- Place – The World
- Time – 1960 – 2005
- Artists – Various
David Carradine – Fascinating? Maybe. Weird? Definitely
For the full story go to Stories
David Carradine was best known as an actor although he did dabble with a music career it would always be dwarfed by his acting abilities, his most famous role being Kwai Caine in the 1970s hit TV series, Kung Fu.
Although he worked constantly in television and movies nothing ever came close to his success as Kwai Caine.
He was no stranger to being arrested and was prosecuted for an assortment of offences, often related to substance abuse.
In 2003 and 2004 a new generation discovered Carradine through Quentin Tarantino’s Kill Bill movies.
In 2009 whilst in Bangkok working on the movie Stretch, Carradine was found dead in his hotel room, hanging by a rope in the room’s closet.
Getting to know the artist or maybe not
In 1974 I was only aware of Carradine through his big hit television show Kung Fu, certainly not as a singer songwriter.
So naturally I was very surprised when Jet Records booked the studio to record an album with him.
Having been a big fan of the TV show, to me he had star quality before I had even met him but this would soon erode, bit by bit as each session passed.
Usually after the first day or so of a recording session you would gain a rapport with the artist, this was not the case with David, even his producer was having difficulty conversing with him.
Sometimes you might ask him a question and get no response at all or he may answer with a completely unrelated assortment of words spoken in an uninterested monotone voice.
I remember him replying to a completely normal question with,
“Everyone’s three degrees” To this day I still have no idea what he was talking about but it certainly was Sheila Ferguson.
A session as strange as the artist
Although the sessions had an air of peculiarity, the most extreme was when David had asked the producer to book five session musicians comprising of a flute, violin, oboe, trumpet, and a saxophone.
When the musicians arrived, David sat at the piano and told everyone there would be no usual run through or rehearsal with this song, there would be one take and one take only.
Before we started recording, each instrument would be listened to individually to determine a correct recording level.
There was no written music for the session players to refer too and furthermore he refused to tell them what key it was in.
The idea was that once the multi-track was in record he would start to perform and the musicians should play whatever they felt.
The look of fear on the musician’s faces was a real picture to behold.
Four minutes of agony
The red light went on and the producer announced,
“Take one, the tape is running.”
David started playing and singing.
He was the only one in the studio that knew the song and the key, you could not imagine the cacophony that these instruments managed to achieve.
The next four minutes was excruciating, at one point the producer turned and said,
“He’s completely lost it.”
After what seemed like an eternity the last notes rang out from the piano and David turned to the producer and asked,
“How was it?”
In the politest voice he could muster he replied,
“Come in and have a listen.”
David and the musicians came into the control room.
Listening to the playback of the song was more agonising than when we were recording it.
Finally, the track finished and
Please go to Stories for how this madness ends
The Isle of Wight Festival 1970
Was a music festival held between 26 and 31 August 1970 at Afton Down, an area on the western side of the Isle of Wight in England Where an estimated 600,000 to 700,000 people attended.
The Who – Hells Angels and a Broken Drum Mic
For more I O W 1970 go to Bands, Pye Mobile
By Saturday the 29th of August the festival was well on its way.
There were many uncertainties of which bands were going to actually to appear.
The tension back stage between the organisers and artist about payments was growing.
This caused major unpredictability to running order of the day.
The Who begin and the problem starts.
The Who should have appeared on the Saturday evening but it was early on the Sunday morning before they started their set.
Within three or four minutes of the opening song Vic shouted to me that Keith Moon had hit the large tom drum mic and busted it.
He told me to get up on stage and get a mic on the drum.
I ran to the backstage entrance to find it guarded by several Hells Angels.
The primate situation
One of them, a six-foot longhaired neanderthal type character covered in leather and tattoos said to me,
“No one goes on stage while the band’s playing.”
I explained the problem but unfortunately it was not negotiable.
I rushed back to tell Vic that I couldn’t get to the stage due to the primate situation,
he yelled, “I don’t give a shit, get on the stage and get a mic on the tom”
I rushed to the back of the stage again to be greeted by the same mandrill who gave me the same grunts as before, enhanced with a
“Now Fuck Off.”
I ran back to explain to Vic there was no way I could get on the stage.
I was to become close friends with Vic over the next nineteen years and this would be one of the only times I would ever see him really angry or hear him raise his voice.
He screamed,
“Go back and tell that stupid ape bastard the recording is going to be fucked, he will be personally responsible and the band will be furious with him.”
I rushed back to the stage once more now armed with Vic’s instructions I repeated them, verbatim.
I just left out the bit about his heritage.
This seemed to do the trick I was immediately allowed through.
Paralysis sets in
The Who were now in full flow, thundering out a mass of noise, it was hard to distinguish what song they were performing.
Finally I reached the stage.
The stage was vibrating as if a small earthquake was taking place.
I could see the band’s silhouettes lit from the front by tremendously bright white lights.
Although you couldn’t see the audience you could feel the presence of over a half a million people hidden in the darkness beyond the blinding glow.
This is when paralysis started to set into my whole body.
I realised there was no way I could casually walk onto the stage in front of so many people to find a spare mic and replace the broken mic whilst Moon was in full flow.
Knowing Moon’s reputation, he was quite likely to stop playing in the middle of a song and ask what the fuck I was doing.
So I had only one option, get someone else to do it.
Passing the buck.
Looking around I spotted Neville.
I made my way over to my prime candidate and screamed into his ear that Vic had sent me to tell him to replace the mic.
Nev’s faced dropped, he was also aware of Moon’s reputation.
I could see in his facial expression that he was experiencing the same terror that had spread throughout my body, it’s possible he may have even touched cloth.
Nev tried to come up with several excuses, but I made it clear that Vic had insisted he had to do it immediately.
We could now see clearly that Moon had smashed the head off the Neuman U67 tom mic, which was lying on the floor.
I stood and watched while Neville nervously crawled around the drum kit on his hands and knees, bravely picking up the head of the broken mic and then screwing on a replacement new head onto the remaining body.
Job done
The mission was complete, so I swiftly reported back to Vic, not really mentioning Neville’s input.
I did tell Neville the real story a few years ago and his reaction was one of laughter as I thought it would be.
I would like to thank Neville Crozier for his help with these Isle of Wight posts.
Please see In Pye Mobile
Isle of Wight – a Beautiful Dream That Became a Monster
In Bands, Pye Mobile
The Doors – In the Dark About the Bass Player
In Pye Mobile, Singers
Jimi Hendrix – Arrogance and a Death Threat
In Pye Mobile
Jimi Hendrix – The prophecy fulfils?
In Pye Mobile
Chicago – The First And Only Time
The Stripper & The Choir Boy
For more stories from The Stripper & The Choir Boy go to Stories
As a Young Child I spent most of my time living within my imagination, believing that no dream was out of reach.
My First Addiction in Life.
I was born in the early fifties, the last decade in which the world appeared to exist in black and white.
In the summer of 56, I was four years old when I heard the most amazing sound coming from my brothers bedroom.
This sound would transform my life forever. I discovered he had a strange box that he would turn with a handle on the side to wind it up, and then lift up this heavy arm onto a black circular object.
When he went out, I would sneak into his room and copy the process and listen to the sounds repeatedly.
I couldn’t read the label but I could easily remember the words ‘Well since my baby left me I found a new place to dwell it’s down at the end of lonely street at Heartbreak hotel.”
I then discovered my first addiction in life had begun.
Teenage Hormones Raging.
On Saturday nights my friends and I with our teenage hormones raging would visit Soho in the West End, where we could see photographs of almost naked girls around the doorways of the strip clubs.
On one occasion we decided to chance our luck and asked the doorman how much it was to go in.
He first asked our age, well the oldest was a kid called Mickey O’Grady who was almost sixteen but looked twelve; the rest of us were fifteen but looked fourteen, so we all replied almost in unison eighteen.
To our complete surprise he told us the price and let us in.
We paid at the little kiosk and eagerly rushed down the staircase into a small dark room.
There were about twenty people facing a brightly lit stage, where we just caught a glimpse of a naked girls bum as the curtains closed.
Like a group of mad Bulls charging at a matador we pushed our way to the very front of the stage just as the music started playing Shirley Bassey’s, Big Spender.
The kids and the cave girl
The curtains opened to reveal not the greatest looking girl I had ever seen, in fact, if ugly was a crime she would have been sentenced to life.
She was scantily dressed as a cave girl, carrying a polystyrene club.
After strutting up and down this small stage a couple of times, flashing her breast, she stopped right in front of Mickey, tapped him on his head with her club, and said in a loud voice,
”Does your mother know you’re here?”
The audience roared, as the laughter died down Mickey shouted,
”Does your mother know you’re here?”
The place erupted with cheers and laughter.
Her act finished with us seeing very little of what we came for.
When the curtains closed we were all escorted out of the premises.
Kinky Friedman: Too Much Just Ain’t Enough
In Singers
Kinky Friedman is a Texas country singer, novelist, songwriter, humorist, and politician.
In the early 80s and whilst on a trip to New York I read a review about a bar in town called The Lone Star Cafe.
It seems that The Lone Star was a haven for Texas-style bad behaviour in New York City.
It was a raucous, often-overcrowded place with free-flowing tequila, a pretty good barbecue and boasted a roster of great performers such as Willie Nelson and Roy Orbison.
This sounded like an irresistible evening.
On arriving at The Lone Star, the outside of the building looked somewhat out of place in this swanky part of town.
The roof was decorated with a huge forty-foot statue of an iguana and a sign below that read,
“Too Much Ain’t Enough.”
The inside was much smaller than I expected.
I found myself a good table almost overlooking the stage and whilst waiting for Kinky to arrive I ordered a beer and some food.
Kinky’s biggest fan
On the next table was a young couple. I could hear the young man continuously raving to his lady friend about Kinky Friedman and what a great show we were about to see, he sounded like he was Kinky’s biggest fan.
Having finished my meal, with my arms crossed leaning on the balcony, I had a perfect view as the band stepped on stage to a rapturous welcome.
They forged into their first number They Ain’t Makin’ Jews Like Jesus Anymore.
At the end of the first number, as the applause was dying down, Kinky lit a huge cigar and proceeded to insult various members of the audience, which seemed to go down very well with everyone except the people he was offending.
This monologue was only broken every minute or so by Kinky taking a big puff on his cigar and telling everyone if they wanted to see a great show come to 53rd and 3rd the following Friday.
After about ten minutes and for the umpteen time of Kinky telling everyone if they wanted to see a great show, he would be appearing at 53rd and 3rd on the following Friday.
The young man on the next table lunged out of the dark and shouted,
”How about a fucking show tonight?”
And disappeared back into the darkness as quick as he had appeared.
Kinky and I, to eye
I was still in my crossed arms position leaning on the balcony when Kinky looked in my direction, our eyes met with laser precision.
At this point he proceeded to take off his guitar and still looking straight at me said,
“Someone up there don’t like me.”
Now everyone in the place was focused on me.
At this point a voice from downstairs in the audience shouted,
“I don’t like you either Kinky.”
The place erupted but within seconds the same guy screamed out,
“Cause Kinky I love ya!”
The crowd went crazy.
By now a massive bouncer had joined Kinky on the stage, they were both chatting and looking up at me, he was still refusing to continue with the show.
I now noticed the couple on the next table seemed to have left a little earlier than they had planned.
There was no way to make it known that the real rebel amongst us had, in true Elvis tradition, left the building.
Sensing there was definitely some unrest in the atmosphere, I decided to ——
To read how the evening ended Please go to Kinky Friedman (In stories)
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