The Beat Goes On

The Beat Goes On

The Case Of The BabySnatchers

LOS ANGELES—A few months ago The Babys were reported missing here by their manager, Adrian Miller, on Rodney Bingenheimer’s Sunday night radio show. He stated that The Babys (Walt Stocker, Tony Brock, John Waite and Mike Corby) had disappeared after an afternoon fun session by their Hollywood hotel pool.

Miller alleged that he just went to the front desk to respond to a Free Press classified ad, and when he returned poolside, all that was left of The Babys were a trail of Fritos corn chips and miniature marshmallows leading down to the garage. He suspected that the group had been abducted. Other sources claimed that the group had never even been in Los Angeles, and that The Babys were entirely a figment of their record company’s English imagination.

On the other hand, Chrysalis Records stated that The Babys were not only in town, but that they had hosted an array of parties and receptions in their honor where the wine flowed freely. All the local presswho were contacted claimed not to remember either the group or the parties.

There were, in fact, several concrete leads in this -case. A waitress at the Rainbow Bar & Grill agreed to cooperate. Spokespeople for several TV shows like The Midnight Special confirmed that four foppishlooking young lads actually taped their programs, stating emphatically that they were The Babys.

In order to positively identify the real group a series of descriptions was issued. THE BABYS:

—John Waite: Often seen hanging around Dairy Queens or 31 Flavors eating Rocky Road double-scoop cones. Sings heartily. Loiters around high school campuses singing “Looking For Love” or “If You’ve Got the Time.” Red hair, Rod Stewart haircut.

—Mike Corby: Tall guy in flame-red velvet suit. Plays guitar and sports an Iron Cross pendant through left ear. Often speaks in English.

—Walt Stocker: Quiet riot type. Small, definitely understated. Cannot tie his own shoelaces. Plays the bass with a bump-bump batter.

—Tony Brock: Toughlooking, reform school graduate. Likes a good time. His specialty is Swedish meatballs. Subscribes to Rock Drummer Quarterly (with illustrations).

The Babys’ doctor’s reports show that all four can distinguish right from left apd can navigate circular turns. If they are in central Los Angeles, they need only to approach the nearest police officer, and he will know what to do. The boys would be advised to state the following: “I-am-a-Babyand-I-am-lost. Where-is-myhotel, please?”

[The Babys have been found—in fact they were vacationing in Malibu and disengaging themselves from their manager during their alleged abduction.—Ed.]

Darcy Diamond

But Can He Sing?

So OK, Peter Frampton's a nice guy, and he let his hair go back to its natural chipmunk color —thass cool; he sure do color up a storm judging from the Cray* olct creations behind him, and who can turn on a better cheesy grin? But we here at Boy Howdy Productions sure do wish he'd learn to hold his liquor. (That's Sex Slymbol of the Year he's got there1, as well as Comeback of the Yoar, Hero of the Year, and many more.)

Crash Course In Punk Rock

LONDON—Like a pack of nervous weiners looking at the world through hotdogcolored glasses, Britain’s “new-wave” punk bands are now demanding protection from their more ardent fans.

“We ain’t gonna take it,” says Stuart Joseph, manager of Generation X, citing these recent outbreaks of fan exuberance at college gigs:

—Generation X guitarist Ryne Duren was nailed by a broken beer mug and had to be carried offstage, blood gushing from his forehead like make-up at a Queen concert.

—Bassist Jean Burnell of the Stranglers caught a bottle in the face and leaped into the crowd, anxious to demonstrate the karate moves he learned from Kojak reruns. He lost.

—The Vibrators were chased to their dressing room by hail the size of beer cans at Berkshire. The fans then tried to kick down the door, demanding more music. Meanwhile, the band crawled out the window.

Blaming this new wave of drastic rock criticism on hyperthyroid Econ students, Joseph has inserted a clause in his band’s contracts demanding that no booze can be taken into the hall and that security goons armed with lamb-prods protect the band at all gigs. Rockers with particularly surly expressions will probably have to pass personality tests for violent tendencies before they’re admitted.

American rockers, who wear their scars like medals, remain disinterested in the issue. “Violence, oh yeah/’ says punker Long Storey of Slick ’Em. “I always boogie at the sight of blood.”

Rick Johnson

Shaun Cassidy Sticks Out His Lips

HOLLYWOODYou thought maybe that one Cassidy was enough? Figured that after all those years of old airbrush face puckering his glossy lips all over TV and radio, you were gonna get a break, maybe? No more close-ups of yourTg glands excreting, just the safe plaidpussed Rollers?

No rest for the wicked. Meet Shaun Cassidy, fastrising star of tube and groove and latest idol of rube pubes. Already a star in Europe, Cassidy has parlayed his co-starring role on The Hardy Boys into American shake appeal as well. Following his smash remake of “Da Do Run Run” Shaun promises to be the biggest thing since the training bra.

After an abortive early recording attempt in halfbrother David’s shadow a couple years back, Shaun laid low for awhile, taking minor stage and TV roles and hanging out on the fringes of the LA tuff teen scene. Tryouts for Venus and the Razor Blades and the Hollywood Stars didn’t pan out, and he was about to hang up his incisors and stick to TV movies.

The heavily-promoted Hardy Boys kiddy show rescued Cassidy from obscurity, and it wasn’t long before somebody realized they had a natural tie-in. In an episode about suspicious goings-on at a surfing competition, Shaun sang “Surfin’ U.S.A.” over outtakes from Endless Summer and later shook his single-socket rear to “Fun Fun Fun” while extras that had wandered off from a Foster Grant commercial looked on in bemused disgust.

Now that he’s been ripping up the charts like Saturday Night in Sioux City, Shaun the Maun is making an album and keeping his tinkle-tailed puppy eyes wide open. Not wanting to follow David into the Mick Ronson burn-out circuit, he’s taking it slow, looking for a good band to prop up his three-chord voice and some “solid” acting roles.

Meanwhile/ back at the beach, the Hardies got stomped by thugs wearing Hawaiian shirts, but with the innate cleverness of trained amoebas, still managed to catch the guys that were nailing banana peels to the surfboards. “We took a licking, but we keep on kicking!” Shaun blurts while twatlings in bikinis blush discreetly.

How fast do the cars go on Route 69? . , ,

Rick Johnson

IS THE WORLD READY FOR THIS?

CBGB's was—Lester Bangs made his official stage debut (the real one was at the Punk Magazine Benefit), and apparently few In the heavily rock crit audience were disappointed. Besides dancing and lying down, Lester sang "Boney Maroney," "Total Destruction To Your Mind," "TV Eyes,"-and such Bangs-penned epics as "In My Room, "Live," and "No Teeth." If a bomb had dropped on the seedy little dive, the word "rock critic" would have disappeared from the vocabulary. Cheering Lester on from one ringside table was our Robert Christgau, John Rockwell, Paul Nelson, our own Billy "Buzz" Altman and John "Mothra" Morthland. Several Dictators and Sandy Pearlman (sans shades) were seen, lurking about. Stay tuned for former CREEM-er Lester's vinyl debut on Ork records.

King James Holds Court

NEW YORK CITY-One does not turn down an invitation to meet a Godfather, and so, a little while back, your humble reporter found himself dressed to the teeth (in my case; my one good jacket and my only pair of dress pants) and on his way to Gallagher’s Steak House in Manhattan for a luncheon with the man himself, James Brown. Was I nervous? Well, suffice to say that as I hurriedly slammed the door of my apartment, afraid of being late, I caught a quick glimpse of my house keys lying on the living room table and, were it not for the good graces of my neighbor in 4A, who let me go down the fire escape so’s I could second-story my own house, I’d probably be livin’ on the streets now, thinking that a sign had come from above for me to give up this thankless writing work and do something meaningful with my life, like playing the sidewalk all day with a set of drumsticks.

But no. The sign from above was that there are some things that a man, if he’s a man, must respect, and James Brown is one of them. I rushed to get there and the congregation (comprised of a few Polydor-Reck Execs, some fellow keybangers and a photog or two) assembled in the Trophy Room (great picture gallery featuring such diverse American heroes as Wally Pipp and J. Edgar Hoover) was lookin’just a shade nervous. Mr. Brown (which, the Polydor publicist informed me/ was'James Brown’s favorite way of being addressed, though later, when I did call him James, the man who gave you “Papa’s Got A Brand New Bag,” “Please, Please, Please,” etc., ad infinitum, did not proceed to do a Camel Walk on my windpipe but smiled and called me Billy—gracious ruler, he), it seems, had not shown yet, and cold sweats were breakin’ out all around. The lightning bolt of wisdom then hit me square in the noggin—the king does not wait; the subjects do. That’s why he’s the king. And indeed, when he and entourage did finally show up some thirty minutes late, just long enough to make everyone realize that they were indeed waiting and, resplendent in simple tan jumpsuit designed to show that, at age 40 plus, he is in as good shape as ever), one could only manage to mumble a meek hello , so effective is he in presence, let alone On stage or record.

Mr. Daltrey and Roger Repulsive

Young English rock 'it' roller Roger Daltrey, fascinated by the punk explosion In Britain^ believes in the dualistlc nature of man, that beneath every rocker's sktn fsa scabies-infected leather boy clawing to get out. Roger decided to experiment on iiimself, and above you see' him leaving a working class pub, testing the avowed drink of the punks, beelr. Before he'd gotten‘two steps down the street a wave of nausea Swept him, his clothes fell away and rearranged thpmselves with safety p|ns and zippers, his hair fell out, grew back and stood on end—in short,he became ROGER REPULSIVE, 18-years-old, violently anti-social, unable to play an Instrument and the prize possession of the largest British record company. Daltrey found after a while that he couldn’t control these "R.R." episodes, and Is rather worried about the upcoming Who tour...does "R.R." know the words to "My Generation"? Will he cause 35-year-old Who fans to pogo In the audience?? Only time will tell...

After a solid meal, a few of us are brought around to the head of the table where Brown, flanked by his longtime announcer and longtime road manager, holds court. I ask him how it feels to be James Brown. “The toughest thing,” he says, “is that every time I make a record or go out on a tour, I know I gotta cut James Brown or I’m in trouble, and I know I’m the only one who can do it.”

Since he’s just getting back on the road after a three year layoff, the question comes up as to whether the rise of disco had anything to do with it. James smiles. “No, I never felt any competition from any of that stuff. It’s all just things that I started that other people are copying. I mean, you talk about Roots, man, I’m it for all music. My only real competition is Elvis and Sinatra. ” Brown then informs us that he’s been doing a lot of recording of late and had plenty of material in the can that will knock the world over, but he’s taking his time. “I been around long enough to know that things go in cycles, and I think people are getting mighty bored of disco music. So I’m gonna be there with my new songs soon because I feel the time is right.” (His new album, Mother Nature, complete with scented cover, should be out by the time you read this.)

It’s time to end our chat, and James Brown rises from his chair. “I don’t know if what I’ve said makes sense to you,” he smiles, “but how many other people do you' know who you’d listen to talk like this for so long?” I smile too, ’cause we both know he’s right. After all, he is the King, and all those who love great music are his subjects.

Billy Altman

5 YEARS AGO

Send In Yonr Cards And Letters

Keith Moon hospitalized following his unsuccessful double somersault onstage.. Marianfie Faithfull in a clinic un dergoing heroin withdrawal treatments.. .Russell Mael (of Sparks) treated for hitting himself on the head with a 10 pound sledge hammer.