The hippie chick is four years older than me, and she was a bonefide teenybopper in the 60s. Saw all the groups who were gone by the time I arrived. Buffalo Springfield, Byrds, Love ... She and friends were waiting in a club for the show when they saw a drunken bum stagger toward the stage. Where is Security, they wondered. Even more when the wino kept trying to climb the stage. Eventually he succeeded, grabbed the microphone and started singing âBreak On Through.â The other Doors joined in, the drunk was Jim Morrison.
My brother visited me only once. I gave him the whole experience.
Pink Flamingoes at the Nuart, Disneyland, Tower Records on Sunset, and a punk show at the Whisky. The Weasels and The Dogs. Midway through the Dogsâ set, two guys walked onstage. One took the mic while the other dropped to the floor and started writhing in convulsions. My brother started screaming, âThatâs Steve Jones singing! And Paul Cook! Sex Pistols! The Sex Pistols! This is the greatest moment of my life!!â
Tower on Sunset was one of my favorite record stores. Even when I had no money, no car, Iâd hitch a ride then walk. The shop was a temple of music. It was vast and stocked massive deep catalogue. Current chart toppers would be stacked from the floor to waist high - 200 copies of vinyl, maybe? One stand alone was a Beatles shrine.
Groups were always there for in-store events. Or youâd see musicians or TV stars, just shopping. Few bothered them, less gutter paparazzi back then.
I was pulling my MG out of the lot, this VW Karmann Ghia waiting for my space. âWhoâs that driving?â I asked the hippie chick. âRod,â she said. âRod Stewart?â âNo, Rod McKuen,â she said. âOh.â
Rod Stewart I might have gone back into Tower to see what he was buying. Poet Rod McKuen? - Iâd seen him before.