Co
Don't tell him where I am....I think I might still owe him some money.
Columbia Music!?!?!?!?
Don't tell him where I am....I think I might still owe him some money.
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Unusual Rock Trivia?
- Thread starter Aberdumbie
- Start date
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- rock
The "Marshall Tucker" in The Marshall Tucker Band name does not refer to a band member, but rather a blind piano tuner from Columbia, South Carolina. While the band was discussing possible band names one evening in an old warehouse they had rented for rehearsal space, someone noticed that the warehouse's door key had the name "Marshall Tucker" inscribed on it, and suggested they call themselves "The Marshall Tucker Band," not realizing it referred to an actual person. It later came to light that Marshall Tucker, the blind piano tuner, had tuned a piano in that rented space before the band, and his name was inscribed on the key.
The name was toyed with, but called well.
Micky Dolenz recalls ill-fated Monkees tour with opening act Jimi Hendrix: ‘Yeah, it was kind of embarrassing’
Lyndsey Parker
Editor in Chief, Yahoo Music
September 17, 2020
Fifty years ago, on Sept. 18, 1970, guitar legend Jimi Hendrix died of asphyxia while intoxicated. He was only 27 years old, and his stint as a superstar lasted less than five years, but he obviously made his indelible mark on Rock & Roll.
And, one of the first mainstream rock acts to recognize Hendrix’s greatness was the Monkees. Unfortunately, the Monkees’ young fans weren’t quite as enthusiastic when that TV band’s Micky Dolenz came up with the seemingly bizarre idea to hire Hendrix as the opening act for the Monkees’ first U.S. tour in 1967.
Hendrix ended up playing only seven of that tour’s 29 dates, dropping out after having to contend nightly with thousands of nasty, impatient, jeering teenyboppers. “Yeah, it was kind of embarrassing,” Dolenz admits to Yahoo Entertainment. “Jimi would go, ‘Purple haze!’ and the kids would be like, ‘We want Davy!’ He’d go, ‘Foxy lady!’ and they’d yell, ‘We. Want. The. Monkees! We. Want. The. Monkees!’ He was coming up against that very typical opening-act dilemma for anyone touring with a big headliner, really.”
The odd pairing might have been doomed from the start, given the two artists’ very different audiences. But Dolenz had been a fan of Hendrix since the guitar god was still known as “Jimmy James” and performing in Greenwich Village nightclubs with the Blue Flames. “It was 1966 or so, and the Monkees were in New York on a press junket,” he recalls of the first time he saw Hendrix live. “Someone said, ‘You gotta come down to the Village and check this cat out.’ The actual act was, I think, the John Hammond Band or something. But when we went down there, I remember sitting in the front row and there was this young kid, and he was playing guitar with his teeth! I didn't even know his name at the time. I don't even know if he was introduced, but he was going under the name Jimmy James at that point. He was just great.”
About a year later, Dolenz saw Hendrix again, at the Monterey Pop Festival. Much had changed, and this time, Dolenz was even more impressed: “Between that time, Jimi had gone to England and run into a guy named Chas Chandler, a member of The Animals who was going to be his manager. And, basically what Chas Chandler did, my understanding is, was he heard Jimi and then he put Jimi together with [bassist] Noel Redding and [drummer] Mitch Mitchell. And so ironically, I guess you can say that the Jimi Hendrix Experience was a ‘manufactured group’!”
When Dolenz witnessed Hendrix’s iconic performance at the Monterey Pop Festival, he recalls, “All of a sudden this act comes on, not very well known yet, but very flamboyant — the clothes, the music. And I said, ‘Hey, that's the guy that plays guitar with his teeth!’ I recognized him. And so simultaneously, just by coincidence really, we were looking for an opening act for our first tour. So, I suggested the Jimi Hendrix Experience to our producers, because obviously it was incredible music, but also very theatrical. And the Monkees were a theatrical act, if you really examine it. I guess that's why it made sense to me. I just thought it would make a great mix.”
Apparently, the admiration wasn’t mutual at first, as Hendrix had previously blasted the Monkees in the U.K. press, describing their music to Melody Maker as “dishwater” and saying, “Oh God, I hate them!” But once the Monkees’ “people went to his people,” says Dolenz, “Chas Chandler and everyone thought it was a good idea.” And so, on July 8 — less than a month after Hendrix had been the breakout star of Monterey Pop — the Jimi Hendrix Experience joined the Monkees for their first tour date in Jacksonville, Fla.
While the audience was vicious and unwelcoming, Dolenz was too wrapped up in watching Hendrix’s electric stage show to actually notice what was transpiring in the venue. “I didn’t even pay attention to what the audience reaction was, because I was just mesmerized by Jimi and his art,” he confesses. “We were just blown away by him every night — I know Nez [the Monkees’ Mike Nesmith] especially was. We would just stand in the wings in awe. I was fascinated by Jimi’s showmanship, by his persona. All I knew was, I liked it. And to this day, I don't care much what people thought.”
Hendrix apparently did care what people thought, as he decided to quit the Monkees’ tour just eight days later, after dates in Miami, North Carolina, and a three-night run at New York City’s Forest Hills Tennis Stadium. Later, a seemingly bitter Hendrix told British music paper the NME that he’d been replaced by “Mickey Mouse.” (His actual replacements were the 5th Dimension and Lulu.) Dolenz can neither deny nor confirm the longstanding rumor that Hendrix flipped the bird at the combative crowd during that final NYC show, though he quips, “I've never seen evidence of that rumor, but if it's true, he certainly ain’t the first person to flip off an audience.”
In retrospect, Dolenz says he “wasn't totally surprised” that the Monkees/Hendrix tour didn’t work out. “It was just night and day,” he admits of their clashing musical styles. “And we all knew, because he was fairly unknown at the time, that those thousands and thousands of kids were there to see the Monkees. Jimi knew that too.” It had to do with the fact that these fans had spent so much of their money to see the headliners. And, if fans like that are really, really anxious and passionate, they'll make their feelings known.”
Despite Hendrix’s poor reception, reservations about joining the tour in the first place, and that NME shade, he and the Monkees did hit it off, getting up to all sorts of rock ‘n’ roll adventures during their week on the road. “We spent a lot of time together. We went to clubs and wandered around aimlessly, and sometimes non-aimlessly,” says Dolenz fondly. “We got along great and had a great time. We partied; we hung around in the hotel rooms jamming and just singing, having little aftershow parties. I remember once we went to the Electric Circus in New York, a very famous psychedelic place back then.
“He was a lovely man, though very different from his persona onstage. He was very quiet — I don't want to say naive, but just a real nice, real quiet guy. But then, of course, he would launch into this incredible persona onstage, which was just phenomenal. We partied, and he partied just as good as anybody else, but it wasn't like he always had to be the life of the party and always have the attention. That's probably the reason why we got along, because I’m the same way: I get fulfillment onstage, and when I'm offstage, I want to be left alone.”
Though Dolenz and the rest of the Monkees were saddened when Hendrix suddenly quit, he admits, “Frankly, I didn't feel that bad. I'd like to think that the tour gave him some sort of a little shot, some more people knowing his name. I'm sure that some of those Monkees fans went on to be Hendrix fans.” So, in the end, the Monkees — who’d often caught flak for being a “manufactured group” — were vindicated for championing Hendrix so early on. (They were also early supporters of Frank Zappa, Tim Buckley, and Harry Nilsson, who all appeared on or wrote music for The Monkees sitcom.) But, Dolenz stresses, “We didn't run around tooting our horn to the NBC press department, saying, ‘Oh look, the Monkees like Jimi Hendrix! Aren't they cool?’ … And let me make it very clear, on the record: Jimi Hendrix would have done very well without us.”
Lyndsey Parker
Editor in Chief, Yahoo Music
September 17, 2020
Fifty years ago, on Sept. 18, 1970, guitar legend Jimi Hendrix died of asphyxia while intoxicated. He was only 27 years old, and his stint as a superstar lasted less than five years, but he obviously made his indelible mark on Rock & Roll.
And, one of the first mainstream rock acts to recognize Hendrix’s greatness was the Monkees. Unfortunately, the Monkees’ young fans weren’t quite as enthusiastic when that TV band’s Micky Dolenz came up with the seemingly bizarre idea to hire Hendrix as the opening act for the Monkees’ first U.S. tour in 1967.
Hendrix ended up playing only seven of that tour’s 29 dates, dropping out after having to contend nightly with thousands of nasty, impatient, jeering teenyboppers. “Yeah, it was kind of embarrassing,” Dolenz admits to Yahoo Entertainment. “Jimi would go, ‘Purple haze!’ and the kids would be like, ‘We want Davy!’ He’d go, ‘Foxy lady!’ and they’d yell, ‘We. Want. The. Monkees! We. Want. The. Monkees!’ He was coming up against that very typical opening-act dilemma for anyone touring with a big headliner, really.”
The odd pairing might have been doomed from the start, given the two artists’ very different audiences. But Dolenz had been a fan of Hendrix since the guitar god was still known as “Jimmy James” and performing in Greenwich Village nightclubs with the Blue Flames. “It was 1966 or so, and the Monkees were in New York on a press junket,” he recalls of the first time he saw Hendrix live. “Someone said, ‘You gotta come down to the Village and check this cat out.’ The actual act was, I think, the John Hammond Band or something. But when we went down there, I remember sitting in the front row and there was this young kid, and he was playing guitar with his teeth! I didn't even know his name at the time. I don't even know if he was introduced, but he was going under the name Jimmy James at that point. He was just great.”
About a year later, Dolenz saw Hendrix again, at the Monterey Pop Festival. Much had changed, and this time, Dolenz was even more impressed: “Between that time, Jimi had gone to England and run into a guy named Chas Chandler, a member of The Animals who was going to be his manager. And, basically what Chas Chandler did, my understanding is, was he heard Jimi and then he put Jimi together with [bassist] Noel Redding and [drummer] Mitch Mitchell. And so ironically, I guess you can say that the Jimi Hendrix Experience was a ‘manufactured group’!”
When Dolenz witnessed Hendrix’s iconic performance at the Monterey Pop Festival, he recalls, “All of a sudden this act comes on, not very well known yet, but very flamboyant — the clothes, the music. And I said, ‘Hey, that's the guy that plays guitar with his teeth!’ I recognized him. And so simultaneously, just by coincidence really, we were looking for an opening act for our first tour. So, I suggested the Jimi Hendrix Experience to our producers, because obviously it was incredible music, but also very theatrical. And the Monkees were a theatrical act, if you really examine it. I guess that's why it made sense to me. I just thought it would make a great mix.”
Apparently, the admiration wasn’t mutual at first, as Hendrix had previously blasted the Monkees in the U.K. press, describing their music to Melody Maker as “dishwater” and saying, “Oh God, I hate them!” But once the Monkees’ “people went to his people,” says Dolenz, “Chas Chandler and everyone thought it was a good idea.” And so, on July 8 — less than a month after Hendrix had been the breakout star of Monterey Pop — the Jimi Hendrix Experience joined the Monkees for their first tour date in Jacksonville, Fla.
While the audience was vicious and unwelcoming, Dolenz was too wrapped up in watching Hendrix’s electric stage show to actually notice what was transpiring in the venue. “I didn’t even pay attention to what the audience reaction was, because I was just mesmerized by Jimi and his art,” he confesses. “We were just blown away by him every night — I know Nez [the Monkees’ Mike Nesmith] especially was. We would just stand in the wings in awe. I was fascinated by Jimi’s showmanship, by his persona. All I knew was, I liked it. And to this day, I don't care much what people thought.”
Hendrix apparently did care what people thought, as he decided to quit the Monkees’ tour just eight days later, after dates in Miami, North Carolina, and a three-night run at New York City’s Forest Hills Tennis Stadium. Later, a seemingly bitter Hendrix told British music paper the NME that he’d been replaced by “Mickey Mouse.” (His actual replacements were the 5th Dimension and Lulu.) Dolenz can neither deny nor confirm the longstanding rumor that Hendrix flipped the bird at the combative crowd during that final NYC show, though he quips, “I've never seen evidence of that rumor, but if it's true, he certainly ain’t the first person to flip off an audience.”
In retrospect, Dolenz says he “wasn't totally surprised” that the Monkees/Hendrix tour didn’t work out. “It was just night and day,” he admits of their clashing musical styles. “And we all knew, because he was fairly unknown at the time, that those thousands and thousands of kids were there to see the Monkees. Jimi knew that too.” It had to do with the fact that these fans had spent so much of their money to see the headliners. And, if fans like that are really, really anxious and passionate, they'll make their feelings known.”
Despite Hendrix’s poor reception, reservations about joining the tour in the first place, and that NME shade, he and the Monkees did hit it off, getting up to all sorts of rock ‘n’ roll adventures during their week on the road. “We spent a lot of time together. We went to clubs and wandered around aimlessly, and sometimes non-aimlessly,” says Dolenz fondly. “We got along great and had a great time. We partied; we hung around in the hotel rooms jamming and just singing, having little aftershow parties. I remember once we went to the Electric Circus in New York, a very famous psychedelic place back then.
“He was a lovely man, though very different from his persona onstage. He was very quiet — I don't want to say naive, but just a real nice, real quiet guy. But then, of course, he would launch into this incredible persona onstage, which was just phenomenal. We partied, and he partied just as good as anybody else, but it wasn't like he always had to be the life of the party and always have the attention. That's probably the reason why we got along, because I’m the same way: I get fulfillment onstage, and when I'm offstage, I want to be left alone.”
Though Dolenz and the rest of the Monkees were saddened when Hendrix suddenly quit, he admits, “Frankly, I didn't feel that bad. I'd like to think that the tour gave him some sort of a little shot, some more people knowing his name. I'm sure that some of those Monkees fans went on to be Hendrix fans.” So, in the end, the Monkees — who’d often caught flak for being a “manufactured group” — were vindicated for championing Hendrix so early on. (They were also early supporters of Frank Zappa, Tim Buckley, and Harry Nilsson, who all appeared on or wrote music for The Monkees sitcom.) But, Dolenz stresses, “We didn't run around tooting our horn to the NBC press department, saying, ‘Oh look, the Monkees like Jimi Hendrix! Aren't they cool?’ … And let me make it very clear, on the record: Jimi Hendrix would have done very well without us.”
Whoever thought that was a good idea was just...wrong!
Yes, big egos mean antics. Personally I haven't liked anything he's done since the Amboy Dukes.
Stumbled upon this post. As for Ted's comments: (Excerpt)
See, I approached the whole thing like, Ted Nugent, cool hard-workin’ dude, is gonna wreak havoc on these imbeciles in the armed forces. I’m gonna play their own game, and I’m gonna destroy ’em. Now my whole body is crusted in poop and piss. I was ill. And three or four days before, I started stayin’ awake. I was close to death, but I was in control. I was extremely antidrug as I’ve always been, but I snorted some crystal methedrine. Talk about one wounded motherf*cker. A guy put up four lines, and it was for all four of us, but I didn’t know and I’m vacuuming that poop right up. I was a walking, talking hunk of human poop. I was six-foot-three of sin. So the guys took me down to the physical, and my nerves, my emotions were distraught. I was not a good person. I was wounded. But as painful and nauseous as it was — ’cause I was really into bein’ clean and on the ball — I made gutter swine hippies look like football players. I was deviano.
...Then they had a urine test and I couldn’t piss, But my poop was just like ooze, man, so I poop in the cup and put it on the counter. I had poop on my hand and my arm. The guy almost puked. I was so proud. I knew I had these chumps beat. The last thing I remember was wakin’ up in the ear test booth and they were sweepin’ up. So I went home and cleaned up.
There’s no such thing as bad publicity, and it just enhanced his notoriousness.
Johnny Depp based his character, Jack Sparrow in the Pirates Of The Carribbean movie series, on Keith Richards which later lead to him being cast as Sparrow's father in the third film in the franchise.
The harmonica on many of Culture Club's records was actually played by the band's 'plugger' (promoter). It was felt that harmonica was required, and the plugger, who happened to be in the studio, indicated he could play and was sent off to fetch his instrument.
Judd Lander - Wikipedia
YEARS ago I worked with a burn-out who claimed to be the original drummer for the E Street Band.
Like no body knows who Max Wineberg is.
One of the original members of The Marshall Tucker Band, Jerry Eubanks, has family that lives in my area.
One of his cousins is a friend of mine and I used to to be his race car crew chief.
It's the "6 degrees of Kevin Bacon" thing! lol
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Jefferson Starship performed the song "Light the Sky on Fire" for the Star Wars Holiday Special TV Show in 1978.
When Richards couldn't do the last Pirates movie, Paul McCartney played Richards' brother.
The Dave Clark Five made a record-breaking 18 appearances on “The Ed Sullivan Show” — more than any other rock, pop, or R&B act.
They had a false start on this song.
They had a false start on this song.
Drummer Floyd Sneed temporarily became the 4th vocalist on Joy to the World. In between the choruses after the modulation break, he sings the “I wanna tell you and joins in on the rest of choruses.
L. Ransford is the songwriting pseudonym of The Hollies' Allan Clarke, Tony Hicks and Graham Nash. They gave the Everly Brothers several songs and played the backing instruments on Two Yanks in England released in 1965.
Jimmy Page and John Paul Jones are also purported to play on the record as session musicians. Also, in an interview with Nash on David Dye's World Cafe, it was claimed Reggie Dwight (a.k.a. Elton John) played on the album too.
It's a great Album but was overlooked probably due to the onslaught of the British Invasion.
The chord structure on The Collector is hauntingly beautiful along with the signature Everly Harmonies.
The whole album is worth listening to if you're an Everly's fan.
Jimmy Page and John Paul Jones are also purported to play on the record as session musicians. Also, in an interview with Nash on David Dye's World Cafe, it was claimed Reggie Dwight (a.k.a. Elton John) played on the album too.
It's a great Album but was overlooked probably due to the onslaught of the British Invasion.
The chord structure on The Collector is hauntingly beautiful along with the signature Everly Harmonies.
The whole album is worth listening to if you're an Everly's fan.
"Here I Go Again" was recorded and released by Whitesnake three different times with different musicians.
The song was written by David Coverdale and Bernie Marsden. The most notable difference between the original and re-recorded versions are a slight change in the lyrics and a different pace.
The chorus of the original version features the lines:
And here I go again on my own
Goin' down the only road I've ever known
Like a hobo I was born to walk alone
The word "hobo" was changed to "drifter" in the re-recorded version.
- The original version from the 1982 Saints & Sinners album with Jon Lord keyboards, Bernie Marsden and Micky Moody on guitars, Neil Murray on bass, and Ian Paice on drums.
- The 2nd version that appears on the Whitesnake (aka 1987) album with John Sykes on guitar (guitar solo by Adrian Vandenberg), Neil Murray on bass, Don Airey and Bill Cuomo on keyboards, and Ansley Dunbar on drums.
- A 1987 "radio-mix" version, which was released as a U.S. single with Denny Carmassi on drums, Mark Andes on bass, Don Airey and Bill Cuomo on keyboards, and Dann Huff on guitar, who also provided the new arrangement.
The song was written by David Coverdale and Bernie Marsden. The most notable difference between the original and re-recorded versions are a slight change in the lyrics and a different pace.
The chorus of the original version features the lines:
And here I go again on my own
Goin' down the only road I've ever known
Like a hobo I was born to walk alone
The word "hobo" was changed to "drifter" in the re-recorded version.
