(part 182) RCA BUYS 4 SONGS

I said there were four songs cut initially. This is the fourth song, I've Seen It All Before. After completing the sessions I began working on getting the songs on a label.

I had done nothing about that until I finished recording, so it meant starting from scratch. It wasn't like there were people lined up to hear the songs.

My plan was, continue believing that there is a label who wants my music and will release it. With this in mind, I made demo tapes and began circulating them to different companies, one of which was RCA Victor.

Because most of what I did was in the dream machine inside my own head, sending the songs to RCA made complete sense to me. You know, like Dreamworks. Dream it into reality!

RCA was a company I admired, for what ever reason, probably because they were Elvis Presley's label, so I sent them a demo tape.

Art, in my way of thinking, always starts as a dream, whether that dream was three seconds ago or thirty years ago. What comes out in the long run started as a dream, or vision, in someone's mind and heart.

My theory was, why not get a label the same way? Why not ask myself what label I wanted to be on, and then send them a tape, with the full expectation that they'd say "OK!" So that's what I did.

It wasn't all that long after I sent out the demos that I got a letter back from RCA saying they were interested in the recordings, and what did I want in the way of money.

Well as you can imagine I got pretty damn excited and called everybody I knew to tell them. My girlfriend and her sister went completely out of their minds when they got the news, and couldn't get to the phone fast enough to tell the rest of their family back east.

Everybody thought I was a genius at that point, and kept telling me that over and and over. I had to be careful, because inside my head, that kind of praise was dangerous if I took it too seriously.

Remember! My problem was me, and me and good news was as volatile as me and bad news. Going up too high, or going down too low, was the danger area, so I had to keep tabs on what I was thinking when the praise rolled in.

It is far clearer now, than it was back then, that the array of musicians we used were top of the line. Collectively, they had recorded with Boz Skaggs, Steely Dan, Toto, and Seals And Crofts, to name a few. But sometimes using the best money can buy is counter productive.

When people are too good, it is hard to get them to see outside of their own version of what they're doing. Overplaying can become a significant problem, as well as believing that what you've played is good enough simply because you played it.

Because I had some money to spend on high quality players, to some extent I missed an opportunity to use lesser known people, who may have delivered something extra, in the way of emotion, not necessarily found in the playing of the very successful.

In other words "heart" may be lost to some degree, because of ego, when you think you can do no wrong, but don't misunderstand the point I am making here.

I'm glad I got the chance to use these musicians on the recordings, but I was also aware at the time that it was nearly impossible to get these guys to try anything other than what they decided was the way it should be played.

If I had the original recording that I made of Growing Pains Of Time, and played the studio version, and then the original version, you'd know immediately what I'm talking about.

Even though I love the studio version of that song, I liked my version better, because it was raw and powerful, while the studio version is a bit too over produced and slick.

I fault myself for this more than faulting anyone else. It was my responsibility to convey what I wanted, and I failed to do that to some extent.

It is too easy to just say, "We are our own worse critics," and leave it at that. What I am talking about is real. The songs could have been better than they are if I could have conveyed my vision more clearly than I did.

The problem, as I alluded to before, was that I was newly sober and my capacity to be more demanding of what I wanted was stifled by me.

If I was to record now I would have no problem, or less of a problem, fighting to get it right no matter who was playing. There is something very important to be said for knowing exactly what you want and being willing to fight for it.

If my vision of what the songs were supposed to sound like was indeed valid, which I believe it was, then to not achieve that was a failure, whatever the cause.

Every time I hear a song of mine not being the way it was intended when I wrote it, I know in my gut it could have been better.

If I ever get to record again and get it right, and nobody likes it then, that will be fine. But if I do get it right and people go ape shit over it, then my point will be proven.

I just want that opportunity again, because previously I failed, and the failure came as a result of letting things slide at the time of recording, which I now consider a weakness of mine in the past.

(part 181) KEEP WORKING AND DON'T GET ANGRY

demo version

Making records in 1977 with Ben Benay and the group of people he assembled for the project was a first for me. Not only was I sober, but responsible for the whole damn thing, including paying everybody.

The sessions were produced and arranged by me and Ben, and were for the most part recorded in studio B at Wally Heider's in Hollywood. As we continued making progress in the studio, I had begin to think about what I was going to do with the recordings once they were finished.

There was no record label involved, and I doubt if anyone even knew or cared that I was recording again, outside of the people who worked on the sessions.

I spent time alone, and concentrated my thoughts on seeing the songs finished and on a label. I pictured myself hearing them on the radio and thought about how good that would feel. Although none of it was true at the time, I held fast to my vision as if it were reality.

The intensity of my goals, the responsibility for creating the finished product, staying sober, and dealing with my girlfriend and her family was incredibly stressful. I was only in my second year of sobriety, so all that I was doing took somewhat of a toll on me.

I worked overtime at trying to keep my emotional balanced and not to let things get to me. In AA it had always been something of a hard and fast rule that getting angry could get you drunk.

Being who I was, this thought made me particularly anxious, because I had a temper. For a long time I'd managed to keep it in check, but the day finally came when I completely lost it.

One afternoon in Westwood, I came apart over something that had gone wrong. I literally went ape shit. I hadn't gotten that mad in over a year, so when it happened I was completely programed by that rule to go get loaded.

I wandered around the streets of Westwood in a state of desperation, waiting to rush into a liquor store and buy a bottle of booze. But after nearly three hours of this shit, anticipating the worst, I finally said to myself, "I don't want to get drunk, this is a bunch of bullshit."

I had learned an important lesson that day; The only thing that will get you loaded is deciding to get loaded, and then blaming it on something that happened. "What a crock of shit," I thought, "I almost talked myself into it, because of that lame rule."

As a result of the experience I made up a new rule of my own called the "No matter what" rule, which means "No matter what happens I won't get loaded!"

I figured if there was anything anywhere, in the entire universe, that could get me loaded I would be headed toward it, so the rule was designed to eliminate that possibility before it ever happened, because in my life something always happened.

From then on there was nothing either too good or too bad that could happen that would get me loaded. No matter what, I wouldn't get loaded over it. I applied this to my life a day at a time, and it has never failed me.

Ben Benay was a tremendous help to me in translating my ideas to the other musicians in the studio. He and I would get together in private and talk about what I was trying to achieve with each song. He in turn would work this into the band's psyche when we were recording.

Because I was newly sober, and felt too timid at times to tell these guys I didn't like something they were doing, Ben became the go between. He could get them back into the song, when they tended to drift away or over improvise.

One of my real regrets about these sessions, is that I was not forceful enough at getting across to anybody, the exact sound I wanted on certain songs, but all in all they came out pretty well under the circumstances.

Initially, we cut four basic tracks, and then added my vocals. When that was completed we got various players back in the studio to do overdubs or add solos and fill-ins.

We would then add backup vocals and begin the process of mixing down the various components we had on tape. This was where each of the songs was made as clear as we could get them at that point.

The last thing was a final mix down and mastering, if nothing else was needed in the way of changes or additions, then we'd settle on the completed product.

Again, one of my major regrets, is that during the final mix we were still using oversize monitors for playback, which I have said before, does not give an honest representation of the sound.

When recorded music is played back on what most people listen to, which is something smaller and tighter, like a car speaker, the base tends to override the midrange and high end, because it was mixed on huge speakers in the studio which only sound good in there. That sound is not accurately translated to more basic sound systems.

I failed to apply my own experience with this during mix down, and let that detail get away from me.

The other aspect I am not satisfied with is the lack of open space in some of the songs. For example, Growin Pains Of Time, in my original demo, had far less instrumentation so each part stood out more. The studio version is somewhat over produced.

Space, with no instrumentation, gives music a depth and width that it doesn't have when cluttered with unnecessary noise. When every hole is filled with sound it is like a room filled with too much furniture.


studio version

(part 180) BEN BENAY AND ME "GROWIN PAINS OF TIME"

Wally Heider's Studio

In the past, every time I tried to kill myself or act out in some highly negative way, it had been because of money, or more precisely, the lack of it.

It had always been in conjunction with music or the music business. It had been about trust, self worth, and independence. I sat for long periods of time and thought about these things on more than one occasion.

It was clear to me that I had to let go of my past and believe that it could be different. I had to expect that there were people I might meet that could be trusted.

This for me was a monumental task, because it was asking me to let go of my entire history. Writing songs, making records, and getting screwed. It wasn't like it happened once or twice, it was all that had happened.

Also, I'd literally come from the street. My personality was formed from my experiences out there, not in a setting like many I'd locked horns with in the past.

My reactions were not based on security, but on things like how to survive at all costs, and where do I sleep tonight. It was easy to say "let go of your past," but something else to actually do it.

I knew I was standing in a brand new place in life, and for the first time had some money, but more importantly, I was stone cold sober and clean for the first time since about 12 years old.

The future loomed ahead. It was there before me both as grand adventure and minefield. I didn't know what would happen, but I knew a day at a time I had the opportunity to construct an outcome far better than my past. I could now think and decide how I wanted to approach the challenge rather than merely react to it.

My time in the rent free apartment came to an end, and at first I just moved into my girlfriend's place. But this soon became a problem, because we were then faced with dealing with each other 24-hrs a day instead of periodically.



I wrote and recorded this song about her in her apartment in 1976. It is a demo, and was not part of the RCA deal, but I wished had it been now.

We were both in our second year of sobriety so we were subject to change at any given moment. After a month or so of that, I rented an apartment of my own in West Hollywood on Doheny Dr. south of Sunset Blvd.

I was now in the area where much of the Los Angeles music business had their offices. A few blocks southwest of the Whiskey, Rainbow, Gazzari's, and the office of Billboard Magazine at 9000 Sunset.

A lot of my history was right around the corner from me. I felt excited as well as anxious, but was glad to be there paying rent on my own place.

I continued writing songs and recording them in my apartment, which had concrete walls, so I felt comfortable making some noise without the fear of complaints from my neighbors.

This was all well and good, but eventually I had to make a decision as to how far I was going to go with this. I decided, after some deliberation, that I should use the money I had received to go into the studio and record some of the songs for real with a band.

I would need musicians, but hadn't kept in touch with anyone, so I was at a loss as to how to do this in a reasonable way. I thought about Ben Benay, who'd worked on "Color Him In" and "Working" with me in the 60's, and got his number from the musician's union local 47 in Hollywood.

Ben was surprised to hear from me, to say the least, but was more than interested in working with me on some new songs in the studio. He said he could get some topnotch players for the sessions with no problem.

He agreed to take the lead as far as getting the band together and picking the studio, which he said should be Wally Heider's in Hollywood. I told him whatever he decided I would go with, because I knew he knew his stuff and I relied on that completely.

The musicians he got were first class, many of whom were involved with the band Toto at the time, as well as Steely Dan. David Paich, the Porcaro Brothers, Steve Lukather and others, including Amy Philbin and her girls on background vocals.

I gave Ben tapes that I'd recorded at home, and he wrote out lead sheets for the rest of the players. He organized a lot of what is necessary to get a session to the point that it happens, and I will always be grateful to him for his help and friendship.

It would all come down to the music, the studio and engineer, the players, and how well I did my job, if it was going to work. Once I'd made up my mind there was no turning back, it was all set in motion.

I informed my girlfriend's Dad and Mom as to what was happening and they were excited as hell, since for them this was a first.

I felt a deep sense of responsibility about spending the money in this way, and for me it was imperative that I make every penny count, and that the finished product be worthy of the investment.

On the first day, when I walked into the studio the feeling of "magic happens here" came over me. I felt immediately relaxed, and my eyes danced over the surroundings as if I'd finally gotten back home after a long time away. The first song we cut was "Growin' Pains fF Time."

(part 179) THE CHECK

Sometime after I met her parents, my girl friend told me she had strongly suggested to her father that he invest in me as a business arrangement so I could pursue my music career.

Her father was in the commodities market and owned a seat on the commodities exchange in New York City.

Her remark was something of a shock to me when I heard it, but again, it seemed to be part of an ongoing set of effects that occurred in 1976, following my concentration on both the book Alcoholics Anonymous and the book Science Of Mind.

My anticipation dimmed after nothing happened with her father. The months kept clicking by, and time was getting short on my rent free apartment. I began to doubt that anything would ever happen with him, but I tried not to worry.

In truth, I was becoming concerned as to what I was going to do when the six months of free rent ran out. I forced myself to look away from my doubts, and persisted in writing songs and recording them as long as I had a place and way to do it.

I tried hard to believe something I had little evidence of. But somewhere inside was a part of me that did believe I could make a living writing and recording music.

I remember the day I picked up my mail and noticed a letter from my girlfriend's father. I felt excited but anxious as I opened it.

Inside was a short note thanking me for the consideration I'd shown him and his wife when they met me in California. There was also another sentence that said, "I hope this will help you fulfill your goals," and a check for $15,000.

I sat down on the living room floor, and in stunned silence stared at the check in my hand. It said "pay to the order of Robert Jameson." I tried to to get my mind around it, but had no experience in knowing how to handle what had just occurred. Nothing in my past even came close to this.

It was more money than I'd ever had in my life, and it had come to me out of the blue in the same way the apartment had. At that moment, I could only believe that what I'd been doing had worked and the proof was in my hands.

I felt exhilarated and somewhat unworthy simultaneously. I told myself to accept it and be grateful, because it was now a reality. I scrambled for the phone and called my girlfriend, blurting out what happened, and she said, "I told you!"

"Yeah I know," I said, "but I didn't really think it would happen." She laughed and said, "Well it did, and you deserve it, so enjoy it if you can."

That was a mouthful. "Enjoy it! How the hell do you do that?" I wondered. I was so used to being broke that suddenly having this much money was a problem.

I walked around for a few days with the check, not really knowing what to do with it. I didn't have a bank account, or for that matter a bank, I just had a check.

I went by my old AA sponsor's house and told him I had something to show him. We stood in the kitchen and I plopped the check down on the table. He sat down in a chair and picked it up and stared at it.

After a moment, he looked up at me in amazement, saying, "Where'd you get...how'd you do this?" "Science Of Mind," I said, "I just kept believing in what I was doing."

He'd messed around with Science Of Mind for a couple of years, but had never seen the kind of results he'd hoped for. But after holding my check in his hands, in his own kitchen, knowing where I'd come from, he seemed to finally get it. It works!

If Bobby Jameson can get it to work, then it will work for anybody, including him. It just clicked in his mind. After that his life took off as well, and things that had not come together in the past began working for him, he went on to become a millionaire.

Trying to find a bank that would take my money and give me an account was more of a problem than I'd expected. I only had a driver's license, so there was reluctance by several banks to open an account for me, and the way I looked, you know, the long hair, didn't help.

I remember walking around Santa Monica thinking my big problem was, nobody would take my $15,000 check. I had to chuckle. For me that was a problem worth having.

It was Wells Fargo that finally agreed to give me an account, but said I had to wait until the check cleared before I could get any money out. Hell I didn't care. I never had any money anyway so that was nothing new. I was relieved I didn't have to carry the check around anymore.

For those of you who have followed my story, or have gotten to know me a little from the internet, and may have accused me of demanding money for my work, I suggest you consider this.

I was 31 years old in 1976, and had been making records and writing songs professionally since 1963. This one $15,000 check was more money than I'd made for the entire time I'd been in the music business, which was thirteen years.

(part 178) MY MOTORCYCLE IN 1976

In 1976, I looked back through the years to 1963, when I'd first come to Hollywood to try and make records and write songs. For over a decade, I'd done that, but for the most part, I'd done it for free because I loved doing it.

But now I was looking at my life from the perspective of wanting and needing to make a living doing what I loved. I'd always been broke in the past, and unable to pay any rent or sustain myself in even the most basic of ways.

Because of that, making a living doing music was a primary issue in my thinking. I was living in a nice place, but as usual had no money, and in reality had done nothing to warrant the apartment other than be the recipient of a friend's gift.

As I thought about this, my focus became, specifically, do what you love but get paid for doing it, or do something else. If I sound obsessed with money, remember, I never had any.

If you think I should have done music for the sake of the music, that's in essence what I'd done for 13 years.

If this new philosophy I was learning about was actually going to work, it would have to work on all the critical factors which would make up the foundation of my day to day reality.

I would have gladly made more records for free, in 1976, because I loved it, but what I was trying to accomplish was to arrive at a place where Bobby Jameson could make a living doing what he loved.

This choice ran headlong into my history with negative facts. My problem was my own experience. AA and Science Of Mind were philosophies of change, which I was endeavoring to apply to my own personal circumstance.

My job was to incorporate all the factors into a functioning practicality of sobriety, work, and compensation, that would allow me to be an ongoing contributing member of society. My belief was, I couldn't have these things. My goal was, "Yes I could."

For instance, if you take someone engulfed in poverty, and tell them they ought to go to college, they may well agree, but then they might ask you "How do I do that?" The truth is, that they have no experience in the mechanics of how that might actually be accomplished.

The only part of the equation I understood, experientially, was thinking or believing my way into the music business as a teenager. I'd seen that work, so it became my model.

To see so clearly a thing, that nothing can convince you otherwise, was the blueprint. When belief outweighs denial, then the actualization or manifestation of the perceived becomes physical reality. I'd dreamed myself from one place to another before, and I was determined to do it again.

While in the apartment on the beach, as promised, my girlfriend brought her parents by to meet me and to hear what I'd put on tape. They listened to everything, and had nothing but praise for what I'd done.

After what turned out to be a generally pleasant afternoon, they left. My feeling was, at least they didn't seem to disapprove of me based on the length of my hair, which at times had been subject to comments by some people.

I managed to keep my swearing to a bare minimum, and was glad they didn't care that I smoked. My girlfriend's opinion was that they were very impressed by me, which I questioned, but kept to myself. Later, when I was alone, I wondered about the whole thing.

Was I selling myself a bill of goods, or was what I was doing the right choice? Was I right? I didn't know the answer, so I just settled on, "I'm sober today and believe what I'm doing is what I'm supposed to be doing." I asked God to direct my steps and headed off to an AA meeting.

As I rode my 500 Triumph through the streets of Venice Beach, I kept saying to myself "Believe more than you disbelieve, Bobby, believe more than you disbelieve."

"Maybe it will be different this time," I thought, "maybe it will work. Maybe, because this time I'm sober." I knew in my gut that being clean was the key to everything, and without it nothing was possible except a return to the nightmare I'd come from.

I rode off into the night, feeling alone. I realized then that I had never met anyone like me. I hoped someday I would, but so far it hadn't happened.

(part 177) THE APARTMENT

I will continue to say this as I write these things, because I feel I must. I am not promoting any book, religion, or way of life. I am discussing, in public, what it was I did in 1976 as I learned about my own sobriety.

I was living at the Clare Foundation in Santa Monica, and was unemployed, although I did do odd jobs for money. I was newly sober and embarking on a journey, and that for me was an extremely positive outlook.

I was learning to trust in a God, as I understood or didn't understand him. I had two books, Alcoholics Anonymous and Science Of Mind, that helped to guide me in the right direction, and I'd acquired a used motorcycle for transportation.

Somewhere during this time, a friend of mine in AA announced that he and his girl friend were going to be married in Australia, where she was originally from.

The reason this is important, is that with this announcement came the offer to me of her apartment in Venice Beach, which was paid for for the next 6 months. I could live there rent free for that amount of time.

I couldn't believe it--from a halfway house to a rent-free beach front apartment, out of nowhere. This of course convinced me that what I was believing in was working, and that I should pursue it even more vigorously.

I accepted their offer, and within a short time, moved myself into the apartment. I remember standing on the balcony looking out across the sand to the ocean and thinking, "Wow, this has got to be impossible." One day I was in Clare Foundation and the next I was here.

I set out immediately hand printing signs in red ink and taping them on the walls. They said things like, "God supplies me with everything I need," "I have an endless supply of money," and things like that. They were called affirmations.

Everyday, I would stand in the living room and read them and listen to my mind say "You don't really believe this shit do you?" I would make myself stand there reading them out loud until I actually started to believe what I was reading.

Day after day, and week after week, I would affirm what I wanted to believe in. During this period, I borrowed a tape recorder after having a long talk with God about what I was supposed to be doing with my life.

While in Clare Foundation I had to re-teach myself to play guitar and sing sober, which I couldn't do initially. When I got to the new apartment, I had to have a long talk with God about my music, and whether I was supposed to use it for a specific purpose.

I announced to God that I was going to write and record songs in that apartment, and see where it would lead. Unsure if I was really doing God's will, and not just pursuing my own interests, I set out on this endeavor of writing and recording my songs.

Each day I'd get up and get some coffee and read the signs, until I felt I was on the right track. I'd get out my guitar, notebook, and pen, and start working on the next song, or finishing one I'd already started.

I said things like "I don't know for sure if this is what I'm supposed to do, but I'm going to do it, and believe that it's what you want me to do, God." With that, I'd start working for hours trying to convince myself I was on the right path.

In AA, I met a girl who was sober about the same amount of time that I was, and we became seriously involved. At first I'd ride my motorcycle to her apartment, but after awhile she wanted to see where I lived.

The first time she saw my place, she asked if I was rich, because the apartment was on the beach and must cost a lot. I said "No!" and then proceeded to tell her about Science Of Mind and how I got the place as a gift from God.

This interested her to no end and she began asking questions about how it all worked as she eyed the hand written signs on my walls.

I explained the purpose of the signs, and told her I was trying to get myself to believe what was written on them, and how hard it was to overcome my old attitude of negativity, which she acknowledged having problems with as well.

While she was there I turned on the tape recorder and played some of the songs I'd written. She got very excited when she heard my music and said I should do it professionally, which I admitted I had once done. "Well you ought to do it again," she said, "this is really good."

I thanked her for her opinion and said I was just going to keep writing and recording, and see where it would lead, since I had the apartment and the tape recorder.

She told me her parents were coming to visit her from New Jersey and that she wanted to bring them by to meet me and let them hear my work. Hearing that made me nervous, and I said, "I don't know, I haven't had very good luck with girl's parents in the past."

She laughed and said, "Don't worry, my dad is on the program too, and my mom's in Alanon." She smiled, as if saying that had fixed the problem.