I’ve wanted to see a woman really rock and roll now for so long. Janis Joplin is dead. Genya Raven always made me nervous. Julie Driscoll has disappeared. So has Laura Nyro and besides, she was ridiculous. At the moment Bette Midler seems a bit unsure of What To Do Next (although she really should take Garry George’s suggestion and do the Nancy Drew movies, what a brilliant idea. . .). Joni Mitchell is a bit too senstivie for my taste. Dory Previn is to be taken seriously. I haven’t heard Aillee Willis yet, but that Esquire Heavy Hundred thing always puts me off. Suzi Quatro is cute, but she’s making toy music. Helen Reddy is beneath contempt. Diana Ross, Karen Carpenter, Cher. .. well, you know — they’re not Real. (Actually, Diana is great — but when the rest of them try to rock and roll it’s painfully embarrassing, like Andy Williams singing “You’re So Vain” on the Grammy Awards show.. .) Carly Simon writes great songs, but she doesn’t perform enough. Bonnie Bramlett is trying to get it together. Bonnie Raitt is committed to the blues. Ellen Greene, Gail Kantor, Lee Horwin et al are too “After Dark” — better to leave them to the K-Y circuit. Yoko Ono is. I think, more of a jazz singer. Tina Turner’s been doing it too long. Judy Collins and Joan Baez never were my type. (I’ll never forget that photo of Joanie doing Not destructive or self-indulgent, but still...

by Lisa Robinson

the funky chicken at the Big Sur Festival... cringe. . . cringe.) Aretha Franklin transcends any category — she’s just There.

But Maggie Bell is Here, and she’s a rocker. In case you missed her on this recent tour — Maggie is a highly developed entertainer, having performed for years in Britain with Stone The Crows and being the recipient of nearly every Best Female Vocalist Award without ever having had a hit single. People will inevitably be dredging up those Janis comparisons because Maggie is funky; she’s a girl from Glasgow with a black/ blues influenced voice. But the comparisons to Janis aren’t really fair or even relevant. Maggie’s far Superior in terms of vocal range and control — she always sings, it’s never screaming. (I’m not necessarily dismissing the value of an occasional scream, it’s just that it tends to burn one out faster.) And whereas Maggie’s lifestyle may not be as flashy as was Janis’, neither is she on any kind of destructive or self-indulgent trip.

A more apt comparison might be made between Maggie and Aretha. Both share the same producer — Jerry Wexler. Both, when at their top form, take their voices to places that few others do. And both ladies represent something to their particular audiences. When Aretha changes into six ostrich feather-trimmed ensembles onstage at the Apollo, she’s giving her people the kind of glamour that they have come to expect from a superstar. It avoids being campy or even showbiz because of the sheer talent that backs it up. With Maggie it’s much the same thing. When she combs the. Chelsea antique stalls or New York thrift shops she’s after clothes that are unique, authentic, exotic. Her thirties dresses aren’t designed for her ala The Pointer Sisters — they’re real. Maggie will wear the most lavishly beaded chiffon dress and put on a pair of specially made Terry de Havilland sequinned red shoes and she’ll still look natural — there isn’t anything “done up” about it. The clothes she buys at Essence in London — beautifully embroidered long coats and shawls and flowered silk dresses are, along with unusual jewelry she picks up anywhere and everywhere — part of her own style. Her clothing — and her music, is a very honest reflection of her lifestyle, it’s an extension of her outgoing and no-nonsense personality. I’m just glad that she’s with us and making music that can move us as well as show us a good time.

To totally change the subject, when Mainman gives a party, they Give A Party. Wayne County’^ recent performance at the Trucks is a case in point. (Well. .. he didn’t actually perform at the Trucks although he’s been known to. . . The “rock party” was held at the Westbeth Video Exchange.) The entire Mainman staff was dolled up and you didn’t know who to look at first. There was Cherry Vanilla, done up like an aunt at a Fellini bar mitzvah, wearing a bright emerald green taffeta full dress with silver backless fuck-me shoes AND hot pink tulle stole, elbow length gloves and tights. What an imagination that girl has — everything but a lampshade on her head. Jamie de Carlo Lots in a snappy tiger skin suit (to match his tiger-striped hair). Leee Black Childers fresh From London in a powder blue suit with red sweater vest and tie. And Tony de Fries fairly incognito surveying them all from one corner of the room with a pleased smile on his face. It’s hard to tell who’s conning who.

Hair — by the way, is very important R, to the Mainman staff. As of this writing, Leee’s is a delicious platinum. Cherry’s has been dyed a Lefrak City red and is fluffed out... very Lesley Gore. Melanie McDonald (DeFries’ lady) is very orange and very short. And, as already mentioned, Jamie’s is tiger striped. But there was no way — hair or no hair — than anyone could upstage Wayne County on his night.

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From the moment he stepped onstage dressed in a three-tiered tutu made of three dozen blown up prophylactics, to the final number where he danced his way through a tropical heat wave in what he described as “1890s cheap drag” (apricot and turquoise ruffled chiffon floorlength gown, multi-colored feather headdress with a white bird right in the center) — you simply had to see it to believe it. And you may be able to — as Mainman — never one to miss an opportunity to capture something for posterity — has filmed the entire evening.

Where to begin with this madness., . one girl said she went home and threw up. The conversation on the telephones the next day was beginning to sound like the way Time has discussed the reactions to The Exorcist. One record company representative in attendance said he thought it was the most tasteless thing he ever saw, while others tried to be good sports and look like they were enjoying themselves. (Remember when simple little Alice prompted such remarks? How far we’ve come in such a short time...) I don’t think I’ll forget the face of the man from what shall remain one of the nameless record companies there (RCA is one of the nameless ones) who smiled bravely and shouted “YEAH!” as Wayne waved a big black dildo around over his head and sang, “If you don’t feel right and your belly’s full of gas, throw your legs up over your head and take it up the ass.” It’s come to this.

The hell with all that — so the eventual film will probably have an X rating. As long as we don’t have to line up after midnight at The Elgin to see it it’s okay by me. The important thing was that Wayne’s songs sounded fabulous, and the show was brilliantly directed by Tony Ingrassia. And here’s where the heart of the matter lies. The band was off to one side — no more of that old band Queen Elizabeth trying to hog Wayne’s spotlight. If only more bands would be positioned off to the side and lead singers up front. . . The show was cohesive, it had form, it made sense. Ingrassia, a veteran of the Theater of the Ridiculous, took the best of his and Wayne’s outrageous theater ideas and mixed them together with good rock and roll. More rock and roll shows could use a director like Ingrassia — Bette Midler’s show at The Palace could have used him, for one. Maybe Mainman will be able to pull it off and get the film to your town. When they do, don’t miss it.

Odd’s &-^ Ends: John Mendelsohn phoned from L.A. to say that he has finished a solo demo he’s been working on since last June but has long since abandoned the idea of becoming the superstar he always thought he would be. More importantly, he’s started a rage for white sox. “It’s a lot easier, Lisa,” he said softly. “Because you always lose one sock anyway, and if you have a dra\yerful of white ones”... Have you seen the TV commercial where Johnny Carson is walking on the beach — very Rod McKuen — to promote his own line of clothing? After declaring that his clothes will “get it all together,” he says, “What should you wear to a rock and roll concdft? It doesn’t matter, because nobodjwtfill know if you’re well dressed.” ,,-,-