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Tutta
Advanced Member
Germany
32401 Posts
Member since 19/02/2010 |
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Tutta
Advanced Member
Germany
32401 Posts
Member since 19/02/2010 |
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Tutta
Advanced Member
Germany
32401 Posts
Member since 19/02/2010 |
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Tutta
Advanced Member
Germany
32401 Posts
Member since 19/02/2010 |
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Tutta
Advanced Member
Germany
32401 Posts
Member since 19/02/2010 |
 Posted - 31/08/2017 : 00:18:07
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Pamela Des Barres
‘I’m With the Band’ Author Pamela Des Barres
on Slut-Shaming, 30 Years Later: ‘I’ve Done
Hard Time As a Groupie Suffragette’
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In 1987, famous groupie and rock ‘n’ roll lifer Pamela Des Barres released I’m With the Band, a juicy tell-all about her affairs and adventures with
Mick Jagger, Jimmy Page, Keith Moon, Don Johnson, Jim Morrison, Waylon Jennings, and many others. The irresistible page-turner went on to land
at No. 11 on Billboard’s ranking of the top 100 music books of all time and earn praise from even Nobel Prize-winning wordsmith Bob Dylan, but at
the time, Des Barres’s unrepentant tales of sexual liberation on the Sunset Strip raised many judgmental haters’ eyebrows and hackles. In fact, years
before “slut-shaming” was the national hot topic it is now, a famous shock-rock DJ actually introduced Des Barres as “the national slut.”
But as she celebrates the 30th anniversary of I’m With the Band, Des Barres is as unapologetic and free-spirited as ever, and she’s opened the door
of self-expression to a new generation of memoirists, some of whom take her writing classes and even inspired her latest, fifth book, Let It Bleed:
How to Write a Rockin’ Memoir. In this personal essay, Des Barres reflects on how being known, for better or worse, as “queen of the groupies” helped
her learn how to embrace her own life story and teach others to do the same.
Pamela Des Barres’s 1987 memoir, ‘I’m With the Band’
When you write a memoir and spend so many months alone with your past, digging up memories both glorious and ghastly, you have no idea if anyone
will read your words — much less the impact they might have on your own life or the lives of your readers. It’s like diving off the deep end in the dark,
and it takes a poignant kind of faith. I quickly discovered it’s a frightening, courageous act to tell on yourself (I never felt I was “kissing and telling” on others),
as you relive and rediscover who the f*** you really are, piecing together the experiences that created you. It’s like living life a second time, with the
gift of hindsight, acceptance, and hopefully a sweet dollop of humor.
My first book, I’m With the Band, has been in print all over the world for three decades now. At the time, I felt I was just telling my wild-ride story
from the San Fernando Valley flats of Reseda, through Laurel Canyon, to the Sunset Strip and beyond. And I continue to hear from music-loving women
(and hip, groupie-appreciating men!) who found something in those 300 pages that gave them insight and the conviction to let their fearless, free-spirited
curiosity roam free — judgment be damned.
However, back in ’87, the perception of the term “groupie” was far from positive.
An innocent word at first — meaning literally someone who spends time with groups – “groupie” quickly became a finger-pointing jeer. “Ooooooh, she
must be having SEX with that MUSICIAN!” Stunned by the sanctimonious vitriol that I’m With the Band received upon its publication, I flailed briefly before
fighting my way through attacks on live national TV and by misogynistic morning-radio jocks, defending my right as a female to do exactly what I’d always
wanted to do.
Pamela Des Barres (Interview) about 'Rock & Roll'
Yes, 30 freaking years ago I sat nervously on The Today Show and was introduced as “queen of the groupies” by Bryant Gumbel, and I had to rise to that
occasion on the spot. It helped to live smack-dab in the moment and not think too hard, but I said in my second memoir, Take Another Little Piece of My Heart:
“Did I live it up just to have to live it down?” I know better now, and I have no regrets — except for a few things I didn’t do. (Jimi Hendrix tried to pick me
up when I was a virginal 17-year-old. Can you imagine?) However, one female audience member on another TV show, Sally Jessy Raphael, was so aghast by
my past that she stood up, spittle flying, outraged that I’d admit to such tawdry shenanigans. It was as if making love — the act that brings us all to life —
was somehow even more wantonly wicked between a groupie and a rock star. Shame, shame, shame.
 ... ...
Our great country, the US of A, is still frighteningly uptight sexually. Weird. Not that long ago, I staggered up at 6 A.M. to talk about my fourth book, an
anthology of iconic groupies titled Let’s Spend the Night Together, and I was greeted by a pervy Chicago DJ called Mancow with this opening question:
“How does it feel to be the national slut?” In my own humble way, I’ve done my hard time in the trenches like a proud groupie suffragette.
Besides the slut-shaming, I’ve been judged as being “submissive” to the rock gods in my life — which couldn’t have been further from the actual truth. My
relationships were an equal exchange of yummy, sometimes sexy, sometimes friendly energy between two like-minded souls floating around together in this
trippy cosmic soup. I discovered early on that the way to a creative person’s heart is to (truly) admire, appreciate, and understand their passion. And as a founding
member of the GTOs (Girls Together Outrageously), a group produced and mentored by Frank Zappa, it was crazy full-circle to have my own groupies. I adored them all.
 ...
Zappa presented The GTO's - 1969 Permanent Damage
Although I’ve always considered myself to be a feminist, for many years I’ve single-handedly tried to redeem the scurrilous “G-word.” It’s taken these three
decades, but I’m finally making inroads, sometimes actually being called a “groupie feminist.” We’ve come a long way, baby! There have been groupies since
musicians stepped onto a stage, and there will always be groupies — those who are not content to merely listen or stand back and observe, but want to wrap
themselves up in the hearts and arms of those who make the music. You can’t plop onto Mick Jagger’s lap at the Whisky a Go Go anymore or watch Led Zeppelin
perform from a seat atop Jimmy Page’s amp, but music will always be made — since, indeed, rock ‘n’ roll will never die. New bands pop up in every city, in every
small town across the globe, and they need their muses to uplift and inspire them, to appreciate the music they’re making and propel them to greatness.
Jimmy Page, the truth behind this photo...
I’m With the Band gave me a writing career, albeit a topsy-turvy one with way-ups and low-downs, as in any creative field. As a journalist I’ve interviewed
many of my heroes, from INXS’s late, great Michael Hutchence to the great (Jack) White hope. But my most perfect moment as a writer came when Bob Dylan,
the man who made me the lyric whore I am, said to me: “I read your book cover-to-cover, and you’re a good writer!” I happily could have shuffled off my mortal
coil at that most spectacular moment. It was a humdinger — and I’ve experienced a few.
Seventeen years ago, in between books, my lifelong friend Moon Zappa suggested I take some creative writing classes from a coach in the Valley she admired,
and while scribbling away during the first class I thought, “I could be teaching this myself!” I’d written two memoirs at that point, and soon after that lightbulb moment,
I opened my home to a small group of nervous women of all ages. (I was a bit noivous myself!) My world was enhanced in a way I never imagined possible.
Pamela Des Barres Reading 2
Kindred spirits united! Words pouring onto the page! Memories revealed! Pain released! After a few years of teaching (really just allowing the students to share
their voices sans criticism or judgment), I started a class in Austin, where my talented goddaughter Polly Parsons (daughter of Gram) lives, then New York, Chicago,
Toronto, London, and so on. I hold workshops in the homes of my writers, and it’s a cozy, comfy environment to expound and express. And inspired by my pupils’ brilliant
outpouring, I’ve just released by fifth book, Let It Bleed: How to Write a Rockin’ Memoir
I’m hoping this groovy guidebook will give other women the courage to dig up their pasts, give free reign to theirs feelings and reflections, and help them to
rediscover who the f*** they really are. I believe we all have a wild-ride story to tell. Dive into the deep end at midnight. Tell on yourself. You’ll dig it. It worked for me.
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+IN HOC SIGNO VINCES+
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Edited by - Tutta on 09/11/2017 00:01:39 |
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Tutta
Advanced Member
Germany
32401 Posts
Member since 19/02/2010 |
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Tutta
Advanced Member
Germany
32401 Posts
Member since 19/02/2010 |
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Tutta
Advanced Member
Germany
32401 Posts
Member since 19/02/2010 |
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Tutta
Advanced Member
Germany
32401 Posts
Member since 19/02/2010 |
Posted - 31/08/2017 : 00:36:22
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The Mothers Of Invention - Brown Shoes Don't Make It (1967)
The first Mothers Of Invention album I ever purchased was called Mothermania, released in 1969.
"Brown Shoes Don't Make It" was the first track on side A. After hearing "Call Any Vegetable" and
"Who Are The Brain Police?" and some tracks from Cruising With Reuben & the Jets on FM radio station
WYSL, I could not resist checking this album out. It was their first compilation album and some of
the tracks that had appeared on the band's first three LPs (which I now have on CD) were remixed and
re-edited (none from Reuben though). It does not appear that Mothermania was ever released as a CD;
at least I have never been able to locate one (maybe that has changed). Originally this song appeared
on Absolutely Free (1967) as the final track.
Wikipedia: "Brown Shoes Don't Make It" is a song by The Mothers of Invention, written by band leader Frank Zappa
... The song is one of his most widely renowned works, declared by the AllMusic as "Zappa's first real masterpiece"
... The music makes several stylistic shifts, covering hard rock, classical, psychedelic rock, music hall and jazz.
It is cited by AllMusic as being a "condensed two-hour musical" ... According to Zappa, the beginning background
music was inspired by Lightnin' Slim's "Have Your Way".
This compilation album was always a delight to hear ... over and over again. But it was "Brown Shoes.."
that always hooked me in at the very start. Zappa's interest in classical and jazz, as well as lyrical
satire, brought a new dimension to rock music as well. I don't think I ever dreamed that the flashes of
images I had listening to this song at age 15, 16, and 17 could ever be turned into an actual music video
(I didn't even know what a music video was back in those days). Well, for real Zappa fans, here is my attempt
to "follow the lyrics" and realize a dream or nightmare.
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+IN HOC SIGNO VINCES+
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Tutta
Advanced Member
Germany
32401 Posts
Member since 19/02/2010 |
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Tutta
Advanced Member
Germany
32401 Posts
Member since 19/02/2010 |
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Tutta
Advanced Member
Germany
32401 Posts
Member since 19/02/2010 |
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Tutta
Advanced Member
Germany
32401 Posts
Member since 19/02/2010 |
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Tutta
Advanced Member
Germany
32401 Posts
Member since 19/02/2010 |
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Tutta
Advanced Member
Germany
32401 Posts
Member since 19/02/2010 |
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Tutta
Advanced Member
Germany
32401 Posts
Member since 19/02/2010 |
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Tutta
Advanced Member
Germany
32401 Posts
Member since 19/02/2010 |
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Tutta
Advanced Member
Germany
32401 Posts
Member since 19/02/2010 |
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Tutta
Advanced Member
Germany
32401 Posts
Member since 19/02/2010 |
Posted - 31/08/2017 : 16:05:03
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Chrysler Windsor Town & Country Station Wagon (C-28) (1941)
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+IN HOC SIGNO VINCES+
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Edited by - Tutta on 09/11/2017 01:15:36 |
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Tutta
Advanced Member
Germany
32401 Posts
Member since 19/02/2010 |
Posted - 31/08/2017 : 16:05:37
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The Lost Tale of THE PANDORAS
Resilient, local "Paisley Underground" figurehead driven to national notoriety, self-absorbed sexiness pulled
like taffy from vulgar to sublime and shared with the masses like communion: Paula was a gas to work with, capable
of brainstorming terrific visual ideas for our brief collaborations.
Her first band of acclaim, The Pandoras, was spotlit for its 1960's costume and garage-sound accuracy. Early press
praised its Standelles' redux vocal quality as so very garage that it barely registered as female. The aggregate
then bisected into warring factions, with Gwynne Kahn, now Nipper Seaturtle ( a Westlake School For Girls alumna
like yours truly, and its implication of heavy biz connections [Tin Pan Alley/Broadway composer blood relation in
this case,] to help launch the band ) versus Paula Pierce, Chino outback trailer park pop fanatic newly relocated to
the bright lights of the big city.
 ..........
This became the first ever overture in my whole career to document a group gratis from sheer enjoyiment of it.
I sought access via Greg Shaw, indie mogul and magnate of all things neo-'60's in the U.S. (which is not hyperbole,
mind you.) He clarified the then mystery of the duelling divisions each calling itself the Pandoras
(Gwynne's was the original plus one, but Paula, its singer/guitarist frontwoman, had written all the material,
hence her sturdier claim to the band's concept, and had assembled her new ensemble without missing a beat, to much
publicized rancor from her former teammates.) Greg only volunteered the former's whereabouts: Paula's were obtained
through minions of Rodney Bingenheimer, magnate of all this neo-'60's in the greater Los Angeles basin (no exaggeration as well.)
Intrigued by female musicians attempting accuracy of any sort even as the two separate bands continued to perform
under the same moniker (itself a clever reference to the most volatile of the "Riot on Sunset Strip" era teen music
venues) that they both lay claim to, I made the usual scientific comparison and promptly was bowled over by Paula's
ironclad confidence in her own onstage authority as a pop persona, the kind you can't practice in front of a mirror.
In contrast, the Gwynnedoras explored, however high-spirited or well-researched authenticity-wise, something of a
recherche of '60's perdus endemic to her wannabe generation (subsequently cured for all when the recession of the late
'80's restored some sense of urgency/purpose needed to inspire any original reclamations of the rebel pop music form.)
 ........
The Pandoras' '60's revival studio session, 9/23/84, featured props from my personal archives, and two Pandoras are
wearing my boots. (Their query: "Why aren't there neat things like these in the thrift stores?" Answer: "Because people
like me saved them.") I taught them how to negotiate sitting while wearing micro-minis the hard way, as the the proofs
revealed that this photographer, unused to looking up women's dresses, had revealed what necessitated later retouching.
 ........
Paula's next visual extravaganza shifted its '60' focus to Roger Corman-style biker movies, and our 1985 Pandoras on
giant Harley Davidson hogs predated the Hollywood fad for bikes as rock photo accessories by quite a few years. All
her own ideas. Band boyfriends assisting at the session wailed with escalating paranoia, "Isn't this how Altamont started?!"
at the intensity of attendant prop owners' fascination with nubile feminine forms poised atop with their own mighty Harleys
betwixt their legs.
 .....
Paula's Pandoras (Gwynne's mutated entirely away to different concepts--Mad Monster Party, Boo!, The Negro Problem
etc.) then navigated a succession of record deals, releases and dismissals on Bomp, Rhino, Elektra and Enigma. One
even wholly restaged my Pandoras-on-the-floor-amidst-clutter pose with its own toady photographer, as instance of
borrowing from me not unprecedented in this label's methodology. Every so oft emerged new power-boyfriends for Paula.
She ditched the '60's baggage and honed her vulgar-but-fun stage posture worthy of Dr. Ruth Westheimer turned guitaroid,
to complement her music's eternal quality of unreconstructed rawness.
 ........
After publication of the Sunset Stp. and biker shots, I lost touch with their goings-on except for meticulous reportage
by a video-trader who forever defined for me the difference between a fan and a fanatic. Quoth he: "When my buddy caught
the pantyhose Paula threw him from onstage, he framed it: I wore mine!" (not for pragmatic glam couture but empathetic
immersion.) He was, at least, the type of fanatic gracious towards his obsession's right to privacy, and only troubled
Paula to proclaim her wonderfulness in person at every gig, and once to request that she sit upon his lap for his
Christmas card photo. Trash afficianada, adulation enjoyer or media mindful, she readily complied.
When similar enthusiasts' ranks swelled minus the comcomitant politeness, she labelled them GBG'ss, or Girl Band Geeks.
The most frightening example I encountered at one of my friend Mary's shows very badly wanted to impress me, band photographer,
with his proclamation of his perfect attendance record for all female performances staged in Los Angeles for three decades, and with his
"credentials": a business card crammed with 4-point type life's work accomplishments, stellar pinnacle represented as having attended
Hal Blaine's party. The aforementioned should warn of no small amateur level of dysfunction.
 ...
My last encounter with Paula took place at Elektra's press party celebrating the label's release of Pandora product.
With gushing surprise, she sincerely complemented my post-illness (cancer) makeover. (I liked and respected Paula who
in turn professed admiration for my work, but sensed she heretofore had considered older yours truly a tad square in
the persona department.) She'd wrangled new high-power management (that of Little Caesar, thus quelling any notions I
might entertain of ever collaborating with her during that mgmt's tenure.) Her lifelong efforts and dreams seemed all
systems go, and she looked genuinely radiant, triumphant (see photograph below.)
The high-power management helped the Pandoras accomplish little except getting dropped from the label without any music
released whatsoever. Some retrenchment here and there. But Paula Pierce died on Aug. 10, 1991 at age 32 from an aneurysm,
problems that were neither alcohol nor drug-related.
The orderly fanatic thanked me for the letter of condolence that I'd sent him. He said it was the sole acknowledgment
of his role in lionizing her saga to anyone within earshot from someone he considered to be part of her hallowed inner circle, and
opined how that selfsame elite now snubbed him at mutually attended concerts.
The eulogies, excepting Pleasant Gehmen's, dwelled on the ensemble girl-band antics where I had seen a singular performer of real Rock
authority. Some pronounced judgement on her "work the industry"-opportunism streak: I just figured she had acted on the question we all
secretly address, "How badly do you want it?" Others out and out faulted the Pandorean derivativeness. Instead, my firsthand witness I knew
that she had understood, then expropriated the most important ingredient to fuel earlier Rock greats which forever eludes mere roots' band
stylists: its central passion. Paula Pierce wrote, performed and sang like her very life depended on Rock 'n' Roll music. And apparently it did.
On Dec. 2, 1992 I dreamt about Paula as if she were still around on the scene, just a normal conversation dream with, as in real life,
no punchline whatsoever. Motivation finally kicked in to confront her memory with this essay, but in computer review, it all inexplicably crashed,
my first instance of total copy eradication for this text or any other. Paula Pierce's intangible strength apparently endured. . .
The Pandoras - Backyard Party JAM 2013
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+IN HOC SIGNO VINCES+
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Edited by - Tutta on 10/11/2017 12:59:17 |
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Tutta
Advanced Member
Germany
32401 Posts
Member since 19/02/2010 |
Posted - 31/08/2017 : 16:06:21
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C&L Late Music Club With The 21st Century Pandoras: 'Joy Ride'
http://crooksandliars.com/2014/04/cl-late-music-club-21st-century-pandoras
Artist Biography by John Bush
Formed as a garage punk band in Los Angeles during the early '80s, the Pandoras debuted with a 7" EP in 1984 on the Moxie label.
That same year, the group recorded It's About Time with producer Greg Shaw, but splintered later in the year. Vocalist/guitarist Paula Pierce
recruited three new players, while the old band toured for a short time, using the Pandoras' name as well. Pierce and her new lineup released
Stop Pretending in 1986 on Rhino, and then moved up to the majors with an Elektra deal. An album (Come Inside) was recorded but never released,
and the Pandoras were summarily dropped from the label, only to re-surface in 1988 on Restless. A far cry from their beginnings, the Rock Hard EP
contained several libido-obsessed homages to crotch rock, as did the Live Nymphomania LP, recorded at a Dallas concert.
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+IN HOC SIGNO VINCES+
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Edited by - Tutta on 09/11/2017 22:51:07 |
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Tutta
Advanced Member
Germany
32401 Posts
Member since 19/02/2010 |
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Tutta
Advanced Member
Germany
32401 Posts
Member since 19/02/2010 |
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Tutta
Advanced Member
Germany
32401 Posts
Member since 19/02/2010 |
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Tutta
Advanced Member
Germany
32401 Posts
Member since 19/02/2010 |
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OLDIES FOREVER / MUSIC / CARS / MOVIES & Chicas!
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