celebrity obit

From A Whisper To A Scream

Robert Cochrane — Wed, 19 Mar 2025 18:49:38 +0000

From A Whisper To A Scream Robert Cochrane March 19, 2025 - 14:49

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Peter Farrelly 1949-2025

Peter Farrelly cut an elegant figure in the heady days of prog rock via his sensitively considered vocals, sophisticated bass lines, and somewhat foppish appearance. A striking character, he was the charismatic frontman of Fruupp, Northern Ireland's distinguished but sole contribution to the world of progressive rock. A strange entity to emerge in the murderous and bloody period of Irish turmoil, they simply didn't fit in. Needless to say, they moved to London to advance their chances of a career securing a record deal with Dawn Records in 1973.

Farrelly merited greater recognition for his sublime technique and could vocally rise from a whisper to a scream with effortless ease, as illustrated in the songs "Decision" and "Mystery Might," but though his days with Fruupp are his lynchpin to legacy, their sound has aged like a wine of fine vintage, they never, despite being constantly on tour, broke through to the higher echelons of fame. His delivery hovered between the jazziness of Cleo Laine and the deceptive casualness of Tim Hardin, although when required, he could "rock out" with the best, possessing a rare and subtle air of vocal understatement.

Fruupp's four albums have gained greater recognition in later years than were gifted on release. Peter's distinctive artwork graced their first two LP sleeves, Future Legends and Seven Secrets, and the early promotional posters and flyers via a curious mixture of Victorian children's illustrations and colorful seventies whimsy. The band's rigorous touring schedule ended his role as their visual merchandiser. He simply no longer had the time to execute another sleeve of such intricate detail, a loss of stylistic continuity that really should have been avoided.

Like most natural talents, he was humble about his own. A distinctive and strong visual centerpiece to the eclectic brilliance behind him, the classical keyboard flourishes of Stephen Houston, later the layered electronic washes of the late John Mason, Vincent McCusker's searingly dynamic guitar lines in tandem with Martin Foye's driven and inspired drum motifs. What made Farrelly unique was his ability to sing exquisitely whilst delivering throbbingly appropriate bass progressions. His instrument of choice had been the acoustic guitar, but the bass reigned supreme in his hands. It was a remarkable and unintentional transition, indicative of his innate talent.

Fruupp shared the bill with Genesis, Queen, Hawkwind, and Focus, to name but four. David Bowie and Angie, dressed in matching white suits, showed up at one of their London gigs. Eclectic and electric, it remains a mystery why their career stalled whilst lesser talents soared. Their final album, Modern Masquerades, was exquisitely produced by Ian McDonald from King Crimson, another band they'd previously toured with.

After Fruupp imploded in 1976, the advent of Punk rendered their contemplative sound instantly obsolete. Farrelly formed The Crowd, an inspired Doors/Stranglers "New Wave" hybrid, who, with a little more kindness from Lady Luck, could have broken through. Sadly, they disbanded without recording any material, though some live bootlegs of inferior audio quality apparently exist. After a few more short-lived bands, he gradually drifted away from the scene that had sustained him for a decade.

Though Peter Farrelly left music, the music never left him. He continued to write songs, developing an interest in the classical genre after taking up the piano. His talent will continue to bring delight and awe to those who know it already and those who've yet to discover the delicacy of his recorded work. After half a century, it still beguiles, remaining a tasteful legacy of elegance, refinement, and good grace. Understatement is a talent often easily dismissed or ignored, but he lived long enough to see his efforts reassessed and praised

He died peacefully at home in Belfast aged 76.

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Beyond The Alley of the Dolls

Robert Cochrane — Tue, 04 Mar 2025 13:11:04 +0000

Beyond The Alley of the Dolls Robert Cochrane March 4, 2025 - 08:11

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David Johansen 1950 -2025

When the New York Dolls burst forth upon an unsuspecting public via the release of their eponymous album debut, they were draggy, druggy, and degenerate, resembling a team of transvestite hookers. Their startling appearance rattled a world of "Rock & Roll" that thought it had seen and been it all. Bob Harris described their appearance on his show The Old Grey Whistle Test as "Mock Rock," a slogan opportunity they should have stolen with a knowing wink. Raw and in your face in the way that The Velvet Underground and The Stooges were, the Dolls took no prisoners and startled all of the mostly empty horses. Fronted by the glamourous androgyny of David Johansen in high heels, who claimed he wanted to look like the French movie star Simone Signoret, he actually resembled Lauren Bacall in a beret, after many nights on cold and slippery, dirty tiles.

Cribbing their name from the building opposite where they used to rehearse, "The New York Dolls Hospital," where kids took their damaged dolls to be repaired, proved a strangely befitting choice. Their sound was loud, nasty, and aggressive, something that didn't go amiss when Todd Rundgren, a man known for his aural elegance, captured it, warts, rhinestones, and all, in the eight days that it took to record. Despite decent reviews it didn't sell. Their stripped-back angry energy was an unintentional rallying call for what would later become known as a Punk, but in those days, they stuck out like a bruised and throbbing sore thumb. Songs like "Personality Crisis," "Jet Boy," and "Trash" perfectly exemplify their ragged, jagged grace. Formed from the ashes of a Bronx-based band Actress whose members Johnny Thunders and Billy Murcia decided to create a new band. But when Thunders decided against being the frontman, David Johansen, who'd previously played in a few Staten Island garage bands, was recruited. He was born there in 1950. The original line-up, including Sylvain Sylvain and Arthur "Killer" Kane, performed their first gig on Christmas Eve at the Endicott Hotel, which was by then a shelter for the homeless.

Invited to the UK to support the Faces at Wembley in 1972 and to undertake a handful of shows, disaster befell the band when, at a party in London, Billy Murcia overdosed. Placed in the bath and fed coffee, he asphyxiated. The journalist Peter Burton (1945-2011), then Rod Stewart's P.A., remembered the party but had no idea till he heard the following morning what had transpired. "There were plenty of strung-out people there. A passed-out drummer in a bath didn't seem much of a cause for concern."

The tour was abandoned, and a teenage Stephen Patrick Morrissey never got to redeem his ticket for their canceled show at Manchester's Hard Rock. He'd ran their UK Fan Club. and penned an early book about them. The band returned to New York to consider their future, recruiting Jerry Nolan as Murcia's replacement, and secured a deal with Mercury Records.

In October 1973, they juddered an American viewing public via their appearance on The Midnight Special. Middle America dropped jaws and coffee cups and flipped channels in the days when the shock was both palpable and awesome. Eventually recording a second album, the gloriously monikered Too Much Too Soon, with the legendary Shadow Morton, on account of their adoration for the girl groups he'd worked with in the Sixties like the Shangri-La's. Again, the print reviews didn't translate into sales, but a legend was growing. Their divisive appeal was reflected in the fact that Creemmagazine awarded them Best Band of The Year and The Worst.

When burgeoning rock Svengali Malcolm MacLaren visited New York on a trip to sell his then-partner Vivienne Westwood's clothes designs, he tracked them down, became their manager, and dressed them in red leather. He claimed the new look was his idea, but Johansen later disputed that maintaining it was his. Either way, it didn't work since it effectively alienated their old fans whilst hardly attracting any new ones. There was a tour of Japan, but the drug use of Kane, Thunders, and Nolan exacerbated inner conflicts within the band. Dropped by Mercury Records in late 1975, the Dolls staggered on, more from reputation than industry support, finally bowing out at a post-Christmas gig in 1976 with Blondie at Max's Kansas City in New York.

Johansen, between 1978 and 1984, released a quartet of creatively strong but commercially underachieving albums. He successfully drifted into acting, appearing alongside Bill Murray as the Ghost of Christmas Past in Scrooged, (1988), Let It Ride with Richard Dreyfuss (1989), and Freejack with Mick Jagger and Emilio Estevez (1992)., a mere triptych of his many noteworthy screen appearances.

By the late eighties, he'd reinvented himself as Buster Poindexter, a vaudevillian persona, after the fashion of his glam contemporary Jobriath, who morphed into Cole Berlin, a gin-soaked lounge pianist. As Poindexter, he scored a modest but memorable hit with "Hot. Hot. Hot," a cover of a song by soca artist Arrow. Johansen later admitted that skirmish with success had become the bane of his life. He released Buster's Happy Hour, an album sourced and soaked in the subject of alcohol. Another followed as Buster Poindexter's Spanish Rocket Ship, rooted in salsa music. These albums were a long way from the flash and thrash of the New York Dolls.

In 2004 Morrissey was curating the Meltdown Festival at the Royal Festival Hall. His jewel in the crown was the reformation of the New York Dolls, or rather, the three left standing. Johnny Thunders died in a hotel room from a drug overdose in 1991, or a possible homicide, whilst Jerry Nolan succumbed to bacterial meningitis and a stroke, his life support being switched off in January 1992. The performance resulted in a vinyl album, a DVD, and a permanent return of the Dolls, although Arthur Kane's reprise was tragically brief. A mere twenty-two days after the glory of their reunion he died two hours after being diagnosed with leukemia and having gone to hospital in LA complaining of fatigue. He thought he'd caught flu whilst in London. Johansen and Sylvain Sylvain continued with the New York Dolls releasingthree further albums One Day It Will Please Us To Even Remember This(1996), Coz I Sez So (2009), and Dancing Backwards In High Heels (2011). It was a brave, concerted and credible comeback. They played their final gig in Scotland during a tour with Alice Cooper in 2011.

David Johansen was immortalized by Martin Scorsese in the documentary Personality Crisis: One Night Only, recordedmostly in 2020 at an intimate show at Cafe Carlyle. Released in 2023, it captures and encapsulates all his raw and ragged peacock glory, a perfect testament to an era already descending into the amber of memory and absence. His final years were beset with health issues, diligently cared for by his wife Mara Hennessey. He gradually faded from view but not from memory. In the documentary he recalls being arrested for impersonating a woman at the height of his Dollsiian notoriety. "I had to go to jail dressed like Liza Minnelli!" he drawled.

His will be a hard act to follow. There'd be little need for anyone to try since Johansen was uniquely unclassifiable, a source of inspiration and beguilement, a man for all seasons who deserves another addition. He died from cancer on the 28th of February, 2025, at his New York City home, holding hands with his wife and daughter Leah, surrounded by music, flowers, and love.

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Dedicated To You But You Weren't Listening

Mark Plakias — Sat, 08 Feb 2025 22:41:26 +0000

Dedicated To You But You Weren't Listening Mark Plakias February 8, 2025 - 17:41

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Michael Ratledge was very tall. I was first introduced to Mike by a mutual friend, Susan DePalma, in the afternoon of one of our annual 12-hour New Year's Day parties in the West Village. Susan had a Cheshire Cat grin when she got my attention by saying, "There's someone I think you will be very interested to meet." When I turned, I had to look up, and at the same time, I heard the words "Mike Ratledge"—I went weak in the knees and almost fell backward; such was the power of the man's presence. This was probably 1995. Mike eventually left after a few hours, but then much later returned, saying this was the best party around, and proceeded to lose at Backgammon versus my 12-year-old daughter (the more sober player at that point). Thanks to Susan, we kept in touch and talked about our respective endeavors. In one such moment in a typical Ratledge bon-mots, he said of my persona as a consultant, "So you really don't undertake anything; you’re just the undertaker."

The last time I saw Mike in person was at his club in London, a properly wood-paneled dark warren of well-worn Chesterfield sofas and clouds of cigarette smoke. It was probably the second bottle of wine when I realized that the man was a technical genius who just happened to also be rendering his own translation of Francois Villon's love poetry. Back then, metadata was not as commonplace as now, but he was annotating interactive CDs with fine-grained metadata covering session players and recording dates. To say he was a virtuoso conversationalist is like saying Bucky Fuller was laconic.

The bottom line was that I was fortunate enough to be an acquaintance of the post-Softs Ratledge and astute enough to heed the man who had contributed so mightily to the canon of music that today is generalized as the Canterbury Scene.

The first time I heard Soft Machine (many fans refer to it as The Softs) was in my friend Jeff Ryan's basement during our weed-infused after-school listening sessions, which were surrounded by Jeff's walls of vinyl. Volume One was unique at the time and remains so to this day. Emerging at the moment when LPs with continuous sides were starting to become a thing, it was the product of the original and short-lived lineup of Kevin Ayers (whose Joy of a Toy stands as one of the greatest electric bass solos of the era), guitarist Daevid Allen (who would go on to form the anarchic assemblage under the name Gong), and the combination of Ratledge and Robert Wyatt on drums and vocals that gave voice to Ratledge's brilliantly scored compositions. Exemplary in all aspects, including volatility, this original line-up lasted long enough to blow people’s minds and, importantly for me, earn a spot as the opener for the Jimi Hendrix Experience North American tour of 1968.

This was the one and only live performance of Soft Machine I was privileged to attend. Yes, Jimi set fire to his Strat. The Foxboro Arena is just that, so the nuances of the Softs’ music were lost, but what boomed out in its place was Mike Ratledge's Hammond B3 on drugs—fuzz and wah-wah underneath industrial grade percussion (an organ setting pioneered by Jimmy Smith and Larry Young). So, who else could make an organ trio fit in perfectly with Jimi Hendrix? The answer is Mike Ratledge.

The tour was followed by a reconstituted band with the great Hugh Hopper on bass, who was convened to fulfill a contract, resulting in Volume Two. The same joyous vocals, the breakneck changes and edits, and the seductive melodies propelling highly literate lyrics (if anyone else knows songs about Alfred Jarry's Pataphysics, please let me know) remain singular sonic monuments. That came out in 1969, post-Hendrix—there is a line in Have You Ever Bean Green that starts: "Thank you Noel and Mitch…." And ends with the sound of what is reported to be Jimi's motorcycle.

Depending on the demographic you are talking to, kaleidoscopic 1969 can be characterized in many ways. The celebration of Mike Ratledge's achievements can be described as an invisible but massive hinge that opens up another way to imagine and play music, especially from a keyboard player's perspective. Consider the releases that feature distorted organ: Larry Young, organist in the supergroup Lifetime led by drummer Tony Williams and featuring a blistering John McLaughlin on the debut album Emergency. Or, speaking of McLaughlin, Miles Davis' bombshell double-LP set Bitches Brew featuring Chick Corea, Larry Young, and Joe Zawinul. Pedals for keyboards came into wide use about this time, several years after Mike had used them in early performances.

When I asked Mike about the sound he got from the B3 he obliquely referred to was-was pedals and (this may be a reference to the banshee sounds in Third) scraping tone-wheels inside the Hammond.

That's the context for the next transition of Soft Machine. No more "Volume" in the title, just the number. Soft Machine Third, a double-LP set, dropped in 1970. The inside photo is a living-room shot of the band relaxing with some port and reportedly tripping. Third is to Soft Machine what Bitches is to Miles, an arrival from beyond the solar system. Key to the transformation is the influx of trained jazz players bringing colors that diffuse an ethereal yet at times acid mood using a mix of violin, trombone, bass clarinet, flute—not your average instrumentation in 1969 unless your Brian Wilson. Third is also notable for the arrival of Elton Dean on alto and saxello (a kind of bent soprano). What followed were two more albums (you can guess the titles by now). This is seen as the "jazz" period of the Softs, with a floating pool of musicians all playing their asses off in the company of Ratledge and Hopper. It is rarely heard on the air.

Collectively, these five albums constitute the canon of Mike Ratledge in his incarnation as Soft Machine, at least for me. They also remain in a class alone as the greatest rock music that most people have not heard. Twelve sides propelled by the genius of a creative giant who left it all out there for us, who can only marvel.

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In Memoriam Elliot Ingber (8/24/1941 - 1/21/2025)

Gary Lucas — Fri, 31 Jan 2025 23:14:36 +0000

In Memoriam Elliot Ingber (8/24/1941 - 1/21/2025) Gary Lucas January 31, 2025 - 18:14

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‘MEAN E” drawing of Elliot Ingber by Don Van Vliet*

"The Winged Eel slithers on the heels of today's children." - Don Van Vliet, "Beatle Bones' n' Smokin' Stones"

Elliot Ingber (or Winged Eel Fingerling as he was known during his time with Captain Beefheart and the Magic Band) has the distinction of being one of the only of celebrated guitarists who passed through the ranks of The Magic Band to enjoy total freedom—free reign, as it were—to improvise extended psychedelic guitar solos by Don Van Vliet, a band leader notorious for insisting that his musicians pretty much stick to the notes and forms laid down in their marathon rehearsals.

Elliot is probably best known on wax for his slithering, snaky psychedelic guitar lines on 11972's The Spotlight Kid album—especially on "I'm Gonna Booglarize You, Baby" and the instrumental "Alice in Blunderland." I had the unenviable task during my tenure in the first touring iteration of The Magic Band circa 2002-2003 of attempting to replicate—if not all of the notes (which would have been impossible, as Elliot was capable of producing a veritable geyser of bluesy note splatter at any given moment)—but at the least, the FEEL of this titan of blues guitar on our live shows.

I think I pretty much lived up to the challenge at hand, especially on the latter number, in my own style. To have tried to reproduce these solos exactly and in Elliot's own peculiar phrasing would have been sheer folly.

Elliot also has the distinction—along with Denny Walley—of being one of the only guitarists in the Magic Band to also play with Frank Zappa, and he can be heard all over Zappa's Freak Out album, where Frank affectionately describes him in his liner notes:

"Elliot digs the blues. He has a big dimple in his chin. We made him grow a beard to cover it up. He just got out of the Army. Lucky for the Army."

In fact, Elliot goes way back to the early rock 'n' roll recording days in LA. He was part of Phil Spector's inner circle at Fairfax High School in the mid-'50s—a group of far-reaching and far-ranging musicians and record people that included in their august ranks producer Lou Adler, drummer Sandy Nelson, Beach Boy Bruce Johnston, Canned Heat's bassist Larry Taylor, and The Wrecking Crew's saxophonist Steve Douglas.

Elliot was in the first band to have a song title about LSD back in 1961—the B-side of The Gamblers' first single, "Moon Dawg!"—their classic proto-surf instrumental, "LSD-25."

Elliot earlier was also a member of Kip Tyler and the Flips, a rocking teen combo that struck it big in Los Angeles in 1957 with the visionary single: "She's My Witch."

And he can be heard on the twangy guitar behind Phil Spector's own smooth Barney Kessel-inspired playing of Phil's instrumental single (released under the name Phil Harvey) 1959's classic, "Bumbershoot," which Elliot performed live at various sock hops and roller rink events with Spector:

Perhaps my favorite iteration of Elliot Ingber is with his own band, the trippy and adventurous beat combo The Fraternity of Man, for whom he penned, with lead singer Lawrence "Stash" Wagner, the immortal Floyd Cramer-ish song, "Don't Bogart That Joint," as famously heard on the soundtrack of Easy Rider.

Elliot is all over their first album for ABC-Dunhill, produced by Tom Wilson. My favorite track is "In the Morning," with its incendiary feedback rave-up double-time guitar break:

(Special mention goes to their second guitarist, Warren Klein; no slouch on guitar either).

I first saw him with Beefheart and the boys on Jan. 26th, 1971, on Night One of Don's historic three-night stand at Ungano's, a little club on Central Park West.

Elliot came out after the opening bass solo and absolutely ripped into "Alice in Blunderland," while the rest of the band came out and joined in one by one.

He wasn't in that lineup long, jumping ship shortly after this show on the grounds that he couldn't maintain his patented healthy food regimen while on tour.

A year later, on January 21st, 1972, I was lucky enough to speak with Elliot backstage at Captain Beefheart's concert at Yale University's Woolsey Hall.

Elliot was sitting by himself in the dressing room apart from the rest of the band, keeping still and peering into the cosmos with his patented spacy Thousand Yard Stare.

I began by complimenting him on his playing on The Spotlight Kid album and then asked him what he thought of Jeff Beck—then as now, probably my favorite guitarist.

Elliot looked up with his hawk-like profile, stared at me with his intense gaze… and then said in a low, measured voice:

"He released an album called Truth.

(long pause)

It was THE TRUTH."

Elliot then went out there with Don and the Magic Band (on that tour consisting of Bill Harkleroad, Mark Boston, and Artie Tripp)—and proceeded to KICK ASS on his Les Paul Junior when given his solo spots. He was particularly on fire on their closing number, "Alice in Blunderland," stretching out with a lengthy and incendiary guitar solo.

Elliot was even better a few weeks later at the Academy of Music on 14th Street in Manhattan, when Captain Beefheart and the Magic Band appeared sandwiched between an unknown solo Billy Joel (who we heckled—sorry!) and the headlining J. Geils Band.

That was the last I saw of Elliot live.

I heard he quit music and became a postman in LA. He lived a mainly solitary life in a small apartment in downtown Hollywood filled with stacks and stacks of old magazines and newspapers.

Don told me that Elliot called him once in his post-Magic Band phase and told him: "I've learned and can play every note of Trout Mask Replica, Don!"

But he never played with Don again, sad to say.

R.I.P. ELLIOT INGBER—YOU WERE ONE OF THE IMMORTALS!

-----------------------------------

*Don Van Vliet's (Captain Beefheart) poem under his sketch of Winged Eel Fingerling on the back cover of the 1972 Beefheart album, The Spotlight Kid:

No B.O. for this boy…

it’s like a winged eel fingerling

crawling thru lime jello…

it’s like a chrome black eyebrow

rolled out real long…

a paper brow magnifying glass

fried brown, edge scorched,

yoked like a squeak from a speaker

being forehead of the time,

licorice schtick

open tube of valuable JuJuBees

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On seeing the magic band

Saw eliot ingbar at Knebworth in 1975 with the members bruce Davidson, Jimmy carl black, bruce fowler,john French,and the captain

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RIP, Bear!

Dusty Wright — Sun, 13 Nov 2022 23:57:38 +0000

RIP, Bear! Dusty Wright November 13, 2022 - 18:57

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Michael Butler (11/26/1926 – 11/7/2022)

I lost my mentor and dear friend this past week. He produced Hair on Broadway, numerous road shows, and the film. (As well as other plays and films) Though he was 30 years my senior, one would never have guessed his age when in my company. We shared many escapades in the entertainment business from 1985 through 2019. He would call me on my birthdays. His life was extraordinary... Born in Chicago, his family owned Oak Brook Farms which would later become the town of Oak Brook, IL. Their family business was Butler Paper and Butler Aviation. His father Paul made polo part of the equestrian landscape in America, winning six U.S. Open Polo Championships and four Butler Handicap titles. Michael would embrace the very expensive and posh sport, as well, collecting and befriending champions and celebrities along the way. His personal friendships with politicians (The Kennedys) and princes/kings (King Charles) and celebrities (too many to list), afforded him endless stories and memoirs. I would host dinner parties just have him share his escapades with my friends. He introduced me to Gore Vidal, someone I would interview for two podcasts. (Together, we would later option one of Gore's novels, nearly selling our excellent script to Hollyweird.). Without going too in-depth, I suggest listening to this extraordinary podcast I conducted with Michael in 2005. It is all true. Blessings to your soul, Brother Bear, you taught me how to live life to the fullest.

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Bob Neuwirth - An Appreciation

Gary Lucas — Mon, 23 May 2022 13:22:50 +0000

Bob Neuwirth - An Appreciation Gary Lucas May 23, 2022 - 09:22

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I first ran into Bob Neuwirth on a change of planes in Chicago, on the way from NYC to play the Winnipeg Folk Festival, must have been 1988.

I knew Bob was scheduled to play also, and when he got on the plane I called out his name -- and he lit up and we bonded.

He made a point of coming to see my solo set the next day, and gave me all sorts of fatherly advice like: "Now Gary, don't get nervous!"We had dinner together that night and I asked him if it was true what Don Van Vliet had once boasted about to me; namely, "I threw Bob Dylan out of Barney's Beanery!" (A notorious bar/burger joint in LA.)

"Well…if it makes him feel better to say that," he grinned.

I asked him to elaborate.

"No, no…that wasn't it at all. What it was, was...they had a sign in Barney's Beanery that said:

'No Faggots Allowed’.

And Bob and I didn’t think that was right. So we got up and left."

Bobby Neuwirth came over to my apartment in the West Village once in the mid-'90s, and we recorded one of his songs "Cloudy Day" right then and there direct to DAT, no overdubs:

Bob is singing and on acoustic, and I’m on electric. This track later came out on his solo album Looking Up (Watermelon Records).

Bob was a great guy! He gave me one of his abstract paintings as a gift and said:

"I've been carrying this around for you forever. What I've paid in overweight charges!"

I rang him up two months ago and tried to get him to sign on to a documentary about his life that my friend Remy wanted to make. He adamantly declined. Guess he knew Dylan would come up as part of the interview, obviously, and he didn't want to go there.

True story:

They had a Norman Mailer Film Festival at Anthology Film Archives some years ago where they screened Norman's first totally improvised "film" shot by DA Pennebaker call WILD 90. Basically, Norman and his cronies playing at being gangsters holed up in a shitty hotel room someplace (the template for Reservoir Dogs, come to think of it). The cast also included a barking dog that Norman infamously barks back at.

On the film credits it says: "Sound by Bob Neuwirth."

(Bob and Pennebaker were old friends, and he is well featured in and does audio commentaries on the DVDs of Don’t Look Back. Also No Direction Home).

The sound is muddy and atrocious, about 90% indecipherable, and after the Anthology screening (where I spotted Alec Baldwin in the audience studying up on Norman probably anticipating playing him someday), they showed a short interview with Norman all about the making of Wild 90, shot only a few years previous. Norman was already dead at this point.

In this doc. when asked about the terrible sound, Norman says:

"Yeah, we had this guy Bob Newhart doing sound, who was just terrible!"

I rang Bob up that night and and told him I'd just seen the film and asked him about this, and he laughed a long time and said:

"Did Norman say that? Well, he and the other guys had never been in a film before, and they kept wandering off their marks with their ‘improvisation’. And I had to try and keep up with their lurching all over the place by trailing after them with the boom mic. So it was nearly impossible in that situation to capture the sound decently.

But let me tell you something Gary -- even if the film had had pristine sound, 'it wouldn't have made any difference!'"

I really am missing Bob Neuwirth. A great man.

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That's Why The Lady Is

Robert Cochrane — Mon, 10 Jan 2022 18:44:22 +0000

That's Why The Lady Is Robert Cochrane January 10, 2022 - 13:44

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April Ashley - Model, Socialite and Trans Rights Campaigner

29th April 1935 - 27th December 2021

Certain lives read like unlikely fictions -- plots extreme in their stretching of belief, too unlikely to be considered real life -- do sometimes occur. One such journey of existence was the fabled, often troubled sojourn of April Ashley, socialite, Vogue model, activist and occasional actress, born a boy in a working class, impoverished district of Liverpool on 29th April 1935. Pretty and exhibiting obvious feminine characteristics from his earliest days, it proved an unhappy childhood, bookended by a belittling, abusive mother, and a kindly, but mostly drunken, father, home on shore leave from the Royal Navy. The outside world was no less accepting. Had Charles Dickens ever annotated a tale of a trans life, Ashley's had all the elements of his genre of story telling, dark, dramatic and unsettling.

In 1951 in a desperate attempt to ignore herself and fit in with the expectations of a post-war England, a spell in the Navy proved a futile venture. A suicide attempt in Los Angeles followed and after returning to Liverpool, a stay at her own behest, in a mental institution where treatment consisting of electro-shock therapy and copious drugs, but after a year, the contradictions remained. A brave attempt at conformity had failed, but from that arose a sense of self-reliance and acceptance and a desire to become the person within. Even the authorities couldn't alter what nature had ordained. Rejected at home, the bright lights of London beckoned with the genesis of dressing as a woman and a life on her own terms.

During a holiday in France she began working in revue as a dancer at the Le Carrousel club in Paris where she was entrusted with a letter to Dr. Georges Burou, a pioneer in gender reassignment surgery, by Coccinelle, the first French citizen to undergo the procedure at his clinic in Casablanca. In 1960, already taking oestrogen, and having saved enough money via her work as a dancer, she presented to Burou for the gruelling seven hour operation. As she went under he whispered "Au-revoir, Monsieur" and as she came round greeted her with the words "Bonjour, Mademoiselle!" April Ashley had finally arrived. She was only the second UK citizen to undergo the such surgery.

Back in London her stunning appearance swiftly earned a career as a leading lingerie model and a bit part in the final Bob Hope and Bing Crosby vehicle The Road To Hong Kong. All was going well, but disaster struck when a former friend sold her story to a tabloid newspaper. The sensational headlines destroyed her modelling career and her name was removed from the the film when it finally appeared in 1962. Ashley retreated to Spain where she found work modelling, and as a hostess in clubs, and a greater sense of tolerance. She also encountered the minor British aristocrat, the louche Arthur Corbett, who was still married. A courtship ensued, and then marriage, which was never consummated, and then more controversy when the nature of their union was exposed. Ashley, like any spurned romantic heroine, fled the Costa del Sol in the arms of a Spanish nobleman.

In 1970, having swanned across Europe for much of the intervening decade, she instigated court proceeding against her former husband, who counter-sued. The case dragged on for three long years with considerable press attention, the judge finally ruling that Ashley was "at all times a man" and their union was't recognized in law. Unbowed, she opened a restaurant in London with a friend called "April & Desmond's" which was a social success and a culinary disaster, but nobody bothered much about the food since they were having such an extraordinarily good time, as indeed was April, whose hedonism resulted in a couple of heart attacks. By 1975 she'd deserted the capital in favour of the Welsh border town of Hay-on-Wye, and then on to San Diego where she found gainful employment in an art gallery. As the new century dawned she was living in France.

In 2001 the European Court Of Human Rights struck down the judge's ruling over her divorce and her campaign to have trans rights enshrined in law finally bore fruit in 2005 when she finally was presented with a birth certificate confirming her status as a woman, a feat achieved with the help of an old friend from former times, John Prescott, who by then was the deputy Prime Minister of the UK. Where previously the incoming tide had threatened to consume her, Ashley found a new celebrity as a pioneer and icon. Invited to speak at Oxford, appear on the chat show circuit, she had finally arrived at a point of acceptance. In 2012 she was awarded an Order Of The British Empire by the Queen "for service to transgender equality" and in 2015 became an honorary citizen of her home city Liverpool. An exhibition about her life ran there for a year.

As she aged Ashley became an imperious figure, a cross between Margaret Thatcher and the Countess Spencer. A woman who'd been wooed by Elvis Presley, who'd partied with John Lennon and Mick Jagger, and counted INXS singer Michael Hutchence, the actor Omar Sharif, amongst her lovers. She was a muse for Picasso, but declined the advances of Salvador Dali to paint her in the nude. It all seems rather unlikely for a a life begun as a boy in in 1930's Liverpool. Ashley once confessed that she as a child before she went to sleep would whisper to the night "Please God when I wake let me be a girl." She granted her own wish in the end. A movie of her life starring Catherine Zeta Jones never made it into production. Her second autobiography was pulped as her collaborator on her her first volume claimed she had plagiarised his work. Another drama in a life bedecked by incident. She married for a second time, but that union ended in divorce a decade later.

The English singer-songwriter John Howard's new album Look is a concept affair based around his friend's spectacular life, he played piano in her restaurant in the '70s. Due for release in March, it is a heartfelt compliment, and fitting tribute, but one that must now sadly arrive, as a posthumous one for a life lived at such a pace it altered the grain of existence.

April Ashley died in London after a short illness.

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A Maverick Dandy

Robert Cochrane — Fri, 21 May 2021 19:20:41 +0000

A Maverick Dandy Robert Cochrane May 21, 2021 - 15:20

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Nicolas Ker 1970-2021

Nicolas Ker was a composer, singer, film maker, performer, poet, and dark star. A polymath extraordinaire he deserves the accolade of uniqueness. His untimely death at the age of fifty robs French culture, pop, rock, or otherwise, of a soul who seemed imbued with an air of the past, a film-noir sensibility. As someone who carried a rock and roll sensibility, with a few demons in tow, his was a striking, yet unsettling confection. The writer of majestic brooding soundtracks and soundscapes, his songs referenced folk music, rock, and electronica. With the swagger and dash of Johnny Thunders and Nick Cave, like a French Howard Devoto in cahoots with Lee Hazlewood, he had presence and an edge of danger. Seemingly ever in a haze of unfashionable cigarette smoke, Ker personified a louche diety. His clipped snarl drone of a voice the perfect vehicle for his band Poni Hoax. A captivating front man who seemed better suited to to the dank gloom of Max's Kansas City and CBCB's than wide sunlit French avenues. Part-magican, part-malevolent jester, Ker carried himself with an air of defiant non apology. A genius and enigma in one being.

Born Nicholas Langlois, to a Cambodian mother of aristocratic birth in Phmon Penh on 19th December 1970, she fled the Khmer Rouge, his lineage was diverse, his father was being French. Ker arrived in Paris aged sixteen via Istanbul and Cairo and immediately was attracted to the decadent side of the city and its history. In 2001 he encountered four musicians, graduates from from the Conservatoire National Musique, appropriately they found him in a bar and had discovered their vocalist. A perfect marriage of refinement and rawness they christened the venture Poni Hoax, releasing four albums over a period of twelve years. Their single "Budapest" proved a hit across Europe and they became regulars on the festival circuit. Their self-titled debut attracted controversy because of its cover, a naked woman in the company of an owl, but it was with their second Images Of Sigrid that saw them elevated from underground secret to mainstream success. A mixture of Bowie, David Byrne, and Daft Punk, they packed a strangely hypnotic punch. A single from that album Antibodies proved another smash across the continent.

Anyone who has witnessed the documentary about the band Drunk In The House Of Lords catches an insight into the breakneck sensibility that was Nicholas Ker, a man with little care for taking care. By disposition he was reckless but from that emerged work of concision, grace and refinement. He could channel his demons. A decadent dandy, an impish rogue, and a symbol of swagger and poise. His solo release Les Faubourgs D'Lexil was less frantic than his work with the band. A hugely personal and reflective album it revealed the breadth and sensitivity of his talents.

What remains conveniently uncertain how he met his muse, the actress and singer Arielle Dombasle. Theirs was a mythic melding of extremes. Apparently she demanded that he write her an album. He did. La Riviere Atlantique announced their unlikely pairing, garnering attention through her movie fame, and his reputation for abundant excess. In 2019 its successor Empire arrived, a masterpiece of many styles that electrifies,The original odd couple, but a perfect collaboration, her transcendant ethereal poise anchored to his underworld, nocturnal perspective. Their videos are a treat to the eager eye. Decadent perposterous and artful. The pair even collaorated on the movie Angel Crystal Palace. Dombasle and Ker represent a creative frisson forged between halfway between heaven and hell. She, the perfect foil for him with her elegant distractedness and grace, he, her diligent craftsman, a cross between an artful doger and a punky warlock, who created sumptious backdrops for her exquisite voice. They continued a lineage of kooky pairings. Gainsbourg and Birkin, Cave and Minogue, Sinatra, and Hazlewood.

Ker exhuded a sensibility much older than his years. He belonged to another time, be that the Paris of absinthe and decadence or the world of dank clubs and loud music whilst haunting stately homes or abandoned churchyards in his video creations. He was Rimbaud-like, a dash of tragedy in the guise of defiance. A genie with no lamp to return to. Perhaps it is wrong to expect more, but the genius he has already annotated is difficult to view without a sense of sorrow. Deft and considered when it was required, yet beyond that lay the attributes of madness and despair. A hard act to better and an impossible one to replace, his absence leaves a sense of loss and mystery in the air.

Nicolas Ker died in Paris on 17th May 2021. His new single with Arielle Dombasle "Deconstruction Of The Bride" has just been released. Many plans had been made. There was much yet to be done.

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Glitter and Bleach for Bambi

Robert Cochrane — Thu, 12 Nov 2020 22:28:01 +0000

Glitter and Bleach for Bambi Robert Cochrane November 12, 2020 - 17:28

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Had Bambi Lake been a New York resident she would have doubtless become a Warhol Superstar. Lake certainly had all the qualifications that such a job required. The blonde looks of Candy Darling, the arched eyebrow humour of Holly Woodlawn, and the mad bad-ass sass of Jackie Curtis. Too often it is mused to shine you have to burn. After half a century of attracting attention at a high cost to herself, the star that was Bambi Lake has crashed and gone. Mercurial, charming, outrageous, and self-sabotaging her absence will be noticed. That trash and flash attitude often alienated those who might have helped her career. Her addictions didn't help. San Francisco was her home, even when she was without one, but instead of wearing flowers in her hair, it was glitter and bleach for Bambi.

The fourth of eight children John Purcell was born in Palo Alto on October 20th 1950 to a construction worker father, her mother was a secretary. At school he showed a propensity for acting and through a friend the choreographer Kenny Ortega (Madonna, Michael Jackson and The Tubes) secured a part in the chorus line of the original production of Oliver on Broadway. The touch-paper for the future path had been lit. Already aware of conflicts within her/his nature she/he survived via his/her involvement in local theatre production. By 1970 whilst studying theatre at Canada Junior College, she was hitchhiking and accepted a lift from Peter Mintun who would become The Cockettes' piano player. It was he who introduced Lake to the group and she'd found her spiritual home and the freedom to express and explore an identity that would become the force of nature known as Bambi mentored and supported by the group's founder Hibiscus 1949-1982.

A feature on the San Francisco theatre scene since then she first came to prominence via the unfettered hippy, drag and drug psychedelic theatre ensemble "The Cockettes" that also spawned the disco star Sylvester. Via shows in New York and San Francisco their ensemble of spontaneous outrage both shocked and thrilled. When the troupe became Angels Of Light, Bambi was starring in their first production Whatever Happened To Baby Jesus; a combination of the biblical tale and that of The Little Match Girl. Eventually she became their leading lady and performed in London in The Enchanted Miracle and lived there for a year. With the advent of punk she sang with the all female band V2 and toured Europe supporting The Stranglers, and opening for many punk acts across San Francisco. She even spent a year in Berlin with Iggy Pop and David Bowie.

There were also stints as a porn actress, prostitution, mental health issues, drug addiction, and homelessness. She was regularly turned away from women's refuges on account of her trans identity. Depending on the version of events she was sharing at the time, Lake was arrested for ringing the cops with a bomb hoax after being invited to a party by the Stones or it may have been Oasis, and being refused entry by security. She was frequently barred from bars and arrested for being drunk and disorderly. Yet despite maintaining sheer chaos in heels she could warm and charm an audience with her singing. Remarkably Lake managed to pen in 1996 her autobiography The Unsinkable Bambi Lake, edited by Alvin Orloff with an introduction by Henry Rollins, published a collection of poetry, and in 2005 released her sole album My Glamorous Life As A Broadway Hostess which contains the heartbreakingly beautiful elegy "The Golden Age of Hustlers." A song that aches with pathos and earned regret. A perfect fusion of Allen Ginsberg, Dorothy Parker, and Walt Whitman.

"I saw the best bodies of my generation

Sold, bartered, and destroyed

By drugs and prostitution.

Pretty queens on the corners and midnight cowboys in the doorways

If you want it, Daddy, get it here.

It's a candy store

In more ways than one.

Golden girls and boys all must

Like chimney sweepers come to dust.

It's hard to find someone you can trust

Amidst the rhinestones and the rust."

In 2015 the documentary film maker Silas Howard caught her in all her ramshackle glory in the award winning Sticks And Stones.

Bambi Lake became ill in October and succumbed to cancer on the 4th November 2020. For a life lived fast and against the grain it was an appropriately quick exit. In these snowflake days her brash "Fuck You" abrasiveness is to be applauded and admired. She recently reflected: "I guess my greatest talent is when I perform people cry. I don't know why." They cried because her broken honesty as a chanteuse reflected perfectly in the shattered shards scattered in their own hearts.

Her final performance was as part of the Dan Karkoska produced Cockettes Are Golden - A 50th Anniversary Celebration at the Victoria Theatre in San Francisco on January 4th 2020.

Her autobiography has recently been republished and revised.

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The Queen Is Dead. Long Live The King!

Robert Cochrane — Sat, 09 May 2020 15:58:48 +0000

The Queen Is Dead. Long Live The King! Robert Cochrane May 9, 2020 - 11:58

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For sheer tear down the house, hollerin' bravado and pure passion.

Conflicted and contrary.

Scandalous and screaming and black.

There was only ever Little Richard.

The true originator of Rock & Roll.

All the brass, sass and androgyny from the Stones to Bowie.

From Michael Jackson to Prince.

From Madonna to Lady Gaga.

All roads lead back to Richard Penniman.

He wasn't just the most extreme presence of his era.

He left every era standing in the shade of his sheer bravado.

He knocked hell out of those piano keys.

As the hairline receded the wigs just got bigger.

Conflicted and at times provocative.

His recent unfortunate views on homosexuality came from inner conflict.

From that came the songs.

His contradictions drove and made him who he was.

We don't want our icons perfect.

We need them chipped and flawed.

There were the convictions for voyeurism and lewd conduct.

The revolving doors on his sexual closet.

The extreme swings of religiosity.

You simply can't ignore the jerking electricity that still fizzes in his songs.

The joy combined with madness.

Good Golly Miss Molly, Tutti Fruitti, Lucille, Rip It Up!

The sheer poetry of Awopbopallbopalopbamboom.

As Jobriath once sang "A Little Richard Goes A Long Long Way"

It did then and it always will.

This is the end of the very beginning.

Something pivotal has died with him.

The baton has fallen.

There is, in this instance, no successor waiting in the wings.

The Queen Is Dead! Long Live The King!