They also hate him, the hard-core fans, for reading the lyrics to "Be Bop A Lula" in a mocking manner on his tv show. I asked him about it, and he said, " I started doing that in 1950, way before rock & roll. I did it to lots of songs." Unlike Stan Freberg*******, a (still-living) contemporary, Steve's legacy has never been revived. In addition to the brilliance of his comedy, his cultural impact, including music, was immense. Allen gave Elvis his first big shot (after Berle and the Dorseys), gave air time to both Lenny Bruce and Jack Kerouac, had Louis Jordan playing live from Market Street in San Francisco, debuted Jerry Lee Lewis 3 weeks after his first record was released, and in 1964 did half-hours with folksinger Bob Dylan and El Monte weirdo Frank Zappa. He may not have meant to, but he opened many doors for the times that were coming. Smock! Smock! Elvis '01 Roundup For the 16th (17th?) year, I helped run the annual Elvis's Birthday Bash at the House Of Blues. (If you have to ask the date, you shouldn't be reading this.) A good time was had by y'all. Performers, in order, were Paul Marshall, Harry Orlov, Mario, Billy Tulsa & The Psycho Crawdads, David Sommerville, Justin Curtis, Lightnin' Willie, Mystic Knights of El Mysah, Brigitte Handley, Rod & The Tonemasters, Groovy Rednecks, Laura Dewitt, Fred Willard, Keith Joe Dick, Theresa James, Cisco, Johnny Rivers, Danny Blitz, Cadillac Angels, James Intveld, Barry Holdship, Sprague Bros., Swamp Dogg, Rip Masters, Doug Fieger, Big Sandy, Ray Campi, Levi Dexter, Russell Scott, Mojo Monkeys, Randy Beckett & Rebel Train, Double Naught Spies, Jimmy Angel. Highlights were many. Swamp Dogg doing "Don't Be Cruel." Doug Fieger using 'ringers' Wayne Kramer and Denny Seiwell. Actor Fred Willard's sincere "I'm Left You're Right She's Gone." Keith Joe Dick's rubberlegged return from retirement. James Intveld's girl-tickling presence. The Sprague Bros. doing the Beatles'******** "I'm Down," claiming Elvis did it in Vegas. The Cadillac Angels recovering from a false start to do a knockout "Mystery Train." Lowlight was Johnny Rivers insisting he go on ahead of two other bands bec we were running ten minutes (!!!) late. He did "Hound Dog," which he had not 'registered,' stealing the song and arrangement from Theresa James.********* The backup band, as always, was Marty Rifkin, Skip Edwards, Harry Orlov, Paul Marshall, and Steve Duncan . Since they never play together except for the Elvis show, they are, I guess, the Elvis Birthday Band.   - 57- * I have a white-cover vinyl copy of Joannie's unreleased Capitol album, from working there in 1973. Possibly the only copy in the world! ** My wife says, "Whenever I'm down in the dumps I get a new hat." I said, "I WONDERED where you got those hats." *** Other rock-writers care. Some imagine that readers, too, are interested in writers, as persons. Imagine! **** Someone with a lot of time on their hands should gather rock writers' wrong opinions and issue them as "Critics' Delight." I'd buy it. ***** For example, Randy Lewis in reviewing a Supremes box set, mentions the failed Supremes reunion tour. Why? It has no bearing on this retrospective. He just wants to point and snigger. But if an act has rock-crit profundity, its early stumblings are overlooked, e.g. Lou Reed's soundalike recordings of 60s hits for Tops Records, or now-sanctified Steve Earle's early-80s feints at rockabilly. ****** Why does Goldstein get my goat? Because he's so smarmy. When predicting that "Titanic" would be an enormous flop in 1996, he frequently compared it to "Heaven's Gate," and then, late in 2000, wrote another sneering piece about what a failure the latter movie was. (Goldstein's successes were......?) His glossing over the movie's value is incredible in its arrogance: low-selling is bad, big-selling is good. It's so .... soulless. But right for the L.A. Times. ******* I wrote to local PBS station KCET in late 1998 after having Frebeg on my show, urging them to do a deep documentary on our local Pasadena-born genius. They wrote back that it was not of any interest to them. I will not only never contribute to that station, but I will steal from any collection box they passed 'round -- and buy Freberg records. ******** I announced to this Elvis-loving crowd that we might do a Beatle Tribute night. There were scattered boos. ********* An incredible talent, James is also the trouper: she did "Hound Dog" anyways, two song later, and swamped Rivers.

Other Fein Messes