THE BEAT GOES ON

THE BEAT GOES ON

Murder On The Liverpool Express

LONDON—So there I was at Euston station, seated comfortably in the 1st class compartment waiting for the Inter City to speed me to my destination—Liverpool's Lime Street.

My thought processes revolved around whether to peruse a copy of the latest Rolling Stone or wade into a hefty-looking biography of John Coltrane.

Being a lazy sod, I chose the former. Amongst the usual grist, there was a lengthy and totally inconclusive article on one Elvis Costello. This piece of hardhitting journalism turned out to be a lengthy account of how one of Rolling Stones' staffers had attempted—at no small expense—to procure an interview with the big El, only to be furnished with three quotes.

One was "Fuck off!"

The second was "Piss off!"

"The third was, "Stick it..."

Anyway, I was digging into a piece on Steve Dunleavy, the blood afid guts reporter for Rupert Murdoch's tabloids, when I felt a hand touch my shoulder. Looking up I was face to face with the most reclusive rock star media-wise currently in existence. He was wearing a polka dot shirt, like the one Bob Dylan used to wear. He was wearing shades very similar to the ones Bob Dylan used to wear. And he sported the ubiquitous Johnson & Johnson jacket. There he was, smiling, nay virtually beaming... Elvis Costello!! ,

Not a sign of the cagey figure of our last encounter a few months back. This was not a man living on his nerve ends, but an amiable soul offering hospitality via the compartment it turned but he was sharing with his wife Maty, an extremely attractive , bright girl with sandycolored hair, and the couple's son Matthew, whose face was virtually hiddeniby a Fidel Castro cap. It goes without saying that a reconciliation had taken place, and throughout the three hour journey, er, what's-er-name wasn't even mentioned.

THANKS, I'LL TAKE THE BUS...

"Th« key to Cleveland? Uh... thanks," says a dubious Ian Hunter. "No, No I" Mayor Dennis Kudnich assured him. "Nothing like that... This is the key to the City Council's coed shower. Only one problem: It's in Toledo... want to pitch in some bucks for gas?"

Other matters however were discussed—topics ranging from Costello following the J. Geils Band around Europe (he'd been at the final stages of mixing Sanctuary, Geils' last album, got pally with the group and made the trip from France to London to watch them play; so enraptured was he with them) to animated impersonations of Robert De Niro in Mean Streets.

Inevitably the touchy incident when a drunken Elvis made the mistake of harassing Bonnie Bramlett and Steve Stills was broached— an encounter which involved Costello referring to Ray Charles and James Brown as "niggers."

"Well J thought it would make for a more original exit than the usual motorcycle accident," he quipped. 1

"The thing is, though, none of the fucking reports got it right. Not one single one."

Costello contends that yes it was he, in a drunken stupor, who started the whole thing off by referring to Snllsas "old tin noseThings quickly escalated, however, to the point where, after Ms. Bramlett had taken her swing —and missed, according to Costello—he was set upon by somewhere in the region of five Stills roadies.

"It was one of those ridiculous barroom fights where you're too pissed to know what's going on. It wds more like slapstick than anything. I only remembered that the' thing had even taken place when I returned to my hotel room and discovered that my arm hurt somewhat."

Not one to let bygones be bygones, Elvis considers the subsequent media fracas to be the work of a publicity famished Bonnie Bramlett.

"Yeah, I said at one point though it wasn't recorded as far as I know: 'That woman has made one reputation off one E.C. [Eric Clapton, whose impromptu gigging with Delaney and Bonnie helped break the pair initially]. She's fuckin' well not going to get more publicity off of another one!' "

The "racist" charge— which drew such negative reaction (including numerous death threats) that Costello was constantly accompanied by two plain clothes policemen—wasn't the only incident of consequence to happen to our El in the U.S. What with every rock star, new or old wave, making movies these days, the Elvis film—mentioned in the piece by yours truly earlier in this year—was completed somewhere amidst the mayhem. Entitled Americathon— about a giant telethon to save America from bankruptcy— it has Costello starring opposite Meatloaf, and playing an invented English rock star. It's a portrayal th$t caused our hero to dust off one of his golden-though-unused oldies for the final fitting touch.

Back when "Watching The Detectives ' Was conceived musically as a cop from Don Covey's "It's Better To Have (And Don't Need)" (before Steve Naive added his Bernard Herrman touches, thus altering the arrangement totally) , one of the songs written alongside "Lip Service" and "Lipstick Vogue" was "Crawling To The USA."

"When I checked out the part, I suddenly realized that that "USA" song would fit perfectly." f

Another song from that period, entitled, "Hoover Factory," Costello had intended to use as the B-side of "Oliver's Army" before the idea of doing "My Funny Valentine" took precedence.

("Hoover Factory" also turns up on the 50,000,000 Elvis Fans Can't Be Wrong bootleg, which has lately been soiling certain hands. It was recorded when Jake Riviera sent El and the newly-formed Attractions to a make-shift four-track studio in Cornwall to rehearse and record some demos just to see how things were sounding. The title is, of course, a swipe from one of the original Elvis records, another of which, Girls, Girls, Girls, was once mooted as the title for This Year's Model.)

In between eluding the flack and making his screen debut, Elvis also found time whilst in the States to meet with country singer George Jones. The two of them went into the studio in Nashville to again record "Stranger In The House." Said Elvis of Jones, "I learned a hell of a lot."

Finally, Elvis revealed that before he exited from the land of Coca-Cola, he turned down the chance to appear on the cover of Rolling Stone.

"Why make life easy for yourself?" he said, as he reached up to pull the communication cord. Minutes later Costello, wife, son and suitcase dropped stealthily out of sight behind the sidings. I decided to wade into John Coltrane after all.

. Suddenly I felt a light tap on my shoulder. I looked up.

"Why Bob!" I cried.

Courtesy NME

Nick Kent

Wayne Kramer Tunes Up

DETROIT—Johnny Thunders' special guest during his two-night vrun at Bookie's was none other than "boyhood idol" Wayne Kramer, popping onstage for an encore with Mr. T. to whoop out Gary U.S. Bond's"Quarter To Three." It didn't matter that we heard Wayne yell to Johnny: "What key?" It was enough of a rock dream to witness these two guitar outlaws testifying. There were no disturbing signs of fusion tendencies on Mr. Kramer's part; vhe seemed to have found his rock roots again.

Days later, reports filtered back to BGO Central that Johnny was holed up in a Detroit recording studio with Wayne. Tracked down by phone on the eve of his departure for the U.K. (and real career moves), Kramer confirmed the local chitchat.

"Yeah, Johnny and I recorded a few tunes," he offered, "and it worked out really well. We did a few songs' written by Johnny— '447,' 'M.I.A.''—you know, like 'missing in action,' and (guffaws): then there's 'Just Because I'm White, Why Do You Treat Me Like A Nigger?' "

Asked if he'd penned any songs, Wayne said: "Well, just one that Johnny and I wrote. It's called 'Hoodoo Voodoo.' We had a good time."

Although no plans are firm to release the tracks from these Detroit sessions, both Johnny and Wayne have U.K. record contracts. Johnny's on Real, and Wayne was recently signed to Radar Records (home of Elvis & Nick) by Andrew Lauder. Two new singles, "East Side Girl" and "Too Late To Stop," should be available on import by the time you read this.

"I've gotta go now," Wayne chirped (a gentlemanly way of getting rid of the flack), " 'cause I've gotta finish packing."

One more question: new wave?

"I'm... impressed. "

So were we, Wayne, so were we.

Linda Barber

Johnny Thunders Into Motown

DETROIT—Johnny Thunders put down his guitar, stumbled to center stage in three long steps and said: "Do you love me?"

It is a question to rinse off the 70's. For Johnny Thunders, in Detroit with his "So Alone Revue," it's more a personal emblem than it is an introduction to the fabulous Contours number. That he could barely walk to the microphone is no surprise either. A guitar hero without his guitar is no hero at all.

"Now ... that I can dance! Watch me now!"

Just like that, handicapped and almost naked without his instrument, J. Thunders brought the Detroit house down.

The So Alone Revue were the Heartbreakers unofficially—Walter Lure, Billy Rath, Jerry Nolan and Thunders— making their first ever Detroit showing. And probably their last, considering the events which immediately followed the two nights at Bookie's Club 870.

Walter Lure told a local fanzine editor; "We're only here because Johnny got the job and didn't have a band." The original line-up was to have included former Sex Pistol Steve Jones.

When Thunders refused to pay his band, they flew back to New York. Nolan is reportedly set to fly to England where he will record with his band, the Idols.

Meanwhile, Johnny Thunders stayed in town and was rumored to be guest spotting on several Wayne Kramer gigs as well as performing solo (backed by local group Flirt) at Wayne State University. Both rumors proved false. (Wayne did show up at Bookie's for a raucous ver^ sion of "Quarter To Three" on Johnny's first night, in Detroit.)

Thunders' personal problems are numerous ehough to devote a book to; no American record company will touch him, yet when it comes time to deliver, he can be as hot as any guitar man alive.

At the Bookie's shows he demonstrated to Detroit that he could still really shake 'em down. His lead playing was characteristically dirty and his vocals—some shared with Lure—were nasal and drippy. The band were a committed bunch, particularly Jerry Nolan, who still fills like few drummers are able, and Walter Lure and Billy Rath, who fit so well in this group it's almost as if they'd made a pact to do it for life.

^'All By Myself," "Born Too Loose" and "Chinese Rocks" were Heartbreakersperfect; sloppy, boozy, filthy renderings.

But it was Thunders—his face sagging, pale, bony, with greasy hair swept behind his ears—who was the immortal rock 'n' roll article, the absolute center of attention. The sad eyes daring anyone to test their loneliness. An encore of "Pipeline" and "I Wanna Be Loved" and Thunders was finished; and the dancing crowd was dizzy. ,

Stay tuned as the legend endures.

Walter C. Wasacz

Booze & Blues Mar Ears

SALT LAKE CITY - The end of loud, grating, totally1 enjoyable heavy metal concerts, as we know them , may be at hand.

University of Utah audiologist Martin Robinette claims that people who get drunk at loud concerts' may be facing permanent hearing loss. Dr. R. made the amazing discovery that loaders greatly lessen their -ability to hear music and thus underestimate the "amount of noise" reaching their ringing ears. This can then lead to irreversible damage to the eardrums and seashell brain.

Since a mere four drinks in a two hour period are supposedly enough to bring on the huh?s^ the solution is obvious: if you drink, don't listen!

Rick Johnson

Pod Fear Sweeps Nuthouse

MACOMB, IL-It all started after they showed the remake of Invasion Of The Body Snatchers here at the County Head Farm. Or at least, that's when I think it started.

Latet, we were all in the TV Ward when Chet (the one who thinks he's a rototiller) yelled out "somebody put on the Poddy Duke Show]" Haha, \ye said, until Restraints Renee voiced her disagreement.

"I would prefer the Podtridge Family," she said evenly, between slobbers.

"How about the Beverly Podbillies?" The Crane giggled. ,

"Or maybe Lifeless With Daddy!" added Nate, who's convinced he's being followed by gigantic Chapsticks.

The situation was obviously getting out of hand, and Nursie switched over to the news, hoping to cool our chestnuts.

"Garland, Texas! A strange, pod-like blob has taken root on the rosebush of a local housewife, it's so weird . . . this membrane just pulses . . . it's multiplied itself sixteen times in two weeks . . . it's got black mucous inside with thick red bubbles on top. Turns colors when punctured . .

"Oh, this is stupidJ' said Shaver (goes around saying zzzzzz all the time), "put on the movie."

We did: ". . . and now today's feature film, Hot Pods From Hell."

By this time, nobody was even paying attention and I noted that most of them looked even more poddedout than usual. Before I asked to be locked in a podded cell, I tried the radio.

". . . apd that was Pod Rundgren's great oldie, 'Hello,'It's Me.' And now Pod Stewart's new—"

"Hey Ranger Rick, you should wait 'til they play the new Kiss tune, 'Pod Gun'!" the Slippers Freak shouted as Lran out of the ward.

Somebody call the Pod Squad!

Rick Johnson

5 YEARSAGO

Beatles Going Broke!

Rumors abound that John Lennon's considering filing for unemployment, while Ringo lost his Playboy Club membership (and his key) for not paying his $300 bar tab. George remains secure in the bux dept., but is having trouble keeping track of wife Patti (who's busy keeping track of guitarist Eric Clapton). And what of Paul? He's been spotted in Nashville, Tennessee (hoping for a spot on the Grand OV Opry?).