Is Ray Davies In Disgrace?
The only disappointment stemming from my talk-fest with Ray Davies concerns his hotel room. It looks just like mine—only messier and perhaps a wee bit more expensive (the view is a helluva lot better but why quibble over details). The 18th floor suite is decorated with a layer of newspapers, magazines and theatre guides, discarded clothes, tapes, a host of empty Coke bottles (has Paul Nelson been here before me?) and white roses are strewn across the premises.
Tales of Mad Dogs and Englishmen, sitting in the midday sun
Is Ray Davies In Disgrace?
by
Patrick Goldstein
The only disappointment stemming from my talk-fest with Ray Davies concerns his hotel room. It looks just like mine—only messier and perhaps a wee bit more expensive (the view is a helluva lot better but why quibble over details). The 18th floor suite is decorated with a layer of newspapers, magazines and theatre guides, discarded clothes, tapes, a host of empty Coke bottles (has Paul Nelson been here before me?) and white roses are strewn across the premises.
"The story about Dave trying to stab me is true. He aimed for my hand."
The only liquor in sight is in the form of Boy Howdy beer cans, survivors of a tumultuous photo session that has left Mr. Davies in a state of considerable agitation: “Please don’t make me out to be a total drunkard,” he admonished CREEM’s phototrix. “I’ve barely succeeded in living down last year’s tales of dissipation.”