Historical List Of Released Records By Bobby Jameson...1963 to 1977

This is the most extensive list yet compiled of records released on labels by Bobby Jameson from 1963 to 1978. Bobby James was the name used on Jameson's first record in 1963 Let's Surf/Take This Lollipop. This list provides a clear history of most, but not all, of Bobby Jameson's released records on vinyl.

Bobby Jameson's first record under the name Bobby James. Jolum 1963 with Elliot Engber playing surf guitar

Take This Lollipop Jolum 1963...first record as Bobby James aka Bobby Jameson

I'm So Lonely Talamo 1964 American release

I'm So lonely London American 1964 UK....

I Wanna Love You Talamo 1964 American release

I Wanna Love You London American 1964 UK...

Okey Fanoky Baby Talamo 1964

Meadow Green Talamo 1964

All I Want Is My Baby Decca. Recorded with Mick Jagger and Andrew Oldham in London 1964 UK

Each And Every Day Decca 1964 UK

All I Want Is My Baby London 1965 American release

Each And Every Day London 1965 American release

Rolling Stones Works "All I Want Is My Baby/Each And Every Day" by Bobby Jameson Deram, Polydor date?

Walking Through The Sleepy City "All I Want Is My Baby/Each And Every Day" by Bobby Jameson. Rolling Stones Works. Various labels London, Japanese Parlaphone

Rum Pum Mum Num Brit 1965 UK

I Wanna Know Brit 1965 UK

The original Songs Of Protest And Anti Protest by Chris lucey aka Bobby Jameson on Surrey Records 1965

Too Many Mornings Joy Records 1966. Another version of Songs Of Protest by Chris Lucey retitled and using Bobby Jameson's name. Released in Europe and Canada

Songs Of Protest in Vee-Jay Records box set

Girl From The East written by Bobby Jameson from Chris Lucey Songs Of Protest by The Leaves "Hey Joe" single and album 1966

Hey Joe album The Leaves Mira 1966 "Girl From The East" written by Bobby Jameson

The Leaves Are Happening Capitol records 1967 Sundazed Records "Girl From The East" written by Bobby Jameson

Reconsider Baby/Low Down Funky Blues Penthouse 1966 with Frank Zappa

B-side of Reconsider Baby and Roogalator 1966 Penthouse

Gotta Find My Roogalator Penthouse 1966 with Frank Zappa

Low Down Funky Blues Penthouse 1966

All Alone/Your Sweet Lovin Current Records 1966

Mondo Hollywood "Vietnam" movie and soundtrack 1967. Also released as a single with Metropolitan Man on Mira Records 1966

Verve label side 1 Color Him In 1967

Verve label side 2 Color Him In 1967

Places Times And The People 1967 single release from Color Him In

The New Age 1967 single from Color him In

Jamie 1967 Verve single from Color Him In

Right By My Side 1967 Verve single from Color Him In

Color Him In by Bobby Jameson 1967 Verve

Last released album by Bobby Jamesoon in 1969 GRT Records

single release Palo Alto GRT Records 1969

single release Singin The Blues GRT 1969

single release Stay With Me Robert Parker Jameson aka Bobby Jameson 1977-78 RCA Records

single release Long Hard Road RCA Records 1977-78

Saturn Rings Michele O'Malley ABC Records 1969 CD Fallout 2006

"Know Yourself" written by Bobby Jameson
"Would You Like to Go" written by Bobby Jameson
"White Linen" written by Bobby Jameson and Michele O'Malley

Rastus "Steamin" GRT early 70's 2 songs co-written by Bobby Jameson

This album by Tony Sheridan, original lead singer of The Beatles, was recorded after the death of Elvis Presley in 1977 with the Elvis Presley Band. It contains 3 songs written by Bobby Jameson. Growin' Pains Of Time, I've Seen It All Before, and Good Ol Music (country rock n roll)

(part 1-A) The History Of Bobby Jameson/Chris Lucey

1969

1967

1965

Even though the real story of Bobby Jameson/Chris Lucey is one big controversy from the beginning, I continue to encounter an attitude of "Gee, why are you complaining, you're kinda famous and people are re-releasing your records?" This particular take on my life is, at best, a staggeringly myopic view of what happened and what's happening now.

It appears that people want to know the story, but are afraid that I might say something negative about the record business and some people in and around it. This is an impossible straightjacket I'm being asked to wear, should I attempt to be mindful of their fears. The factual realities of the story run the gamut between incredible to tragic, and are in fact impossible to relate without some, if not a lot of negative texture.

I am 62 years old, and I am trying to portray in real terms the true history of this person which just so happens to be me. I am not trying to get into "People Magazine." Either your interest is in facts or fantasies. If it is a fantasy story of the 60's, and only how wonderful it was, then I suggest you find that somewhere else. The list of my dead friends and compatriots is too long for me to sell out now and attempt to please the god awful sensitivities some seem to demand.

Bobby Jameson/Chris Lucey Nov 07

Prior to the beginning of my story in 1964 I made a single record in 1963 in Hollywood. Below are both sides of that single on Jolum Records. Let's Surf/Please Little Girl Take This Lollipop. Elliot Engber is playing "Surf" guitar on "Let's Surf."

(part 246) ROCK BOTTOM DAYS

As I drove north, I kept one eye on the road and the other in my rearview mirror. I watched as everything I knew or cared about faded from sight.

I could have stayed, I suppose, found another women who wanted me around, but I was not into it anymore. They wanted to be in love, me, I just needed a friend.

I'd spent twenty-two years being somebody's lover or house guest for the most part. Only briefly had I ever had my own place and the means to pay for it. So I didn't stay, I left, but the trouble was that where I was going now, to my mother's place, was essentially part of the same old cycle: I would be a guest in someone else's home.

I had nine years of sobriety, but that, too, had had a price. In AA I was looked upon as a failure by most, because I was always in turmoil. Forget the fact that I had not gotten loaded over it, I was not happy, so I was wrong according to the conventional wisdom.

The harshness of that perception had left me isolated for the most part, and forced me to go it alone in many ways. "Hell, I know I'm fucking nuts," I thought, "and don't fit in anywhere, but I found a way not to get loaded over it. Shit! I never felt good in my life anyway, except when getting high worked."

Somewhere deep inside I seemed to know that as bad as it was sober, it would be a catastrophe loaded. This was the thought I kept close to me, not whether I was doing it right according to someone else.

I had gone where most of them had not, and I knew it. I had walked and crawled through a shit load of bad times that they may have never imagined or experienced. I had done it loaded, and now I was doing it sober.

In my view there had always been a few who understood it because of their own experience in sobriety, but there were too few of them in any given place to make much of a difference. They, like me, were floaters. Always moving and hanging on to one more day without drugs or alcohol.

For us it was the rock bottom reality of sobriety. "Just don't get loaded over it...just don't quit," we'd say to ourselves. "Just give me a pack of cigarettes and a cup of coffee and I'll ride it out."

Rock bottom days! That's where I was in 1985 as I sped up the 101. Rock bottom reality had once again come and challenged my every thought, every action, and all of my emotions.

Like Billy The Kid, I had accumulated a bad reputation. A personality that few wanted around. It had become common knowledge that I was subject to negative outbursts about everything, and had little to say that was positive.

I didn't understand much of anything that day. There was no way to reason it out at that point. What I knew for sure was, it was as hard as it had ever been, and that the single difference was, I was going through all of it sober. This I understood.

Whether I was doing it right or wrong, was something out of a fairy tale. I had already concluded that I was wrong, that wasn't even worth debating anymore. "I'm not out here because I did it right," I thought, "I'm out here because I completely fucked it up."

THE END...........

(part 245) The Van Gogh Syndrome

"Vincent" by William Jameson

I felt dead alright, dead, like a walking zombie, set in motion as some cosmic joke. Given a gift, and never allowed to experience anything but misery as a result of it.

I even had a name for it. The van Gogh syndrome, because Vincent had painted with his heart, his emotions. He'd thrown himself completely and utterly into his work, but had been rejected in spite of his commitment, shooting himself at thirty-seven. His last words were, "There shall never be an end to human misery."

I too felt rejected by the world, and felt my work had been rejected as well. So now I was rejecting myself, the creator of the work.

I had tried killing myself numerous times in the past, only to have failed, so I was not willing to test that path again. But inside I was as good as dead.

The excited kid with the big smile was nowhere to be found. The tough "live through it all to fight another day" individual had all but disappeared. What was left was a shell. A desperate remnant of what might have been.

The sadness, and sense of complete and total loss, was extravagantly heaped upon my psyche in those moments. All that I had ever known, or wanted, was abandoned on the hardwood floors of Carol's apartment as I headed out the door.

I was too exhausted to be angry, too broken to mount a counter attack against the tides of change. They swept over me a if I were not there.

That dismal day in 1985 seared its way into my soul, branding itself, and its destructiveness, on me forever. Like a life-threatening wound, turned to a scar, it remains with me to this day.

I don't remember whether I talked to Carol on the day I left, or not, but I know I didn't speak to anyone else, except my brother Bill.

Maybe it was because I was afraid that more misery would be inflicted on me if I asked for help and got none. That fear of further rejection caused me to close off the world and retreat into a self-protective cocoon.

The only other human beings I would deal with, at that point, would be my brother Bill and mother, and even that was something I found incalculable, as the next possible threat.

I drove through the streets of Hollywood, and onto the Sunset Strip, on my way out of town. I passed by each place where I had attempted suicide, each place where my body and mind had been maimed in the past.

It was around ten o-clock in the morning as I drove past each memory-soaked location. The bright sunlight beat into my sleepless eyes, causing added distress to my exhausted mind and body.

With each landmark I passed, came the flood of emotion-filled highlights of the event. The day, the reason, the weather, the street, the building, the drug, the tower, the year, all of it. It just kept playing in my head.

The history of Bobby Jameson was written on the streets and buildings of the town I was leaving. I had given myself to it in a way that is indescribable in words. I had been a part of it and it a part of me, for what seemed like forever.

I had gone to grade school in Laurel Canyon, and then left as a child, but vowed to return, which I did. Wherever I was, I was in L.A. in my head. I could always see it, feel it, want it. If I left I was coming back, if I was there I was home.

Bobby Jameson and Hollywood were not two things. Not a person and a place, not a mere town with a resident, they were one thing, a single unit.

They existed as a reflection of each other, like a mirror reflecting the image of the observer...the observer seeing himself not only in, but as the thing reflecting.

(part 244) ANOTHER CALL...ANOTHER TEAR...

My brother Bill

I was torn in a way I had never known before. I felt like a fool who had finally awakened to the realization of my own twenty-year folly.

Where once I had been convinced I would succeed, I now felt awkward in the presence of my own past, uncomfortable in the gaze of my own eyes.

How could I have been this wrong for so long? How did I manage to deceive myself so many times? These questions battered me as I collected the last of my belongings.

I didn't want my tapes. I left them where they were, relics of the past that I would leave behind. They were no longer my work, no longer my hopes, they were no more than evidence of my failure.

I had nine years of sobriety, and my life was as fucked up as it had ever been. In the beginning, I had had great and wonderful expectations of a new life, but now, nine years later, I stood in the midst of the cold hard facts.

I was sober alright, but as miserable as I had ever been. Strangely, there was no desire to drink or use. For whatever reason, I was committed to sobriety, even now.

I marveled momentarily at this realization, marveled at my capacity to eat so much pain and disappointment and not get loaded.

What I was learning now was the hardest thing. It had taken nine years of sobriety to finally convince me to alter my path, but I had no path, other than that which I'd pursued my whole life, so the future appeared black before me.

I didn't know where I was going to go. There was no one anywhere I could ask. I had no money, just over a $100, and a used car.

As a last resort, and because I did not know what else to do, I decided the only person I could call was my mother. The bitterness of that in itself was enough to cause me to think of blowing my brains out.

For me, it implied complete and utter failure, the last chance saloon as it were. I hated that call more than any I had made or received in a very long time, but there was no one else.

I hadn't slept at all when I made the call. I remember well the sound of my brother Bill's voice answering.

"Hello!"

"Hi, Bill, it's me, Bob."

"Hey, bro," he answered, "how are you?"

"Not so hot," I said, "having a tough time out here."

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Same old shit," I said, "Hey do you think it would be OK if I came up there for a few days?"

"Hey, mom," I heard him yell, "it's Bob on the phone. Is it OK if he comes up here?" He quickly returned to the phone, "Yeah, man, it's OK, you can come."

"OK," I said, "that's good. It'll just be for two or three days. Thanks, Bill."

"Yeah, sure," he replied, "When are you coming?"

"Today," I said, "Later today, if that's OK."

"Yeah," he said, "It's OK. I'll tell mom."

"OK," I said again, "I'll see you guys later today."

"Alright, man, I'll see you later," he said.

"OK! And thanks again, Bill. Goodbye."

"Goodbye, Bob."

I hung up the phone. I felt like I was dead.