MIDNIGHT CONFESSIONS - shows/new disc/ I Got Your Heart

ROCK CITY NEWS FOR THE HEARING IMPAIRED (like me)

MIDNIGHT CONFESSIONS ( new Rock City Angels Disc!)

This blog is long overdue, there's been a lot of news since the last one!

First and foremost, Rock City Angels have a new disc available. Eighteen years since first recorded, (older than some of you reading this) these "lost" recordings are officially seeing the light of day via the FnA Records release, "Midnight Confessions". And don't worry, this is not another record company attempt to ripoff the band, this is an official release that saw RCA cooperating with an excited new label out of Nashville. Though some may have heard a few of these songs on various websites through the years, this material has been masterfully remastered and sequenced to sound better than ever before.

Showing that the band was either way ahead of their time or another example of major label short sightedness, (or both) the disc has already recieved great cheers from both fans and critics alike. Popular 1, Spain's premier rock magazine gave it 8 out of ten stars and there's plenty more to follow.

Hell, take a listen for yourself at http://www.fnarecords.com/artists/32-r/152-rock-city-angels-midnight-confessions and please take a moment to let the band know what you think.

Many people grew up with "Young Man's Blues" and for them nothing will ever equal that accomplishment. But there's a new generation of rock fans that are discovering the band through the self released "Use Once and Destroy". We simply can't remain stagnant as artists and for those of you open minded enough, Rock City Angels will consistantly take you on a wild ride.

Speaking of rides, the band is having a CD release party and you're all invited! Still working out details on earlier shows, we are kicking off our mini tour in Ft. Lauderdale, Fla. at the Monterey Club with Kill Miss Pretty on Nov. 12th. The big event really takes off at our Nov. 19th Nashville show at The Muse, with our very special guests, River City Tanlines, who put on one HELL of a rock show. There will be giveaways and, get this! the entire show will be broadcast live on the web all over the world. It will also be recordedfor a potential future live album/dvd, so if you live in the Nashville area be sure to come out and party with the band and show your support. Tickets are $6 in advance, $8 day of the show. This one will be talked about for a long time to come folks.

The festivities will draw to a close on Nov. 20th in my hometown of Memphis at Murphy's with our guests MouseRocket! What's that you say? It's on the same night as the Nick Cave Grinderman show? Well, don't I know it, I'm going to that show myself and seeing as Mr. Cave is a Rock City Angels fan himself, this will be our Nick Cave after party and will begin only after his show ends. Murphy's is but a quick walk away, so come and join us, you never know who might show up.

With all this activity going on, it's safe to say ROCK City Angels will be around for a while, as long as music fans dig what we're doing. Band members may come and go, styles of music may change but Rock City Angels as an entity will continue to create relevant music that will stand the test of time as long as I draw breath and perhaps beyond.

Let us know what you think and be a part of the revolution. I'll leave you with the lyrics to "I Got Your Heart" from our "Use Once and Destroy" CD.

I Got Your Heart

_______________

Death drives a Cadillac and he's bearing down the road

I'm being deviled and I'm losing all control

You're on the B-side and you're itchin' for a ride

It's a subliminal seduction you can't hide

I got your heart between my teeth to tear it apart

It's all the rage now to be dead before you're old

I'll gladly help you make you're sacrificial goals

Your purple mini-skirt has gone and broke my heart

Just like an overdose it's time you played your part

I got your heart between my teeth to tear it apart

Because my eyes have seen the glory

And my ears have heard the story

I was crowned with the thorns from a tree

I got your heart between my teeth to tear it apart

Dean/Durango 2008

Durango 10/10/2010

SOMETHING IN THE WATER?

Middle of March and I couldn’t wait to leave Memphis. It’s funny, I always felt right at home in this town, It was my refuge from the insanity of Los Angeles, including, but not limited to the music business, the film industry, competitive rock bands and the moving night clubs that host them, dope fiends, dealers, gang members, tourists, gas huffing, homeless punk rock kids, ( where I got my notorious start in ‘81 ), skaters, stars, salesmen and sycophants. Policemen and pornographers.


When Rock City Angels got signed to Geffen Records I was in the process of reading Peter Gularniks “Sweet Soul Music” and that book provided the missing ingredients to a slightly better than average knowledge of music history. Reading about Stax Records and the rootsy soul scene that provided a new spiritual depth to popular music in Amerikkka was exciting to me and I wanted to be inspired by the city that produced such great artists as Otis Redding, Booker T and the MG’s, antihero Dan Penn and his Box tops, Rufus Thomas, James Carr, etc., etc.


The infamous Jim Dickinson, who had worked with all these and others including The Stones, Aretha Franklin and many more, had just produced The Replacements “Please To Meet Me” L.P. and was now free to work with someone new. His eccentric, down-home enthusiasm was catching and after meeting a lot of potential producers including Bob Ezerin, Paul Rothschild, Rick Rubin and Tom Dowd, the decision was made to work with him in Memphis.


Memphis in those heady days of ‘86 was a wild town and Rock City Angels fit in there like we’d been fated to meet up with a lost lover. In many ways Memphis was the then equivalent to a Mexican border town. The strip bars were the sleaziest the band had ever experienced, sex and drugs were everywhere and the bars were nothing short of a free for all. Most had a BYOB policy, drugs were snorted off the tables openly, there was sex in the bathrooms, all were open clandestinely after hours - In short, it was a paradise of sorts for a rock band such as ourselves. After our experience with Nashville, where our management resided, Memphis was a breath of pot smoked air. The differences between the two towns was striking. Where Nashville was genteel and bland for tourist consumption, Memphis was filled with character and danger at every turn. I don’t know if there was something in the water there or what, but the band was inspired by the madness and grew tremendously in the time spent recording “Young Mans Blues”. Of course Mr. Dickinson was a great help to us in that department as well. His “to hell with corporate rock” attitude was extremely simpatico with our punk rock ethos and we got down to work on our shared vision of creating something timeless and chaotic immediately. If “Young Mans Blues” had been produced in L.A. it would have been a very different record indeed. As it was, by the time it was finished it scared the hell out of Geffen Records and our A&R liaison, Tom ( what do we do with it?) Zutaut, who were expecting some kind of G&R experience we had no intention of delivering.


Instead of supporting the artists they signed, these geniuses tried sanitizing our vision, which I fought every step of the way, thus sealing our fate.


Just as Geffen were attempting wildly to tame Rock City, Memphis was attempting to tame the very city itself. Strip bars were closed, Hooters were opened. Bars, prosties and dope dealers were shut down. Even Beale Street, the home of the blues, was transformed into a tourist trap of blues breaking proportions. A city with a small, corrupt police force became a fascist refuge of corrupt gangs of cops on every corner. Hell, you can’t even smoke a joint at the yearly music festival on the river anymore with out being surrounded by a dozen madly sniffing cops, anxious to throw anyone suspected of having a good time in jail. It really is a crying shame.
Though I still live in Memphis, I take every opportunity I can to get the hell out of this town. Escape is impossible but a temporary reprieve can be obtained with a little work. So when I got a chance to visit Florida again, I jumped at the chance. This time it was sunny Ft. Lauderdale, a city I hadn’t visited for twenty years. Amazingly, I didn’t recognize a thing - none of the landmarks I was familiar with were still standing. They had all been torn down to create brand spanking new strip malls and parking lots.


I can report, however, that a music scene is still alive and well, and I’m not talking about cover bands like when I was playing there. I even got a chance to check out a great new band at work on their first demo. Four girls called Angry Pudding proceeded to kick out the jams for an all day session, and I got to kick it with them, trading stories of sleazy bars we’d experienced. I believe it was the singer, Brea, who stole the show on that one, with her tale of a fabulous hole in the wall where one of the regular patrons, whose body was so tore up by alcoholism, would pour his beer directly into his colostomy bag, so as to cut out the middle man as it were. An excellent band, check them out at My Space Music. Sitting in the grass out front between songs, I was thankful it was still spring, so I wasn’t hit by the unmerciful heat, as a matter of fact, I had a fantastic time, and I plan on visiting that city again real soon, best explained by reasons left to a later blog. I will say this though, the honeymoon with Memphis, Tn. is over and a new chapter is opening in my life that is so exciting and amazing that I can only say, "Viva La Revolucion”!

DURANGO 2008

TRUTH AND CONSEQUENCES

Jimmy Lawson was running late and as he pulled up to the grill he could see the other three men waiting for him impatiently through the large plate glass window facing the road. “Fuck ‘em,” he thought, “they can’t start this party without me.” Walking into the restaurant, Lloyd Jowers came shuffling from behind the counter to greet him, “Hey Jimmy, they been waiting for you,” he said, face red with excitement. He grabbed a chair to put Jimmy at the head of the booth and squeezed in next to the other three men waiting and looking at Jimmy expectantly.
“So, the big nigger’s finally going to get what’s coming to him.” John Barger spoke first, making Jimmy wince inwardly. This wasn’t anything personal to Jim, he didn’t have a racist bone in his body. This was about one thing and one thing only, the money to set him up for life. He looked around at the other four men at the table, then focused on Barger and Earl Clark.
“O.K., let’s get this straight. At six tonight the man’s going to be out on the balcony and the department’s going to be completely out of sight, correct?”
“That’s the plan, Jim,” Earl said, in his low, steady tone. His blue eyes seemed to look right through you when he spoke, making Jimmy slightly uncomfortable. “You got nothing to worry about, the nigger should be alone and all the boys know if they see you to give you a wide berth. They’re going to be busy nailing the fall guy anyway. Lloyd here’s going to give you a hand with the rifle - you just drop and roll, buddy.”
“All right. I’m going to get out of here and get ready then fellas.” Jim stood up from the booth and nodded at Lloyd. “I think you got something for me, right Lloyd?”
The gangly grill owner looked at him blankly, then pulled himself out of the booth quickly, “Shit. Yeah, sorry Jim, almost forgot all about it.”
“Well, you can believe I didn’t,” Jimmy laughed and followed him to the back of the restaurant. Lloyd motioned him to come around the counter, pulled the grocery bag full of money out of an old stove and placed it on the counter. Then he reached back underneath and pulled out the rifle furtively. Jim kneeled and inspected the weapon, checking the sight and balance. He nodded. “It’ll do.” He glanced at the bag. “The first payment, right?”
“That’s it Jim, twenty grand. Liberto says you get the rest on delivery.”
“Alright Lloyd, I’ll be back here at 5:45. Don’t go anywhere.” He saluted the boys as he walked back out of the restaurant and into the midday Memphis sun. Settling back into his car, he checked his watch and realized he’d have enough time for a nap before coming back. He threw the car in drive and headed home.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
After his nap and a light meal, Jimmy Lawson began to get dressed for his six o’clock appointment. He took his uniform out of the closet, and by 5:15 he was completely ready, only his white officers shirt tucked away to be put on later, after the job. Until then he wore only a grey t-shirt over his MPD slacks and shoes.
“Hey Officer Lawson, getting ready to go after the bad guys?” his next door neighbors son asked as he pulled the car out.
“You betcha’, Bill”, he grinned, and headed out to the south side of town.
This time when he reached the grill it was empty, just as it was supposed to be. The unlocked door belied the closed sign and pulled shades and, upon reaching the back, he was met by Lloyd who opened the back door for him. The back opened out into a small yard covered with brush and thick foliage. Without a word, Lloyd handed him the rifle and Jimmy made his way through the brush until he found the perfect spot. The balcony of the hotel was right across the street, maybe 200 feet, a perfect shot, yet he could instinctively tell that he was all but invisible to the few people straggling between him and room 306. He kneeled with the rifle for the second time that day, eye fixed to the scope, only this time was for real, and he could feel the sweat begin to pop from the pores of his face. He checked his watch. Go time. He wiped his face with the back of his arm and again gazed down the sight. The room opened and the man came out and stood on the balcony, speaking to someone below Jim’s field of vision. He realized he was holding his breath, so with his finger on the trigger, he blew air out of his lungs, sucked air in and squeezed.
Through the scope he watched the bullet slam into the mans lower face and jaw, knocking him back and down, where he lay motionless. From the sledgehammer impact on the mans head Jim had no doubt it was fatal.
He handed the rifle back to Lloyd who grabbed it and ran back inside the restaurant, locking the door behind him. Jimmy quickly pulled his uniform shirt over his head and made his way through the remaining brush, jumped from the yard to the street below and raced down Mulberry where the police car was waiting for him at the intersection.
“Wheeeooo! That was tight, Bubba,” Officer Barger exclaimed as they drove off fast. “But you did it, Boy! You got that nigger!” Barger laughed and poked him in the ribs. Jim just looked at him, expressionless. He felt sick. Barger drove him the block to his car where Jimmy got out. Sitting behind the wheel, he drove off as if he didn’t have a care in the world.
He drove around for a solid hour, numb to everything before he finally made his way home, turning his radio on to monitor the news stations.
“Civil rights leader Dr. Martin Luther King was shot and killed today on the balcony of the Lorraine Hotel in Memphis, Tennessee. Dr. King was in the Memphis area lending his support to the Memphis sanitation workers strike and was preparing for a march through the downtown area, scheduled for tomorrow, April 5th. Police are looking for the driver of a white, late model Ford Mustang with Alabama license plates in connection with the slaying…”
Jimmy Lawson took a deep breath. “What the hell have I done?” he asked himself. He had nothing against King, in fact, despite the claims of his coworkers and other government officials that he knew, that Dr. King was a communist and all-around troublemaker, Jimmy had an admiration for the man and his work. But now he was dead, shot down by his hands, and another man was going to take the blame. All for a few lousy bucks. He tried to tell himself it had to be this way, if it hadn’t have been him it would have been someone else, but it didn’t help much. As much as he would like to believe that the conspiracy would become unraveled in time, he knew that this pitiful patsy in the Mustang would take his blame until he was silenced. The government propaganda machine was too all powerful. Just the C.I.A. alone owned or operated some 2,500 media entities throughout the world. His agency handler had explained the impact of an “official” story told over and over again. Even if one is convinced by evidence against this official story, the human brain will eventually discard this evidence and go back to believing the lie they have been told repeatedly. This lie becomes part of their identity, thus perpetuating disinformation and deceit from one generation to the next, forever.
Two lives down and for what? Jimmy felt dirty, dehydrated, depressed. He pulled into his driveway, parked and broke down. It had been a long day.

Dedicated to William Pepper
DURANGO 2008

THE MEANING OF LIFE

In this blog you will receive the keys to ultimate knowledge…Or not. You will be given the recipe to happiness...Or let down. Regardless, you will be entertained, given a peek at someone's most intimate moments and at the very least, have five minutes stolen out of your life that you can never get back. I'm going to go out on a limb here with my own personal theory. When one is looking for the meaning of it all, might it not boil down to one person, one love that is the singular reason for our being? If there is a man for every woman, a yin for every yang, then just what happens when one of those parts never finds the other? Does one just wither and die or is one condemned to a lifetime of searching, searching for that perfect someone who gives meaning to it all. Which leads me to the perfect woman.
Now I realize there is no such beast as the "perfect" woman. Perfection in humans is an oxymoron, so when I speak of perfection it is only shorthand for the romantic notion of "the one", the one member of the opposite sex ( a girl in my case ) most compatible with my personal tastes in looks, smarts, sense of humor, sexual appetites, etc., yet also able to put up with my individual quirks, eccentricities, insecurities and neurosis. Of course, thankfully, everyone's idea of perfection is completely subjective or else, theoretically, every man in America would be fighting over the same girl. There are also cultural and fashion based tastes. Short, dumpy broads were all the rage in the early 1900's, bulimic, cadaverous babes in the later. So when I speak of the perfect woman, I am referring only to my own personal, ideal counterpart.
O.k., now that we have our terms sorted out, let's move on to the game. The object of the game is to mentally take inventory of your past relationships and identify the perfect partner ( or partners if you've had the luck of Satan ) among them and what you did or didn't do to completely fuck up any possible chance at happiness. The one with the most self sabotaged brushes with perfection is the loser. The player who has fought all odds, recognized their perfect other and survived through thick and thin, better or worse, is of course, the winner.
So put away your books, get out your 2 pencils, and let's begin…Now!
I found my perfect woman in a sleazy downtown Ft. Lauderdale bar, winter of '82. Walking up to the New Wave Lounge with date in tow, I spotted two stoic, intimidating figures standing in front of the entrance. With the cool beach breeze blowing from directly across A1A being drowned out by the growl of Billy Idol coming from inside, they were like two otherworldly totems, she in Mohawk and thigh highs , he spiked and dangerous, protecting the interior from evil spirits. A girl with a Mohawk should not have made such an impression, I had one myself, but there was something about this girl. I recognized the guy with her, he was notorious around town for his pathological but entertaining ways of bending the truth and it was obvious he was at it again. Holding court with about three girls hanging on his every word, we caught the tail end of his faux epic, and I waited, hoping for an introduction. It was a short wait. "Bobby, I just got back from dinner with the guy from England who's going to sign my band. He's giving me a million dollars after we sign the contract. Oh, this is my new girlfriend Kate, I'm taking her to London with me after we…", he rambled on, but I wasn't listening. It was then, as she extended her hand, that she smiled and the exotic image in my mind was replaced by the reality of the girl. She was dangerously cute, with a mischievious grin, book ended by dimpled cheeks that invited the world to smile along and her eyes lit up like firecrackers as she talked. I found out that she lived very close to where I was staying ( the roof of my bass players condo ) and that we shared much of the same musical tastes. I had to get to know this girl better. It wasn't easy.
I saw her out every weekend, but neither of us were alone. Despite the obstacles we still managed to sneak a few looks and words at each other. Finally one night the stars must have been lined up just right because I was alone and it was obvious that she had been stood up. Though we were both underage we had managed to slip into the club and have a couple of drinks before being thrown out by the doorman. Back out on the sidewalk, the beach air smelled of ozone, the whole atmosphere bristled with electricity and we found ourselves walking over to the pool in the motel across the street. The place was deserted but we still talked in a conspiratorial whisper that added to the overall mood. We sat down on a long, reclining deckchair when suddenly Kate purred."There's something I've been wanting to do." And with that she reached over and kissed me hard on the lips. Being a little shy myself, I love aggressive women and I could feel my lips burning as her tongue darted between my teeth.
"You are so cute," I breathed.
"Cute! Cute!?," she repeated loudly, eyes blazing, "I hate that! Puppies are cute, not girls you want to sleep with!" She grabbed my hands and pulled me from the chair, maneuvering me over to a small stair well leading down into the shadows.
"Where are we going?", I asked. "You'll see," she countered mysteriously as she pulled me down the stairs and into the dark. We passed through a door and Kate flipped a light switch. It was a small women's bathroom with one stall next to a counter with a sink and a large mirror behind it.
"Tonight, this is where we play," she informed me, and with that, jumped up on the counter. I positioned myself between her naked legs and hiked her skirt up. Her boots pulled me tighter into her as our bodies moved together, and for a short time, a little while at least, our teenage troubles took a trip and we were in paradise.
I saw a lot of Katy after that, it would take too much space then I have here to relate all the adventures we had, two love crazy punk rock kids with Mohawks on the streets of ( at that time ) small town Ft. Lauderdale, getting into fights with rednecks, evading the cops and just generally raising hell. There was love but it was more than that. This was a girl I could share everything with, innermost thoughts, physical love and my own personal flashes of nobility. We began to make a lot of friends, many of them even crazier than we were. It was at a party that one of these new found friends was throwing that everything came together for me. We'd been partying throughout the day as it was, so by the time the party started for real, we were both well on our way. It didn't take long before Katy was ready to go home.
"Oh, c'mon sweetheart, the damn party just started," I laughed, rolling on the floor.
"Get up, Bobby," her eyes were starting to blaze." We're leaving right…now." By this time the entire group had stopped whatever they were doing to see just who was going to win this battle of wills. Well aware of the eyes peeled to the proceeds, I was determined to hold my ground. "You can go on ahead," I grinned, grabbing the skirt of the girl closest to me. " I ain't going nowhere." Quick as a flash Kate had tore off her pumps and began to hit me over the head with her heels, " I said we're getting out of here," she cried, each word accented with a thump, " and I mean now fucker!"
Looking up into her face, her eyes filled with tears of frustration, I was astonished to realize as if for the first time, just how beautiful this girl really was to me. Time seemed to slow down as I realized that this girl, half Irish, half Italian ( a lethal combination ) reigning blows on my skull, was the perfect girl for me. I stood up, wobbling, and let her guide me to the door.
"I guess this is g'night folks," I admitted sheepishly. And with that we walked out into the night, the parties applause following our footsteps.
Florida had grown tired to me and I was ready to make the trip back to Hollywood. I was excited to show Katy all the wonders of my adopted hometown and after some convincing she agreed to come along. The perfect girl will follow you anywhere. Hollywood was the mecca of the early American punk rock movement and we had great fun playing house there in a little apartment off of Argyle and Franklin, until one day Kate went out and didn't come back. I was freaking out and then I got a call from the L.A.P.D. Kate had been arrested for shoplifting and, as she was still a minor, they were sending her back home. It wasn't until later that I found out that the bastards had nicked her for stealing a needle and thread to darn a pair of my socks. The perfect girl will do anything for you. I tried to stick it out there for a time, but I just missed my girl too much, talking on the phone didn't cut it. After a couple of months apart I had to see her again.
As I left the plane and peered into the small crowd gathered at the gate, our eyes met and she ran to me, jumping into my arms. " I missed you so much!", she cried, and all I could feel was her face, wet with tears as she kissed me from crown to chin. That's what the perfect girl does, she cries when she's missed you.
You may be wondering what happened. How did I lose this girl that meant the world to me? Well, when you're eighteen years old and have a head the size of Tennessee, you think you know everything and whatever your situation, you're constantly on the lookout for new experiences, greener pastures. Much later, after I realized that I was looking for this girl in every woman I ever dated after, I finally recognized how important she really was to me. Don't know what you got 'till it's gone as the song says, and folks, that's when it's too late. That last day haunts me even now. We'd been fighting over my infidelities and, knowing that I wasn't going to change anytime soon, I suggested that we go ahead and move on. Katy looked at me as if I'd struck her. With tears pouring down her face, she stood up squarely and her voice rang out, "You broke my heart, Bobby. You really broke my heart." I've seen lots of girls fake this moment, but this was real and for a minute I wanted to hold her in my arms and tell her everything was o.k., I didn't really want to break up, but I couldn't. That would have been wrong. We both had our own paths to cross and our own cross to bare. I walked out of the room and never saw her again.
So that's the story folks, which leads us to the meaning of life. What the hell is it? Is it something as simple as the golden rule, do unto others, like Jesus and Buddha teach? Or maybe it's something stupid like nothing at all. But if the perfect partner doesn't equal the meaning of life, at the very least it moves you one step closer to that ultimate knowledge and in the end, ultimate happiness.
"And fate walks before us like a madman brandishing a razor" - Andrei Tarkovsky


DURANGO 2008

My Date With Lana Turner

Celebrity is a glamorized yet misunderstood topic in today's society. We have fallen in love with the idea that our actors, our pop-stars, our supermodels are the ones that count and before Brittany, before Anna Nicole, pre Paris Hilton there was no real scandal. Ours are the best - and the worst. Let's put that idea to rest once and for all. Stars and their smoking scenes have been with us since the dawn of mass media.
The following short story is a fiction, but it is based entirely in fact. The character of Jim Bacon was a real person, as are all of the players. It is only in the way that I tell it that it veers from reality.
MY DATE WITH LANA TURNER
It must have been fate. For the last four months I had been trying to get an interview with Lana Turner, one of the last of the big studio stars, to no avail. Suddenly on the police scanner there were rumblings of something big happening at her newly rented home on Bedford Dr. I recognized the address right away, I had been granted an interview the week before at the residence only to have it cancelled last minute.
I thought about those previous cancellations as I turned the car around and rumbled down Fountain. My editor had asked me to get the dope on a Johnny Stompanato way back in January. He'd been seen in the company of Miss Turner and seemed to be her new playmate. She had had many such playmates in the last few years, almost as many as she'd had movies in her twenty two years as a movie star. I thought that it was only fair that we hear her side of the story and my editor agreed. L.A. Times readers deserved fair, unbiased reporting in their smut. Unfortunately, my first interview appointment was dashed a week after it was made. Apparently she had forgot about the little trip to Acapulco she had planned...
The radio kept sputtering as I whipped up Bedford. I couldn't tell what the emergency was but I knew it was hot.
By the time she got back at the end of February Lana Turner was looking rough. I know, I met the plane at the airport, hoping to schedule another interview. I knew a lot about Mr. Stompanato by then, his shady dealings back east to his quick rise as a Mickey Cohen stooge and mob bag-man. Not to mention his dalliances with many rich older women including Janet Leigh and Ava Gardner. There was the whiff of blackmail about him, but nothing conclusive. I was curious. Of course so was every other reporter in Hollywood, especially, as it turns out, because she'd just been nominated for an Oscar for Peyton Place. So, try as I might to reach her as she stepped on the crowded tarmac, fourteen year old daughter in tow, she reached the limo before I ever had a chance. Johnny S. was there to welcome her home.
I tried to make contact by phone- even a phone interview would have made me happy at this point- but her secretary told me off after the fifth call, "Miss Turner is not granting interviews until after the awards ceremony!" I could imagine her working at excess pounds and the pull of gravity in time for the show. She did a hell of a job because it was a different woman who faced the Academy on March 24th. Much different than the alcohol bloated, red, puffy faced creature getting off the airplane. Though she lost to Joanne Woodward in The Three Faces Of Eve, Lanita, (as her friends call her) was in good spirits and looked swell when I caught up to her after the show.
"So this is the man who's been hounding me for months for an interview! Cheryl, meet Jim Bacon from the Times," Lanita smiled at me, then giggled. She'd been at the champagne. I held my hand out to Lana's daughter, beautiful in her dark green evening gown, but she just sighed and looked away. "I'll tell you what, we'll get together next week at my new house. I'll give you the ten cent tour and your little interview."
That had been cancelled as well and now I was parked across the street from the rambling two story, trying to figure out how I was going to get past the cops. There were lots of them and they swarmed the yard with a confused purposelessness that gave me an idea. I wasn't sure what was going on either but I knew I'd hit it big. When I reached the door, I bustled my way in. "Coroners office, where's the body?", I mumbled. "Upstairs.", a bewildered cop answered. As I worked my way upstairs, I wondered just who's body I was going to find.
The master bedroom was filled with people and as I entered I heard Lana Turner's throaty voice pleading, "Can't I take the blame for this terrible thing?" She was standing over the body of John Stompanato, talking to Beverly Hills Police Chief Clifton Anderson. I watched him shaking his head as I stood in the corner taking inventory of the rest of the guests. Lana's mother, a doctor, and a few cops all stood around the corpse which lay on the floor in such a peaceful repose I would have sworn he was sleeping if not for the knife sticking out of his chest. Cheryl Crane was sitting off to one side, a look of shocked astonishment on her face. Just then Stephen Crane, her father, came rushing in and dropped to his knees beside her. Before he could even ask she looked at him distantly and said, " I did it, Daddy, I didn't mean to. He was going to hurt Mommy." She seemed a million miles away.
"Oh baby," he sighed and stood up to join the adults discussing their next move. As they still hadn't noticed me I walked over to Cheryl and put my hand on her shoulder to comfort her. "What happened?", I whispered. "Don't touch me.", she growled. As I snatched my hand away her eyes narrowed as she said in explanation," I don't like... men." She spoke the word with a contempt usually reserved for snakes and grubs. Behind her sweet, girl next door beauty there swelled a fury, a blinding, white hot rage alien in most fourteen year old girls. Just then Chief Anderson noticed me and it was all over, just like the blood on the carpet.
"How the hell did you get in here, Bacon?" As he shuffled me out I asked him, "Where's Lex?", Hollywood's latest Tarzan and Lana's latest ex-husband. "He's in Italy working with some dago named Fellini, not that it matters. You're going to keep a lid on this until we release a statement, right Jim?"
" As long as I got first crack, no problem." And that's how we left it. I was left with the scoop of my life, Lana Turner was left with the role of her life at the murder inquest, tearful mother and abused woman, and Johnny Stompanato was left in a coffin. Cheryl Crane spent a few nights in juvie before the death was ruled justifiable homicide and she was released to her grandmother's custody. Years later she wrote her autobiography and I got a few answers to her puzzle. Seems that when Mom was married to Lex Barker he took advantage of the situation by raping his ten year old stepdaughter on a regular basis until the marriage ended three years later. So when Lanita started seeing Johhny, to Cheryl, it must have seemed like a bad rerun. The verbal sparring soon turned to fistfights and ended in beatings. When she heard the fight brewing in her mom's room and upon opening the door, saw Johnny with his fist raised, she had no idea he was merely hoisting his garments on a hanger over his shoulder and proceeded to sink the nine inch carving knife deep into his chest, puncturing a kidney before slicing the aorta.
The real culprit of the story, Lex Barker, returned to the U.S. after completing his little movie La Dolce Vita, where he dropped dead of a heart attack on a New York sidewalk.
Ahh, the sweet life. DURANGO© 2008

The Devils In My Space

O.K., I know My Space is considered a refuge for losers and twelve year old girls, but I've got to tell you this ridiculous virtual world of ego and self centered illusion has become my salvation. Of course I have the added excuse of promoting my band, (The Rock City Angels) but to face facts I'm no more immune to the addictive power of this ego driven medium than the average middle school student - it's a lot more fun than passing notes ever was.


However, in my own defense, it is the communicative nature of this social disease that is really at the heart of my amore. There are not many things more rewarding to an artist than to actually have a one-on-one with his audience. To come to the realization that I have been connecting all these years, that I haven't just been ramming my cranium into the bricks, that is a gift more valuable than gold. You people get it! And you get it with all the passion, heart and soul that went into it. Wow! More than ever I want to get some more music out there, music that will make people burn, open their eyes and kick the doors down. Those of you that have been following this blog know how close I am to achieving this goal, ($1000. bucks away for postproduction) so put in a prayer for me and the new Angels c.d., will 'ya?


Another thing that has me hooked to My Space is the overwhelming amount of old friends it has brought back into my life,( me and my cat were getting lonely) with amazing regularity. Sometimes I have to put some work into it - most everybody thought I was dead- Thanks a lot, Andy- but it's time well spent. Not only have I hooked up with Nikki Corvette, Storm Large,(whom I met graduating acting school,NYC,1991) Kelly Q ,(that's a wild story in itself) Tommy Rae and Beth-Ami from Hardly Dangerous, Len Fagen from the Coconut Teaszer,(where we were house band for close to a year) but I also recently got in touch with Junkyard, (whom I always considered our "brother" band) Del James, (rawk writer who, along with Janiss Garza, made Rip Magazine essential) and Robert John, the one photographer who was with us from the beginning and was key to getting the band signed, along with being a remarkable friend. All of these people and many more - you know who you are - mean more than words can say as they were always there through thick and thin, and to make contact again after a decade or two just wouldn't have happened without the magic of My Space.
So for the people out there who say," Tom's a fag, hell, I deleted him from my friends the day I logged on." I say look, I don't care if the man sucks the blood out of babies in some kind of Satanic ritual with Steve Jobs as long as he keeps My Space up and running. Tom Rules!

Speaking of long time friends, I was making plans to see some family down in Florida over Christmas, and printing out a plane ticket when I got a message alert. Imagine my astonishment to find I had messages from two girls I used to see in Ft. Lauderdale back in '85,'86! We had quite a past,these girls and I. Best friends, they went everywhere together as girls do, so I often saw these vixens in my travels among the few rock bars in town and couldn't help but admire them. They were a couple of babes!
I first started dating Sherri and that was going well until our infamous "lost weekend" when, concentrating on only each other, the rest of the world melted away for us making a blissful paradise out of my urban rat hole. As you can imagine this didn't go over real well with either her parents or her best friend Barb who thought I was kinda creepy. I didn't see Sherri for a while after that and as I was trying to get information out of Barb we started talking. The music was loud so we left the club and I took her to a playground close to my house. The night was warm as we sat on the swings and as the conversation continued a light rain began to fall. That's when the talking stopped and the kisses started. We began seeing each other after that which of course caused a major rift between the two friends. It's funny, I only went out with these girls for about a month or two but when you're 18 years old every minute of your relationships are crammed with as much passion, fury and vitality as years of your life as an adult, leaving an indelible mark of that time on your psyche.
So when I found out that not only had they both moved to Melbourne, (about an hours drive from Orlando) but were also roommates! I was tripping!
I tried to relax as I sat in my Moms house in Winterpark,( a fru-fru suburb of Disneyworld) waiting for Barb to pick me up, but that wasn't going to happen. So often you see old friends and after a minute find you have nothing to talk about. Too much time has passed, leaving an awkward silence as you wait for the inevitable," Well, it's been great seeing you."

But from the moment Barb stepped out of her car and greeted me with a big hug and kiss I realized I had nothing to worry about. There are times in our short existence that are so defining of your personality, so sacred, so magical that reconnecting with someone from that time is effortless. The rest of the night was smooth and sweet and I drank in the company of these two still beautiful girls, as sexy, smart and opinionated as they ever were, and me, the grinning little devil in the middle, the only boy they ever fought over. Another great vacation to add to my brimming mental scrapbook.

I'm planning a return trip for February.
'Till next time - DURANGO