Showing posts with label Sixties. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Sixties. Show all posts

Saturday, February 11, 2017


Time Must Have A Stop

by

R.E. Prindle

 

President Trump is really changing our lives.  I’m doing all kinds of things I haven’t done for years.  I bought a copy of the National Review with a cover story about President Trump and that sour grape Obama.  Now, after forty years on I actually bought a copy of Time Magazine because the cover story promotes a revolution against the President.  ‘The Resistance Rises (in pink, indicating a female resistance).  How  A March Becomes A Movement.  The picture portrays the pink bonnet of the revolting ladies.  A symbol of the vulva makes the front cover of Time.  Pornography in disguise.  The whole issue of only 60 pages drums up a revolution. 

Sixty pages, and Time calls that a magazine.  I remember when they were thick, a hundred twenty pages or more,  maybe two hundred, with a hundred pages of prime advertising.  This pitiful thing has ads from Kelloggs and Chevy and a bunch of medical stuff, White guy with hepatitis.

Time-Life used to be the life blood of intellectual America then they were merged with Warner Bros. of Hollywood and it was all downhill from there.  The mag was founded about 1923  by Henry Luce and others and quickly became a success, then they bought the Life name for mega bucks from its publisher.  The first Life was a humor magazine of the early century that fell on hard times when the country lost its sense of humor, hasn’t found it yet.

Founded in New York City, Time posed as a conservative mag.  But as NYC was 25% Jewish and another 25% Communist or left leaning the staff reflected the demographics of the city which meant it was boring from within staffed mainly with Reds.  Henry Luce married Clare Booth which made her the famous Clare Booth Luce.  She had been an NYC party girl of liberated morals.  At one time the mistress of the notorious Bernard Baruch, the advisor of presidents.  She never lost her attachment after marrying Henry.  She even bought a house next door to Bernie, presumably so she wouldn’t have to walk too far. 

That was in the early forties at the same time Whittaker Chambers began his rise to editorship of the mag.  While hiring a notorious Communist like Chambers may have seemed a folly to more balanced minds, Chambers claimed he had renounced Communism a few months before assuming the job.

Possibly, but isn’t that a Communist ploy to insinuate operatives inside the Capitalist horse so they can bore from within?  Sometime later infamous Red, Max Eastman, who also supposedly saw the light, rose to prominence at Reader’s Digest.  After having thought and lived as Communists for decades did they suddenly learn to think like seasoned Capitalists?  Does anyone believe that?  Send 9.99 and a stamped return envelope  and I’ll return a deed to the Brooklyn Bridge.  I said ‘a’ deed not ‘the’ deed.  Read the fine print.

Whittaker Chambers made big money at Time through the forties until he suddenly quit his lucrative job for a non-lucrative job exposing Communists in government.  Exposing Communists is OK but proving it is another thing.  How many dedicated conservatives made themselves look like fools chasing Reds?  Is it possible that Whittaker was maybe a lure to destroy the Right?  If Alger Hiss hadn’t lied Nixon would never have redeemed his name, and to this day there are people to defend Hiss even though subsequent information has proven that he not only lied but was a Communist agent of the deepest dye.  My thought is that while Chambers may have turned in his card did he ever sever his loyalty to the Party?

So, with all of the Time-Life publications there was a Red tinge to them.  Kind of like when you feel like throwing up but never do.

We all read Time, I began shortly after graduation from high school after I joined the Navy.  At home the closest we got to intellectual matters was a subscription to the National Geographic.  I was a fairly avid reader then from 1957 to 1965 when I realized that the mag was not only pink underneath but totally dishonest.  Many of their news stories, maybe all for what anyone knows,  were total fiction.  What spurred me to leave was Time’s reporting of Howard Hughes departure from Las Vegas. The guy, or woman, who wrote the ‘eye witness’ report wasn’t even there and it didn’t happen as it was reported.

During the period I was reading the magazine though, Time-Life was instrumental in creating the culture of the early Sixties.  The two magazines made the art scene of New York.  That’s where they published.  While billed as a national magazine it was essentially New York in its outlook not much different from the New Yorker in that respect.   Andy Warhol might have lived and died a cypher without the fabulous exposure, or advertising if you will, of Time-Life.  Life even put Ed Sanders of the Fugs on their cover.  How’s that for diving deep into the barrel?  Life even gave a photo essay to Edie Sedgwick, one of Warhol’s drama queens.  Unknown beyond the Hudson but making the scene in New York City.

And Now, Vol. 189 #4, 2017 this pitiful relic fighting for its life attempts to make an exhibition of snit a movement.  Given that the mag was fiction in 1965 what is its coverage of the President likely to be?

I’ll let you know as soon as I read a couple articles.  I’ve already looked over the Chevy and Kellogg’s ads.  Never bought either and now I never will. Boycott everything that smells of the other half.  A pity though that after a hundred years it is a small distance from now until Time must have a stop.

Tuesday, February 2, 2016

Did Trump And Sanders Lose Iowa?


Did Trump And Sanders Lose Iowa?

by

R.E. Prindle

 

Iowa is over; the dirty tricks have begun.  Did Trump and Sanders lose Iowa?  Or was the key who counted the ballots?  Let us look at the Democratic race first.  Did Sanders lose a contest in which the vote was as tight as it gets?  One remembers the Nixon-Kennedy contest in Illinois back in 1960 that was shamelessly fraudulent.  As indicator of the same in Iowa is that a very large precinct was kept in reserve so that after the ballots were counted it could throw the election to Clinton when declared.  Sort of an ace in the hole.

Here in Oregon where I live (Portland, Multnomah County), we have two ‘heavily Liberal’ precincts that are always declared last even though we have mail-in ballots and the results can be known instantly.  These two precincts can turn any election around no matter how many votes are needed.  For instance in the first of the homosexuals bills it was losing and lost 60-40 in the State outside Multnomah County.  The bill was trailing 52-48 with all the ballots accounted for in Multnomah County save those two very, very Liberal precincts.  When they were declared the homosexual bill passed 60-40 in the whole State including Multnomah County.  Now, my friends, that is what is called veritably, an ace in the hole.

So, the withheld precinct in Iowa is apparently a universal trick and we may assume that the Insiders were playing it.  Therefore I conclude that Sanders probably beat Clinton. 

Now let us go the Republican side.  Trump was leading in every single poll usually by double digits.  That toad Rubio was way down the polls, still he is the Insider water boy; they want him at any price.  As Stalin said it’s counting the votes that wins not casting the ballots.  So let us say the precinct trick might not work for a second time in this election allowing Cruz to beat Trump, even if it was used that would still leave Rubio far back in the pack with no delegates awarded.  For future elections he had to shine better than that.  He must have delegates.

Now, early balloting will give a pretty fair indication of final results.  Let us say then, that as polls indicated, Trump was leading Cruz by three or four percent.  Before the first results were posted then 5-6 percent of Trumps votes were transferred to Rubio bringing him within an ace of beating Trump while giving Cruz a 3.5 percent lead that was maintained.

Along with some other commenters I find Rubio’s 23 percent of the vote not only incredible but impossible.  The only thing we can be certain of is that Rubio can really carry that bucket.

The Insiders are so bitter toward Trump that in listing candidate results at least one showed Cruz first, Rubio second and Trump third.  We can be reasonably certain, for myself certain, that the votes were jimmied to take the election from Trump.  We can expect more in the future.

The trick now may be to keep Trump from getting the delegates necessary so that the election can be brokered at the convention.  Thus it can be assured the Waterboy is the candidate.  That will also mean that the election is a null and the Democrats will do a cakewalk to January.  Obsession is not a political virtue as the Insiders will learn.

Now is the time for all good men to come to the aid of their party.  Now is to time to create an uproar.  Remember these guys are all lawyers; they know all the dirty tricks, how and when to use them.  They know how to conceal their crimes.  Just so, we know how to expose them.  Shine a light, shine a light.  Show them no mercy.

Tuesday, August 4, 2015

A Review: The Life And Times Of Andrew Loog Oldham


A Review

The Life And Times Of

Andrew Loog Oldham

Of The Rolling Stones

by

R.E. Prindle

Oldham, Andrew Loog: Stoned, 2001, Vintage

Oldham, Andrew Loog:  2Stoned, 2003, Vintage

Oldham, Andrew Log:  Stone Free, 2012, Escargot Books

Oldham, Andrew Loog:  Rolling Stoned, 2013, Because Entertainment

 

-1-

Who Is Andrew Loog Oldham

For those who know this introduction will be superfluous, but for those who don’t know this essay will be an introduction to a man who through his exploitation of the Rolling Stones was an important influence on that memorable Sixties decade.  Perhaps moreso than is commonly thought.

Out on the consuming edge of the record industry in those days the name Andrew Loog Oldham seemed to be displayed as prominently on the record covers as The Rolling Stones themselves.  In the early days Andrew Loog Oldham might be known before Mick or Keith and certainly the other members of the band.  Yet Oldham wasn’t in the band so who was he?  And then records were issued bearing the name The Andrew Loog Oldham Orchestra.  Where did he get that name Loog anyway?  And just as suddenly the name Andrew Loog Oldham disappeared but the Stones remained.  Who was this guy anyway?

In those days when information could be gathered, if at all, at the proverbial snail’s pace, things have changed today when I can make a few clicks and see Andrew moving and hear him speaking; actually see his fabulous style of dressing as he described it.  In addition he has written two thousand pages describing himself more or less in full.  Now we can know who Andrew Loog Oldham is and what his relationship to the Rolling Stones was.

Andrew’s, we’ll take a familiar approach throughout, great tragedy is that his fated life opportunity showed up too early.  He was only nineteen in 1963 when the opportunity that few ever get a chance to grasp showed up on his front doorstep, so to speak.  That was the appearance of the London music group The Rolling Stones.  In order to come into his inheritance as he was under twenty-one and couldn’t legally act in his own name, Andrew had to find a surrogate to act in his stead.  Chance provided an old reprobate by the name of Eric Easton.  Eric was a plodder who had served as an organist at the resort town of Blackpool while representing two or three nondescript acts of which one was the redoubtable Mrs. Miller.  While not a household name at the present time Mrs. Miller whose act consisted of being an amusingly terrible singer, had her moment in the spotlight both in England and the US.  She did have records released and they did sell no matter how modestly.

Easton was slow on the uptake not realizing the cultural shift that was taking place with the arrival of the Beatles and would have been incapable of managing the Stones without Andrew’s grasp of the changing cultural situation of the Sixties.  However he was not too slow to understand money in the bank of which he made off with a fortune or two much to the chagrin of both Andrew and the Rolling Stones.

Andrew’s four volumes are records of his vicissitudes being a young Lancelot reaching for the Grail.  Andrew was green, he was.  In ordinary times he would have been cleaned and discarded never to be heard of again but these were the Sixties and not normal times.  Even in failure the times conspired to make Andrew comfortable by luxury standards, perhaps even rich, but not filthy rich.  The marvelous Sixties did that for so many people most of them undeserving.  By undeserving I mean takers with nothing to offer.

Well, this isn’t a tale about justice but one of the Sixties in which the whole concept of justice disappeared like the vapor from a nuclear plant.  As an extra special gift of the times to Andrew he is today still alive and kicking having passed the seventh decade barrier at 71 years of age.  The good didn’t necessarily die young just the unlucky.  Andy is lucky.

He can be seen introducing his third book, Stone Free, at his Face Book site for those interested.  Always the fashion plate he is a dapper impression of his hero Phil Spector, pointy nose and all.  His hair is becomingly combed back on the sides making for a very presentable 71 year old young at heart gentleman.  He wears a mint green light jacket and shirt, something of a cross between a butch femme and an effete hommy, but altogether passable.  He projects a pleasant aura indicating little brain damage from his very legendary drug use.  A look at him shows how Alex, the chief Droog of A Clockwork Orange may have looked as he made the passage from rough youth to a more dignified mature, the word ‘old’ does not apply to one like Andrew, or I might vainly say, myself.

-II-

Andrew Finds That Life Has It Hazards

I don’t really envy the English kids that came along after my birth year of 1938.  The war years were tough enough but then the long years of national poverty after 1945 must have been grating.  I can’t imagine a life without candy that the lads and lasses had to endure for nine long years.  In my paradise in the US candy bars in those days at a nickel were monstrous.  I couldn’t eat a whole one at one sitting.  Stuffed at less than a half.  Andrew must have known hardship and suffered horribly.

The war babies, mostly from ’42 and ’43 can have no memory of the war but the long ten years of rationed everything gave a cast to their psyches.  When the war babies grew up and became rockers they laid out long tables of delicacies and then ignored them letting them go to waste.  The pain was forgotten but lived on in the subconscious.  Andrew was conceived in ’43 and popped out in ’44.  Tragic for Andy, he should have born in ’42 and been 21 in ’63.

His was a special case.  In a country in which the majority of men were US soldiers, normality had flown out the door in ’43;  his mother not unnaturally took up with one.  It was a tough time.  Andrew’s father, Andrew Loog, was a soldier from Texas. He had a wife and son back there.  As a younger man I applied my moral training to people in Andrew Loog’s situation and condemned them but now hopefully wiser and certainly older I understand.  As a soldier in an active war Andrew Loog could die at any time so why not a little happiness?  Perhaps he cringed at violating his peacetime morals.  In any event as a member of a bomber crew he didn’t even make it across the Channel just after impregnating Andrew’s mother with his future self.  Big Andy hoped he’d dodge the bullets but as it didn’t happen at least it resolved what would have been a difficult emotional situation.

Big Andy hadn’t married Little Andy’s mother so that made little Andy the  bastard son of a bigamous father.  Having been in the orphanage myself being a bastard means nothing to me.  But society is unkind to bastards and orphans.  Having read all four of Little Andy’s reminiscences more than once it seems clear that his bastardy left its mark on Andy.  He had stormy relationship with his mother, perhaps beating her frequently while in his late teens.  She said he did but he says he can’t remember doing it while it would have been wholly outside his character, however, he definitely admits booting her out of a moving car while she was pregnant.  Those temper tantrums he had!

Possibly Andrew blames his mother for bringing him into the world as a bastard.  He shouldn’t, better a bastard than not at all.  Now, Andy discusses this from different angles constantly in his memoirs so my purpose here is to try to put his mind at ease.

The war had a devastating effect on social life especially in England which was merely a staging area for US forces in those years.  Churchill was merely a stooge of Roosevelt’s.   Just as in WWI a million or English men died or were incapacitated meaning that just that many women were condemned to spinsterhood or whatever.  Oh, I know that the dyke Gloria Steinem said a woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle but Steinem was an unnatural woman.  Andrew’s mother wasn’t.

As she gave Andy his father’s full name, that is Andrew Loog, I’m guessing that given the times and circumstances she really loved the guy so she named what surely must have been her darling Andrew, Loog, tacking on her name Oldham.  Maybe I’m sentimental, but coming from the orphanage, I find that touching.

Now, Celia Oldham, for that was her name, was a Jewish girl.  Andrew Loog I’m guessing from his name was probably of Dutch ancestry.  Probably a Protestant but possibly a Sephardic Jew.  Andy may know but I don’t.

So, here Celia Oldham is post-war  with the little tyke, Andy, and no husband or father for his child.  There is a massive shortage of men after the GIs clear out so while Celia is attractive the mating pool is small.  Celia did the next best thing and probably with Andy in mind did it well; she became the mistress of a wealthy man while including Andy in the equation.  Not only was he wealthy he was a decent man who maintained her and Andy as a second family.  No kidding.  He kept them in relative style while putting Andy through the public schools. (Public is private in England.)

What more could a single mother with no prospects do?  Perhaps Andrew’s schoolmates were typical louts and ragged him continuously for being a bastard.  I know that in the orphanage during and after was hell on wheels but that was the hand that was dealt and I had to play it; four deuces, trey high.  Could have been worse.  I’m not saying my psychology wasn’t affected and as Andy tells it his sure as hell was.

My point is that life being what it is he should be grateful for a loving mother who made the very best of a bad situation.

-III-

Lost In The Ozone Without A Parachute

As noted Celia Oldham was Jewish and while Andrew says that the religion didn’t play a big part in their lives nevertheless the mother is the culture bearer.  The culture she passed on to Andrew must have been Jewish.

Judaism is an identitarian faith.  To be Jewish is to separate oneself from the ‘gentiles’, from all others, the rest of mankind.  As the US Zionist Samuel Untermyer was to proclaim on nationwide radio in opposition to Hitler’s claim that the Germans were the master race:  We, the Jews, are the aristocrats of the earth.  In other words, Drop this master race crap because you ain’t it.

Thus in a country nominally English, as Andrew describes his youth it was lived in an entirely Jewish community.  As he describes it he associated with no one who wasn’t Jewish.  Like the Jewish Bob Dylan he is always surrounded by Jews.  As he set out to find his way in life he chose the record business as his métier.  I think Andrew wanted to be where it was happening and as his antennae flickered about sensing for that taste of honey he perceived that his future lay in records.  The entire music business if not the entertainment business was in the control of his fellow Jews.

Andy took his sense of reality from movies.  There are a couple influential films he refers to frequently.  One is the American film The Sweet Smell Of Success which however is about two Jews, the one based on the newspaper columnist Walter Winchell and the other his sidekick and the other is the British film Espresso Bongo.  Naturally I obtained both movies and have checked them out.  Also naturally at this age and distance I do not see them through nineteen year old eyes.

In Sweet Smell Andrew concentrates on the character Sidney Falco played by Tony Curtis.  Andy identifies with Falco as a hustler in US terms and a Wide Boy in English terms.  Thus Andrew identifies himself as a Wide Boy.  Falco was an unsavory character, a stooge of his boss J.J. Hunsecker played by the repulsive Burt Lancaster.  Curtis played the role well.  One laments Andrew’s fascination with the character.

Espresso Bongo is a pretty decent rock film.  It takes place I believe at the actual legendary 2i coffee house in which English rock was centered.  The film puts you back in the day.  The star is Andy’s all time hero Laurence Harvey who also turns in a stellar role.  Harvey has that downtrodden hang dog look that carried David Janssen through the US The Fugitive TV series so well.  As I lived in a constant depression until I was forty I knew the look and it suited me well.  I identified with both Janssen and Harvey.  Harvey was one of my favorite actors too.  Depression and Laurence Harvey go together

In Espresso Bongo Harvey plays a role of a hapless manager of a singer who gets away from him much as Andrew himself would let the Stones slip away from him.

All the managers were Jewish and all exploited their ‘boys.’  Perhaps the most famous of these, what the English amusingly call manipulators, was Larry Parnes.  As England emerged from rationing in the fifties and the rebuilding of the infrastructure destroyed by the bombing of WWII created a sort of false prosperity those young people who survived the bombing and rationing were coming of age.  The war had caused a generational break.  Young England began creating an England in their own image.  They rejected the pre-war England of their elders.  It was a world they never made.  Of course neither had their elders.

Parnes sensing the direction began creating an image of recording stars to gratify youthful yearnings, especially of young girls.  He found god looking boys giving them great stage names such Georgie Fame, Billy Fury, Tommy Steele, Marty Wilde, Vince Eager and my favorite, Lance Fortune.  There can be but little question that he exploited, not to say cheated, his ‘boys.’  Parnes was both Jewish and homosexual, a killer combination that dominated the industry.

For instance this about Vince Eager from the Widipedia entry for Larry Parnes:

Vince Eager began to wonder why he had never received any record royalties.  ‘You’re not entitled to any.’  Larry Parnes told him.  ‘But it says in my contract that I am.’  Eager protested.  ‘It also says I have power of attorney over you, and I’ve decided you’re not getting any.’  Parnes replied.

Parnes was of course both Jewish and homosexual.  As he had many of these performers on salary he was cleaning up.  Of course he had merely plucked them off the streets and set them up designing their acts, teaching them stage presence, choosing repertoires etc., they may have been little more than employees.  However they did have ‘contracts’ although as the above quote indicates they were more than one sided making the contractees little more than slaves

The whole record scene was exploitative and homosexual.  When London’s leading criminals horned in on the record scene, the Kray brothers, Reg and Ron they were Jewish and homosexual while their older brother Charlie who was straight with no police record managed the business end of the record racket.

As Andrew was coming up through the years this was the situation he perceived.  While he couldn’t have broken into the Parnes style star system once the Beatles hit and the emphasis switched to groups an opening appeared.  Parnes who had his star system going disdained the group thing leaving that open so that the Beatles manager Brian Epstein slid through the opening developing his group and star roster dislodging Parnes.

The market had expanded exponentially since the fifties when Parnes developed his system.  Andrew, then, aquiver with the possibilities had his eye out for the new Beatles.  He was told about the group working in Richmond called The Rollin’ Stones.  He went, he saw, he signed.

-IV-

As Andrew freely acknowledges by his late teens he was experiencing mental problems so I am merely discussing what he has disclosed.  He says he was suffering from manic depression.  Probably so, but he must also have blended in a little schizophrenia.  The stresses of his childhood were taking possession of his mind.  I know whereof I speak.  This combined with his disastrous choices of role models that would be joined in 1962 by his reading of Anthony Burgess’ A Clockwork Orange issued that year made him something of a phenom.  Burgess, there’s another sicko.

A Clockwork Orange  Boy, there was a Satanic book if there ever was one.  The book took a certain mentality by storm, organized it and gave it expression.  Its history is intimately connected with Jagger and Richards.

As influential in its limited sphere as the book was, Stanley Kubrick’s 1971 movie was perhaps the most destructive Satanic movie ever produced.  It set the tone for the years that followed.  The movie just tore a certain type of mind apart; Alexes by the dozen, nay, hundreds, thousands moved roved out every night after it was shown, snatching girls off the street.  Clockwork was seconded by the movie The Collector that appeared about the same time.  The book of Clockwork was less powerful but would still influence Andrew and through him Jagger and Richards.  The other Stones led separate lives not involved with Mick, Keith and Andrew’s antics.

So Andrew’s brain is in a complete turmoil as he tries to find his way through the maze of life.  Influenced by the real Larry Parnes and the fictional Johnny Jackson for a modus operandus he went in search of an act to manage and found his way to The Rolling Stones.  Having discovered his mother lode, having a clear vision of what to do he was stymied by being only nineteen in shark infested waters without a cage.

Short of twenty-one he had to team up with a shark.  As he was renting an office from an inoffensive appearing shark, Eric Easton, he convinced Eric to essentially through himself represent the Stones.  Eric may have been a pretty sincere stodge but he was no fool when it came to his self-interest.  He may have been close to a bottom feeder but that didn’t mean he hadn’t learned most of the tricks of the Great Whites.  The ins and outs of contracts presented no problems to him while dizzy Andy and the naïve Mick and Keith probably hadn’t considered the existence of contracts.  Give them a pen and dotted line under their name and they would sign.  But, really, it was never a fair fight.

As Pretty Boy Floyd the Outlaw is alleged by Woody Guthrie to have said:  Some will rob you with a six gun; some will use a fountain pen.  Oh boy!  Those contracts.  The advantages are all on the side of the contractors; contractees beware.  As Larry Parnes said:  I’ve also got your Power Of Attorney and I say you don’t get anything.  Revoking a Power Of Attorney is simple but how many amateurs think of it.

 

But legally contracts don’t really matter unless money is involved.  There wouldn’t be a lot of money for a few years but when there was Andrew and the Stones not unsurprisingly got the bum’s rush.

Andrew’s brain was a regular pinwheel especially as in addition to his youth and mental condition he imbibed drugs freely.  If your brain’s not already a mess drugs will certainly paint it black.

Even though Andrew chose poor role models he got the drift of what had to be done to make stars of random stones.  Very few performers, they only become artists after success, know how to get from point A to point B and beyond.  That’s where the manager, if he’s any good, comes in; he recognizes the possibilities of the raw talent and nurses them through the actual birth process.  Believe me: this is worth a lot.

It is somewhat like Larry Parnes.   He sensed what the teen public wanted and rather than wait for it to come to him, he created it from the rawest material and then took more than the lion’s share or the benefits.  But then, he also inadvertently gave his ‘boys’ lives.  There were actual careers awaiting them after Parnes had scraped off the cream.

The question then is were the Stones too talented to fail?  I don’t think so.  Not without Andrew to shape them and point the direction anyway.  Andrew couldn’t sing or play but he could turn dross into gold not too much differently than what Larry Parnes had done with his ‘boys.’  The Stones were the evidence.

The key to the Stones’ success was when they learned to write songs.  Would they have learned to write songs if Andrew hadn’t literally forced them into it?  I would answer with a clear cut negative.  The Stones playing nothing but crappy old Chicago blues and would have sank without a trace.  In that sense Brian Jones insistence on playing ‘pure’ R&B would have led to dismal failure.  But then, maybe that is what Brian wanted.

Let me point out here that in the US all this crappy old blues stuff was unlistened to but by a very small minority.  Nor would the stuff ever have gained popularity without the English influence.  Even today very few listen to that junk.  ‘I woke up this morning, lordy, lordy…’

While Mick, Keith and Brian were boggling their minds concentrating on the ‘music’ Andrew realized that teen age girls (the Parnes influence again) weren’t going to get too enthused about grizzled old Negroes complaining about how their mama wouldn’t drop down.  Does anyone think sprightly young teenagers looking for a good time are going to wallow in anybody else’s misery?  Not likely.

So Andrew directed his ‘boys’ toward a more pop sound alienating the ever insistent ‘purist’ Brain from Mick and Keith.  Bill and Charlie were pretty much just boys in the band.

Thus faced with the overwhelming competition of the Beatles, the lovable Mop Tops, Andrew made the fatal choice of turning Mick and Keith into his criminal Droogs, taking the low road and leaving the high road to the Beatles.  Alex in A Clockwork Orange called the members of his gang Droogs.  In a sense Andrew tried to make the Stones Andrew and the Droogs.

All very well but as Andrew got a little money his brain went from a pinwheel on a stick to real fireworks where pinwheels shoot flames.  His brain was really in a whirl.  He was passing out at parties.   He became self-absorbed.  He became interested in other projects that took his time, setting the Stones more or less adrift.  His protégé Mick was no fool while being a quick learner.  Why, Mick said to himself after becoming successful should I pay all these dufuses for what I can do myself.  He couldn’t of course do it himself but it seemed like it at the time.  He slammed the door in Andrew’s face.

-V-

Where’s Strength And Wisdom When You Need It?

The four years Andrew was with the Stones could have been a couple three or four lifetimes for the changes Andrew was forced through.  Success is rightly called the bitch goddess.  You’ll never know until you’ve said hello.  The time from when he and Eric Easton signed the Stones to the time Andrew sold the Stones out to that Devil In Disguise Allen Klein nearly destroyed Andy.  Allen Klein wasn’t in that much of a disguise either.

The trajectory of Andy’s career was so rapid it was hard to follow.  It wasn’t so much that he bit off more than he could chew as that he tried to chew without biting it off.  First things first, Andrew.

Obsessed with A Clockwork Orange he moved in with Mick and Keith where he gave them lessons in Droogism.  Both were apt pupils.  This is difficult to follow but his brain captured and sensing what seems to have been the book’s importance Andrew approached Burgess to buy the movie rights.  Burgess told him the rights had already been sold but he wouldn’t tell Andy to whom.

It turns out that the rights had been sold to David Bailey the fashion photographer who had made Mick his ‘mate’ and possibly bought the rights jointly with Mick.  If so, one wonders where Mick got the money.  Sometime in 1963 the pair split with their rights to New York City to interest Andy Warhol in a film project.  This also is rather remarkable because Andy was not yet that prominent while he hadn’t made any kind of stir with his puerile movies as yet.  Somehow the rights passed to Warhol and finally to whoever acquired them to make Kubrick’s movie.

Warhol did make a film based on the book although the connection seems tenuous while not being worth watching.  More importantly Alex and his Droogs had a profound effect on members of Warhol’s group.  The group left Warhol’s atelier, the Factory, at night on their predations a la Alex and his Droogs.  I believe Bob Dylan is referring to them in this lyric from his 1965 song Desolation Row:

Now at midnight all the agents and the superhuman crew

Come out and roundup everyone that knows more than they do

Then they bring them to the [F]actory were the heart attack machine

Is strapped across their shoulders...

For some reason both Oldham and Bailey thought Mick was the perfect Alex while the Stones could be the Droogs.  It didn’t work out but Mick and Warhol bonded like superglue.  They would be very close friends until Andy died in 1987 when Mick flew to Pittsburgh for the funeral.  Not only did the Stones practice Black and Blue at Warhol’s Montauk compound but Andy did two or three covers for them most notably Sticky Fingers.  As a result of Mick and Warhol’s friendship the Stones always had the key to Greenwich Village.

So Andrew lost out on his bid for A Clockwork Orange.  But then his brain racing a mile a minute and wanting to be a record magnate he founded Immediate Records.  Not one for details Immediate stretched him pretty thin.  I know we’re talking ancient history here, or at least ancient technology, so the reader will have to let go of the present to imagine the impact of Immediate Records on the cognoscenti of the time.  I modestly include myself in that number.

Andrew was on the far edge of flamboyant; his ideal Larry Harvey who he met about this time thought him arch camp so Andy in his eye makeup and fey manners must have cut a startling figure.  A lot of people thought he was queer and not just ambiguous.  The Immediate label was an astounding pink, almost fluorescent seemingly confirming homosexual tendencies.  It got your attention but in those days you almost had to apologize for buying a record with such a label.  His covers were all good, in a class with the best and perhaps….  He signed and produced a lot of very good groups.  The label’s production values may have prevented him from having any smashes, at least I don’t remember any.

I’m sure few will remember the Nice or even have heard of them but the first Nice was a pretty good record while the members went on to greater things.  The sound wasn’t as immediate as it could have been.  I worked it in my store but couldn’t get anywhere with it.

In those days British imports were all the rage on the West Coast while US records were despised.  When I first went to England in the early seventies I was astounded to find the fans waiting for American pressings because they were thought better.  Oh, I said, how strange.  What makes them better?  In so many words they said production values.  In still other words they thought they had more immediacy.  So Andy’s Immediate records lacked immediacy.  I thought they were great anyway and they were always the first of the new releases I auditioned.

But, the devil is in the details, and Andrew wasn’t much on details so he went broke although he did hang in there until 1970.  Not a bad record for an independent.    He doesn’t tell us what happened to the masters but they must have been worth something.

By that time Andy was not only deep into drugs he was legendary.  In Stoned and 2Stoned he has some great descriptions of being out of it if you like that sort of thing.  His first two books were based on the oral biography method of Jean Stein’s biography of Edie Sedgwick called Edie.  In that book acquaintances were interviewed and then cut and pasted to form a continuous narrative.  Knocked out by ‘Edie’ Andrew did the same with the exception that he commented on the interviewees’ comments.

Rolling Stoned begins in a straight autobiographical style then begins to wander and meander.  Andrew is always a good read but unless you want to read three different four hundred page books covering the same ground with variations I would recommend his most recent, Rolling Stoned, or perhaps 2Stoned.  Still, I don’t mind…

Sunday, June 29, 2014

1964- The Beatles Have Landed


1964- The Beatles Have Landed


by
R.E. Prindle

Beatles At Idlewild


 

The mystery of the Sixties explosion is a troubling one. Why would a simplistic musical group touch off the post-war changing of the guard and why at that time? How could a mere recording group of four very young men have such a profound effect on culture for, really, the century?

The detonators of the Sixties bomb came from a narrow time span of two or three years on either side of 1942-43. And they happened in England. The fuse was in that country while the explosion took place in the United States.

The English age cohort born in the center of the world war missed the war but grew up in the privations of 1945 to 1954 and the slow recovery of the fifties. This had a profound effect on their psyches.

The extreme Cold War tensions of the period from 1945 to 1960 also had their effect. The ending of the draft or what the English called National Service in 1960 meant that those born in ‘42 and ‘43 were relieved of duty. The could get on with their lives.

In the US the use of the Atomic Bomb against ‘the little yellow people’ of Japan had a racially devastating effect. Never mind that the Japanese started the war with the surprise attack on Pearl Harbor. The big bad White Americans had used the ultimate weapon against the defenseless little colored people. It wasn’t an act of war; it has been characterized as racist.

Then in 1949 the Soviet Union got the Bomb. This fact alone touched off a low grade hysteria. Americans were in panic mode for the next ten years. School kids were taught to get under their desks and cover their heads as though that were some sort of defense against atomic annihilation. Imagine the lesson that entered their minds. Everyone’s nerves were quivering constantly. The great panic, the persistent latent hysteria was epitomized by the 1964 film Dr. Strangelove: How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Love The Bomb. By some strange trick of memory I am convinced I saw the movie in 1958 when I was in the Navy. I can ‘remember’ the guys I saw it with and I have to convince myself that imdB isn’t wrong.

And then one of the biggest disasters ever to hit the United States hit: John F. Kennedy was elected president. Three years of torture followed. Three long years of sitting on the edge of our chairs wondering not if but when the idiot was going to pull the plug. His assassination was almost guaranteed the day he was elected.

Waiting For The Electrician Or Someone Just Like Him

-Firesign Theater

Like some few others I have wondered if the extraordinary success of the blasting cap of the explosion, that is the Beatles, wasn’t some sort of conspiracy. I just couldn’t figure out how such an amazing thing as four dips from Liverpool England could become earth shakers without plotters involved somewhere and making it happen. Then after writing my essay The Beatles: An Attempt To Explain The Paul Is Dead Controversy an explanation occurred to me.

The Beatles were the perfect storm caused by the tense nerve wracking eighteen years from 1955. People were wound too tight and needed release.

All of the storm elements were there waiting to come together. They didn’t have to but if one or two was missing the Beatles would never have happened. It has been said that in life there is a tide that if caught ensures success but if missed all fails. The Beatles caught that tide and rode it before imploding in the late Sixties.

Lennon, McCartney and Harrison were the right age, complementing each other perfectly. Jettisoning Best and Sutcliffe, then replacing Best with Starr was a master move. Ringo did not clash with the front line.

Then the war had created a situation in Hamburg Germany that provided a tough, hard proving ground for aspiring British bands. The Beatles learned to play and please a diverse audience.

Returning to England without direction or management that might lead to a career the perfect manager in the form of Brian Epstein appeared. He himself knew nothing of managing bands but perhaps believing he had a tiger by the tail he threw himself into it battering down the doors until a reluctant EMI sent the group over to their perfect producer who knew what to do with them- George Martin.

Epstein got them touring and the public liked their records. They were a phenom in England but England is a small place. Of course no one realized that Lennon and McCartney would be the greatest song writing team of the century, who could have predicted it? No one could have planned that. The question for Epstein was how to capitalize the English fame.

The final element of the storm fell into place. Epstein booked the band for a Swedish tour. While the girls were storming the boys at the Swedish airport an amazed American TV producer who happened to be in Sweden at that airport watched in amazement. Always on the qui vive for an astonishing new act Ed Sullivan walked over to chat up the boys. He liked what he saw and booked the band for the beginning of 1964. How probable was that?

How probable was it that Kennedy would be assassinated toward the end of 1963 to validate their arrival?

Ed was convinced but in the US if we had heard of the Beatles it was with a shrugged, so what. Big in England? Who cared? The closest the English had come to rock was Tommy Steele and what a laugh he was. Not that funny though. No need for a repeat.

Actually the Beatles had been offered around the US record companies with no takers other than the small obscure VeeJay label. In 1963 the JV record had disappeared without a trace. Nothing there was there? I didn’t think so. I Want To Hold Your Hand? Right. Some sexual revolution, hey?

Ed Sullivan was a master showman no doubt about that. Plus he remembered the sensational ratings Elvis had given him. When the news of the Sullivan booking reached EMI they notified their US subsidiary Capitol Records. Capitol tried to retrieve the VJ recordings but failing that they just rode over them.
Ed And The Boys


Now the big promotion began: The Beatles Are Coming, The Beatles Are Coming. Well, OK, we’re waiting. The big 707 jet plane was still new. There weren’t even docking facilities yet, the plane just parked out on the tarmac and passengers debarked down stairs walking to the terminal.

It is said that Capitol recruited a bunch of girls for the arrival and set them screaming. Probably so. Some genius got the TV cameras to record the Beatles’ arrival on what must have been a slow news day. No English band had ever made it in the US. Even the Rolling Stones arriving a few months after the Beatles flopped on their tour.

The Beatles apparently expected nothing but were greeted by batteries of newsmen with microphones and a thousand screaming girls. Hey ho! Welcome to America boys. You can see the bewildered, amazed, bemused expressions on their faces. Very cool. Just the right effect. Even if you didn’t like their music, it failed to impress me, you did like John, Paul and Ringo, George not so much. General nods of approval next morning.

And the screaming girls on the Sullivan show! What the hell was going on? Who’d ever seen that before? Something was happening here but we didn’t know what it was, did we? And so history was made. The tide was rolling in. the Beatles became the cynosure of the world. The first world wide band. This particular transition to a new world was made. But why?

I think that when Kennedy was assassinated it broke the continuity between the post-WWII world and the new. After Kennedy’s death there was a sort of void, a period of dithering. Quo vadis?

When the Beatles landed it broke the spell, released the pent up hysteria of eighteen years that spilled out all over the Sixties. The tide came in and washed our sins away.

It need never have happened but it could and did. The perfect storm raged. All the elements of the storm had come together in the proper order.

A precursor storm may have been the Twist phenomenon but most of the elements were missing for it to release the pent up emotions although a part of the hysteria yearning for release flashed through.

While the notion of a conspiracy is attractive, we all love a good conspiracy, perhaps even desirable, I don’t think it’s there. It was just the possible that coagulated and happened. No one was prepared it was all improvisation after the Sullivan show.

 
I Want To Hold Your Hand





Monday, April 28, 2014

A Review: Part IV, Lick Me by Cherry Vanilla

Great Groupies Of The Sixties Series

A Review

Part IV

Lick Me by Cherry Vanilla



by

R.E. Prindle
Kathie Dorritie- Cherry Vanilla
 

Time And The River

One of the more vexing problems of biographical writing is that of Time and the River. According to Einstein Time is the Fourth Dimension and the River according to all the most august novelists is the course of one’s life. Marcel Proust managed to get both constructs into his novel In Remembrance of Time Past but I want to consider them separately here.

Not to be cantankerous but as to Einstein’s designation of Time as another dimension I cry: au contraire. Einstein was not the firstto consider the nature of Time, nor, I hope, the last. In fact not the last as here I am. I have nothing new to add for in this day and age the table is already set. Before Einstein, quite some time before, the social construct of Time had been a topic of dinner talk. There is some evidence, for instance, that Einstein was influenced by the English novelist H.G. Wells. Wells himself was just discussing a topic that had been under consideration for a decade or two.

Back before Time began when life was just a continuum punctuated by obvious things like seasons man, in his primeval primitiveness, wasn’t overly concerned with the passage of Time, probably didn’t even think about it. Certainly not as it is now understood. But needing to know such things as the timing of bird and animal migrations our ancestors looked around for a convenient starting point to calculate those appearances. It was there, as it had been before this beginning of Time.

Nothing was more obvious than that there was a tremendous war waged annually (a foreign concept at the time) between Light and Darkness. These two items may be the beginning of man’s social construct of Time. For half the period the Prince of Darkness seemed to keep driving the Prince of Light back toward extinction as the days grew shorter; then miraculously when the days were shortest, nights longest and cold increasing, the Prince of Light drove the Prince of Darkness back. The Unconquerable Sun had won another round.

In Greek mythology this battle was portrayed as Castor, the savior, shooting an arrow toward the summer solstice while his twin who is portrayed as a boxer fought a tough battle backtracking across the ring until Castor came to his rescue with his bow and arrow.

Gradually it dawned on our ancestors that this two part battle was a year, hitherto unrecognized. Time of a rough sort came into existence. Having pinpointed the shortest day in the year and after having discovered counting to a hundred or more our ancestors could count from the Sun’s victory (December 21, by our reckoning) to the returning avian migrants and other beasts to prepare themselves for some fresh food.

Our Old Ones created some marvelous prognosticators like Stonehenge further developing the concept of Time. To make things easier they made rough divisions of the day defined by the place of the Unconquerable Sun in the sky. Running through inventions like sun dials and water clocks we eventually arrived at the stop watch and marvel of marvels- the Atomic clock.

By the end of mid-nineteenth century then the burning question was how to define Time. It had become complicated apparently. Was there an objective entity that is corporeal or was Time just an intellectual construct to manage our daily and annual affairs which we had reduced to hours, minutes and seconds, today glorying in the nanosecond.

Until the birth of Jesus there was no convenient way in which to track the progression of years. Than a forward count began in the year one, which is actually tens of thousands of years after the prototype came into existence, until now we have arrived at 2014. In terms of negative numbers we can date back three or four thousand years historically and guess the rest.

That is all subjective time so the question is does objective Time, a Time that actually affects things exist? Wiser heads than Einstein’s existing before he gave his opinion answered no. Objective time did not exist. Camille Flammarion, a man as brilliant as Einstein in every way writing after 1860 demonstrated conclusively enough that Time had no objective existence.

Well, it might be said, people live for upwards of seventy years, isn’t that Time? No, that is the River. Everything has a beginning, a middle and end, a trinity. In living organisms the progression from beginning to end is the result of chemical reactions unaffected by an external agency such as Time.

Thus as with wine one has fresh new wine, mature wine at its peak and old wine going sour ending as vinegar. The difference between the first stage and the last is a series of chemical reactions. One confuses the issue when one refers to mature wine as aged- time had nothing to do with it, the method was chemical reactions occurring in sequence under conditions varying from poor to optimum.

So it is with the person. Development begins with conception comes to birth then follows a series of chemical changes and depending on chance and conditions the organism lives for perhaps a hundred year or maybe more. By years as a counting device one means revolutions of the Earth around the Sun. No Time involved. In former times years might have been expressed by the more primitive term summers. One lived seventy summers. Apparently those people had no concept of the year. Year being the more scientific embracing all the seasons rather than just summer.

Everything has a beginning, middle and end. This applies to political movements, styles and what have you. Although abstract things don’t have chemical reactions nevertheless their lifetimes follow a predictable course. If you are knowledgeable you can determine where in its life cycle a style or movement is.

I if have explained myself correctly I will now apply these concepts of Time and the River to the life of Cherry Vanilla or Kathie Dorritie as she known by her mother.

Kathie at this time is approaching the so-called age of reason, or thirty summers. She has led a wasted youth. Old acquaintances are giving up on her as her unsavory reputation precludes their associating with her. More and more she is sliding deeper into the netherworld of the lost souls of the Bohemian Village.

As ten or twelve years of younger fresher women have entered the river of life Kathie’s sexual desirability is waning. Chemical changes are altering her appearance. Never one to despair but now flailing about desperately seeking some driftwood on the river to keep her afloat she is recommended to Andy Warhol for a role in the London production of his play Pork. The play is beyond obscene, suitable for only the most degenerate while the female lead is degrading to the extreme. Who but the most desperate would have accepted it?
Andy


As this is the seventies Andy had died and been born again. Shot in 1968 by Valerie Solanas Andy had actually died on the operating table for a minute or two but was resuscitated. While famous as an artist Andy too had a terrible reputation. His atelier, the Silver Factory, his first, was shut down late in ‘67 when his lease was pulled probably because of his atrocious antics at the psychiatrists’ convention in January of ‘66.

He had just moved into the second factory when Valerie plugged him. While the Silver Factory had not been financially lucrative by 1968 Andy had been fortunate to have attracted some competent business oriented associates. Paul Morrissey had reorganized the film production to make it more commercial and profitable. Fred Hughes had set Andy on a portrait painting career that salvaged him financially.

Skillful associates such as Vincent Fremont who managed the financial end while Bob Colacello along with Hughes kept Andy on course although as flighty as ever, perhaps moreso being mentally affected by his near death experience. Andy kept an entourage of, shall we say, eccentrics while having shed the Silver Factory crew. So, in the seventies, if not actually more respectable, he was less objectionable.

Less is a relative term naturally as anyone who would produce Pork was not concerned with actual respectability. But times had changed, the River was murkier than ever. A few years earlier Andy would have been arrested for obscenity but now, in the seventies after A Clockwork Orange had been cinematized anything went. Deep Throat would be mainstream fare within a year or two.

Kathy appeared before Andy for an audition and, probably because there were no other applicants, was accepted. The play had already opened and closed far off Broadway so next stop London for its English premier.


This was a major turning point in Kathie’s life. Biologically she was transiting from youth to early middle age. The time is one of immense chemical reactions in the body as the track to death really begins. Although one might not feel it the period of growth or construction for the body has ended. Food becomes a fuel to maintain electricity rather than creating thus fewer calories are needed to sustain life. If you don’t cut back on caloric intake fat begins to accrue. You have to work harder to stay in the same place.

For the first time, at that age you can no longer pretend you are one with youth. Younger people appear different to yourself. A desperation seizes you if you haven’t begun to attain whatever success means to you. The future begins to look very bleak. Thus Andy’s offer of a nowhere role in his totally objectionable play seemed like a lifeline. However despite Andy’s wonderful reputation in Bohemia he was seen as a clown to the rest of society. Amusing but not to be taken seriously. Up to 1968 no one had profited from being associated with Andy with the possible exception of Gerard Malanga, Andy’s assistant and artistic double from the Silver Factory. Andy brutally cut Gerard loose sending him to Italy without adequate funds to get lost and abandoning him refused to send a ticket home.

As Gerard was as familiar with Andy’s methods as Andy himself he took the risk of screening a photo of Che Guevara and passing the screen off as a Warhol. It was in a way because of Gerard’s experience. At the very least it was a genuine Warhol-Gerard. Naturally no one could tell the difference. Gerard was successful in selling a few but rather than taking the money and getting the hell out he hung around long enough to be discovered. Repudiated by Andy he spent some time in an Italian jail for fraud limping back home after release.

Andy was not one for doing anything for anybody and the role of Amanda Pork was not a role to do anything positive for Kathie’s image, she now being known as Vanilla.

Just as the organism develops and declines so every cultural movement has its beginning, middle and end. As a cultural expression of the Depression and war baby generations Rock and Roll began in 1954 when Elvis began his ascent and Johnny Cash had returned from his Army tour of duty in Germany. From that beginning the records had developed and then crested sometime between 1966 and 1969.

The generation was coming of age, ready to move on to the next stage of life.

Actually the generation had reached its peak during the during the late sixties. The early baby boomers of the silver age, the seventies were entering into prominence but not with the universal acceptance of the two earlier generations. The seventies for the war babies was a period of greatest hits records, a rehash of the sixties, although a couple groups like Led Zeppelin held on but only through their 60s records as golden hits, classics, sold that well.

Fleetwood Mac who had existed in several configurations through the sixties and early seventies acquired Lindsay-Nicks as their front line and in a spectacular blaze of glory put a period to the rock and roll expression of the war baby generation. In fact the post-war world ended in 1978 when the war babies came of age.

Vanilla arrived in London just as the Punk explosion of those born in the mid to late fifties was about to disrupt the transmission belt to stardom of the war babies. The war baby crowd still ruled London and Vanilla was a war baby. Based on Warhol’s reputation that was probably bigger in London than New York the cast of Pork was the toast of London that summer. Their rehearsals over, the play, such as it was, was revealed.

Unless you were a pervert, a dedicated one, there really wasn’t anything in the play for you and little if you were. After the Warhol crowd had come and gone the audience dwindled to nothing. The actors were out of luck no longer toasts of the Hard Rock Café.

To top it off Vanilla had been as disillusioned with Warhol as Gerard Malanga had been. Having sacrificed whatever reputation she had by appearing in Andy’s abomination, at the opening night party Andy hadn’t even deigned to congratulate her, ignoring her completely, not even acknowledging her presence.

I would imagine Vanilla was completely devastated, even more than she indicates. Her big chance, her salvation was come and gone. That was it. She was now adrift in Europe with no direction home. The cast was given the option of a plane ticket to New York or the cash. With nothing to return to New York for Vanilla took the cash abandoning London for Paris until her scant funds ran out then returning to London.

But, wait a minute, all had not been lost. During her summer of glory as the toast of hip London, among others of the Rock royalty, she had met the baby boomer David Bowie and his spectacular wife, the ex-pat American, Angela. Angela had been impressed by Vanilla and Bowie always a marginal performer, was about to get as close to the center as he ever would. That would entail invading the US, New York, LA, all that glitter. Vanilla became useful because if she knew anything, she knew New York.

Thus we move along to Chapter V- Hot Times In The Old Town.