THE BEAT GOES ON

THE BEAT GOES ON

Space Trackin’

CAPE KENNEDY, FLA. — How would you feel if you were jolted awake to the strains of Jerry Jeff Walker’s “Redneck Mother”? Ready to face the world? Ready to push all those little buttons and tussle with the Russkis in outer space?

Well, our celestial flyboys had that and more to conend with. NASA’s extraterrestial disc jockeys were the capcons, or capsule communicators. In between chattering with the astronauts they spun the discs, although you’d probably never find their picks on the Fab Forty. “Nights Over Moscow,” penned by the USSR’s Burt Bacharach and the Russian equivalent of “I Left My Heart In San Francisco” were chosen in honor of their Slavic colleagues.

And then there’s the Legendary Stardust Cowboy, a lost and almostforgotten soul in the annals of rock history, whose album Paralyzed is as manic a collection of noises and screaming and you’ll hope to find. Paralyzed was scheduled to be played but due to a foul-up with the tapes “Cigarettes, Whiskey and Wild Wild Women” rolled the astronauts out of bed instead. Of course, it’s not Metal Machine Music, but whatever gets you up . . .

Susan Whitall

Lunar Mayhem

HOLLYWOOD, CALIF. -The Who had just completed preliminary sessions for their latest album The Who By Numbers, and Keith Moon was just tooling around town with a cassette recorder, man, getting attuned to the new tracks. He was trolling the lobby of his luxe Hollywood digs with recorder pressed to ear when the manager tapped him on the shoulder.

“Will you turn off that noise!”

This didn’t seem to communicate itself to Mr. Moon, so the manager obligingly repeated his request several times. Finally Keith roused himself to speech.

“Will you turn off that noise.”

“Did you say noise?” Mr. Moon was incredulous.

“Yes,” was the firm reply. “I said noise.”

Mr. Moon then invited the manager to visit his apartment. They proceeded upstairs to the room, where Keith motioned him to wait outside.

Suddenly the air was. filled with aural fire and brimstone; a chilling cacophony of noise assaulted the horrified manager’s ears, capped by a cherry bomb explosion that relieved the door of its hinges.

When the air cleared, Moon was revealed to be standing in the doorway, ear still glued to the blaring cassette.

“That was noise,” Moon explained' patiently.

Pushing the cassette into the manager’s face, he added: “This is the ‘Oo.”

Roy Carr

Rock & Roll Will Fall

HOLLYWOOD-Just for the record. On a recent Tonight Show, guest host and all-around fiberglass personality John Davidson performed an incontinent medley of 50’s hits like “Blue Suede Shoes,” “Sh-Boom,” “Little Darlin’ ” and “Bye Bye* Love,” interspersed with a running monologue on the fine art of parking. Sample line: “Yeah, you never knew whether it was gonna be two snaps or four ...” (insert four bars of “Chantilly Lace”) “. . .and if it turned out to be four, you knew it was gonna be alot more trouble but a hell of a lot more fun!” My turtle wouldn’t eat that.

. The major yuk, however, occured during a perfectly enunciated version of “Tutti Frutti,” when. John yelled’ out to the crowd “Remember Little Richard?” Naturally, some cutup shouted back on cue “How little was he?”

Rick Johnson

Too Much Boy Howdy Beer?

Whatever made him do it, he did it, and he's stuck with itl But now seriously, how can a magazine repay such undying love and devotion? Say thanks? (Nahh, that's not enough.) Send him a free lifetime subscription? (Well, it's questionable whether that would be reward or punishment, and besides we're too cheap.) No, what we decided would be most appropriate (and free to boot!) would be to give this guy international Immortality by putting his mug in his fave rag (that's CREEM, dummiesl) and by not saying too many bad things about him like we do about the pop stars (note over-sized arm upon which is affixed Boy Howdyl tattoo; I mean David Bowie doesn't have the raw homicidal potential in both his arms and his legs that this guy has in this one celebrated appendagel). (Tattoo courtesy International Tattoo Studio.)

Tokyo' Fro

TOKYO, JAPAN - The kids down at the Afro Rake are bad, from the tips of their ’Fros to the bottom of their funky, puddlejumpers pounding out the rhythm put down by “Bobby and Scorpio.”

This isn’t Dee-troit City (although Bobby of the band is a Motor City, boy), but Tokyo, brother, and you’d best get hip to the Hustle, the Bus Stop, the Watergate and the Kung Fu before you show your blue-eyed mug in any local juke joints.

It all started in 1973 when James Brown toured Nippon and turned the twentyish young’s taste from sukiyaki to chitlins. Toyoyuki “Bucky” Kaiyou, a waiter at the Afro Rake, doesn’t mind sitting for three hours while chemicals turn his straight Oriental locks into a ’Fro that would make Billy Preston look twice. His girlfriend Mariko copied Bucky’s style, and not just for fashion.

“I’m a professional dancer”, she said. “When I danced ‘funky’ my hair just didn’t look right.”

Toshi Konno, author of Soul Music in Japan offered an explanation for 1975’s soul mania. Japanese pop music, he claimed, appeals mostly to boppers and the middle-aged. So now Nipponese “young adults” can soothe their savage breasts with slant-e\)ed soul, Chollie.

Susan Whitall

Psycho Psequel

MILWAUKEE—When the neighbors found Shirley Weinberg and her 20-yearold twin daughters running around the flag pole in the public square dressed in black, they figured it was just Spacy Shirley’s idea of physical fitness. The bent shapes of the neighborhood, the three lived on practically nothing, never socialized, and allowed no one inside their first floor flat.

No wonder. While checking out the apartment shortly after he’d evicted them, the landlord discovered the year-old mummified remains of their grandmother stuffed into a lidless box in the walkin closet. The body had been preserved by sprinkling charcoal on it and covering with plastic.

The three were later arrested on charges of failure to report a death and statuatory necrophilia. Tony Perkins was not immediately available for comment. Rick Johnson

Manitoba’s Last Hurrah?

NEW YORK, NY-At this very moment as I sit here laborin away on the old IBM Selectric the virtual end of the 2nd generation punk era is being conspired down in NY’s Chinkytown district. Chi Mer slantfood emporium to be exact where Murray Krugman who’s currently into somethin shady & Eastern called est is treatin the Dictators who he co-produces to a rare free feed. Never remembers to bring his charge card tho so maybe it’s gonna cost em anyway but the big thing is what they’re actually there for’s so he can softsell em a new bill of goods on what they’re supposed to sound like. Already added a new bass guy named John (A. Shernoff goin to keyboards) and a drummer named Richard (ex-tubsman Stu-Boy goin to the classified section of the Voice) and told em that well for commercial sake and survival and stuff like that they just hadda TURN HEAVY METAL (worked for the BOC in ’49 so why not for them?) No defiance of that edict so right now tonight in the wake of them being dropped by Epic and turned down already by Arista the new line is they gotta start bein a sex & girls band like Led Zep (heavy m. by itself ain’t no longer enuff!) which means more sex & girl lyrics instead of mostly about burgers & pukin which is no big deal really cause at their volume nobody’s - gonna hear the words anyway but what’s kinda critical is it’s gonna mean either of 2 things re boss front man Richard “Handsome Dick Manitoba” Blum: 1. he ain’t “sexy” in the style of David Johansen, Tom Jones or Leslie West so the best they figure they can do with him is change his stage persona to Mean Dick Manitoba, no more comedy (!); 2. they might just decide to use him on even less than the maybe 40% of the tunes he’s at most allowed to do at present...

A cryin shame and one of them R&R tragedies you’re always gettin accustomed to livin with so well in any event as things look like they’re gonna be standin pretty soon history will hafta record as the last (boo-hoo) Manitobadominated Dictators show ever their real swell gig at the Ms. All-Bare America Pageant uptown at the Beacon Theatre this past fall. Not your average Saturday nite musical drudgery of a show...so many celebs were' in attendance milling about from the start, not the least of whom were Graham Nash and the BOC’s Buck Dharma accompanied by the very pregnant Mrs. Dharma the former Ms. Sandi Nasci (they used to call her Sandi Nazi!). Down in the subbasement dinge supplied for dressroom purposes the Handsome One was meanwhile preparin himself for showtime in his usual manner — half a pint of Johnny Walker Black which

he insists on over Red altho at the party after the show somebody tricked him with a used Black bottle fulla Red and he didn’t know the diff. Between swigs he hasta decide on what clothes to wear and he cannot choose between white suit and black suit so he decides on both but first the white. Hard time gettin on the fingerless black “Blackjack” gloves and assistance was needed and just in the nick of time cause it’s his chore to start the ball rollin upstairs recitin “America the Beautiful” the theme song of the show with the musical assistance of those Diets who know music.

Damn good recitation, lot like the Grand Wizard of WWWF fame or one of them dubbed in villain voices from Speed Racer and then it was time for the gals to parade their unclad pudenda altho actually they started out clad and slowly worked their way down to beaver while most of the while the Tators sans Manitoba continued a steady surge of “A. the B.” until finally it’s time for them to strut their stuff under the lites with the amp knobs turned to the max. Really blasted the e-z listenin judges up front outa their ears & seats with a standard array of their standards (y’know “Too Much Fun,” “Cars & Girls,” etc.) performed by wellpolished metallic rote and folks in general was really pleased when they stopped (this is true and altho they are my friends honesty is still the best policy): intermission and we still unfortunately ain’t caught more’n Handsome Dicky’s voice f’chrissake.

Which means he’s gonna hafta do a costume change in mid-set stead of between but he was sure as shootin up for it was at least a millionth of the world watchin via cable teevee. Parades the hell out like a great goddam whale-in-white-in-heat w/ shades right into “Next Big Thing,” comin in like gangbust within a tenth of a sec of when he’s supposed to and then later on (in black by now but the original gauntlets have not been removed) in the middle of one of the newies whose name is as yet unknown to this writeperson he grabs this drumstick and is called upon to beat a cymbal at stage center every x many bars or so and sure enuff he’s (approximately) right on time every time and to make the task even more difficult for himself and simultaneously more entertaining for the by-now deafened crowd he stomps off to the far wings on either side of the stage between cymbal bashes, fakes bein dead a la S.D. Jones and gets up & about w/out cue just in the nick of time to destroy the old Zildjian one more time: ver-r-ry impressive (even an occasional wealthy dowager in the audience got off on it) and the last couple whacks he even fell into it just like a falling Jimbo Morrison w/rhythm.

Bravo and proof positive that he can (take note Murray!) be taught the beat of virtually any song he’d hafta sing and never hafta deliver mail for a living again altho they ain’t never bothered to chance it far as teachin him to sing on key goes so he never gets to do choruses or harmony parts altho who are they kiddin: even a discordant Dick is KING OF THE VOCAL HILL, as real a Rob Tyner as has ever walked the earth. If you don’t believe my critical nose I happened to be seated next to Albert (No Pseudonym) Bouchard of the Cult and axed him: “Would you trade Eric Bloom for the man you now see singin before you?” Answer (this is strictly off the record so’s not to create dissension anywhere): affirmative. Make mine Manitoba!

R. Meltzer

5 YEARS AGO

JOHN AND HARI BACK IN USA

John Lennon and George Harrison will be permitted to enter the U.S. “for business purposes only.” The State Department had lifted their visas over a year ago because of their records of drug busts in England. Things have apparently changed. “Lennon has said he’s not interested in drugs anymore. People look on that with consideration,” said a State Department official. And you know how considerate the State Department is.

TOOTSIE ROLLS YOUR OWN

Unhhhhl Oooooooh! Ahhhhhl Yeahl Spizzl Spuzzl Gnuhhhhhhh... Yes, here We see international synthesizer playboy Billy Preston with Ms.'s Black America, the sweetest poozkooz this side of god's trombone heaven. They are what am, if you are with It at where 'tis, and it is, and your loon-lorn caption writer misses 'em and he never even met ’em. Just imagine, under these most circumfluent of circumstances, how Billy feels. Proof positive that flesh is better than discos. Move, flank, iush love, swim it over here, goin' to a go gahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...

Looking Back On Beck And The Boys

LOS ANGELES - Undeniably, the Yardbirds had a great impact on the music scene * not only in their native England but in America as well. Originally a rhythm and blues combo, the group grew from a local London party band to an international entity and in large part their success was founded on the vocal and composing talents of lead singer Keith Relf. “So you want to know about the Yardbirds, huh?” he asked, turning interviewer into interviewee. Relf was in the throes of trying to rehearse his new band called Arm-

ageddon when the question hit him. “Goddamn, wait a minute, let me think about it ... ”

Finally gathering his thoughts, he talked about the beginnings of the band, meeting with Eric Clapton, and the release of “For Your Love” (their first single), which was issued on the same day that Jeff Beck joined, replacing Clapton. “That was indicative of where Eric’s head was at because he wanted to stay a purist of the blues and didn’t want anything to do with pop stuff.”

Jeff had beeh with the band for three years when he decided to quit during an American tour (the band did nine of them). Paul SamwellSmith had earlier left the band and James Patrick Page had come in as bassist; when Jeff left the group was sans lead guitar so Jimmy took over there and rhythm guitarist Chris Dreja assumed bass duties. In March of 1968 the group came to an end.

There was then a two and a half year stint with Renaissance, a group which blended classical with rock, and brought Keith to the following observation: “It dawned on me at that point that what I do best is outfront emotive yelling.” He does just that in Armaggeddon, a quartet featuring Louis Cennamo, Bobby Caldwell, and Martin Pugh.

“Armageddon is certainly musically stronger than the Yardbirds ever were. The musical content and the actual playing ability is much better.” Even with people like Clapton, Page, and Beck in the Yardbirds? “Yeah, yeah, I have great faith in the boys. I know for a fact that at least the bass playing is better in this band.”

But Relf has nothing but praise for the three guitarists he once played with. Armageddon’s rehearsal nearing an end, Keith summed up feelings about the trio. “The most creative period was certainly with Jeff; the most enjoyable one was with Eric. I think Beck’s latest album (Blow By Blow) is incredible, he’s really excelled himself. It’s exactly what he wanted to do. And what can you think about Zeppelin, it’s an amazing operation. Yeah, and Eric has gone through some weird changes but I think he’s happy and enjoying himself.”

Was Keith happy in the Yardbirds? “I had some good times, yeah; I try to forget that I was in the band every once in a while but you can’t deny your past. I didn’t make any money with them ... it just didn’t seem important at the time.”

Steve Rosen

Smack’s Tax

DETROIT - Eddie “Big Man” Jackson apparently hasn’t been paying his sales taxes and the state of Michigan is not pleased. But what does Big Man know from sales tax? He just sells heroin —$24 million worth of it, to be precise — and he has enough to worry about without asking that his customers pay him that extra four percent that the state asks. Nevertheless, the state in an unprecedented ruling decided that Big Man owed $1 million after talking to informants who knew the extent of his illegal activity and after analyzing the purity of the drugs he sold to determine the average selling price. But after all is said and done, this is really just gravy to the state and a mild insult to the injury done Jackson who was convicted in Michigan last October of selling heroin, fined $70,000 and sentenced to 20 years in prison.

J.W. Dant

Ol’White Hair Is Back

Andy Warhol, who just completed a nationwide tour hawking his new book The Philosophy of Andy Warhol (From A to B and Back Again) recently granted CREEM an interview to talk about the book, art and the deeper mysteries of the universe.

The personification of his pre-formulated media image, Andy greeted us with the limpest handshake imaginable, appearing cadaverously blanched in complexion, and sporting grey straw-like hair.

Staring out at us soporifically through pink framed glasses, Warhol told why he decided to put his Socratic thoughts down in print.

“I was at this party and I met an agent who said, ‘Write a book and I can sell it.’ And that’s what happened.”

In Philosophy, Warhol does not offer his life story, but instead submits a collection of anecdotes and reflections dealing with such topics of universal appeal as Love, Beauty, Art, and Underwear Power.

The book runs the gamut from pseudo-serious to absolutely absurd, and in typical Warhol fashion the distinction is often nebulous. Consider: “My ideal wife would have a lot of bacon, bring it all home, and have a TV station besides.”

Droning on in an almost inaudible monotone, Andy elaborated a bit on some of his current projects. In addition to putting out Interview magazine, he's working on a book with Paulette Goddard (Charlie Chaplin’s costar in Modern Times).

“I taped her for two years. She really didn’t tell us very much,” said Warhol. His business manager, Bob Colacello, added, “She talked about diamonds for two years. The book is about someone living like a nineteen thirties movie star today. She really is a trer mendous person.”

Andy recently completed a series of posters of Mick Jagger during the recent Rolling Stones tour. “I saw the Stones five times when they toured and decided to do a portfolio. It took quite a while to do.”

Warhol also discussed the possibility (and with a straight face) of making Philosophy into a theatrical production. Into a what? “Yes,” Andy replied, “Lou Reed and I have been talking about the possibility of making the book into a full length musical production.”

All I can say is, give my regards to Broadway.

Jeff Myles