(part 284) SELFISH AS HELL

People showing up from my past was something I had not planned on, but you may think I should have expected it. I didn't really think anyone would pay attention to me, or this blog, when I began in 2007. You have to consider that I felt like a complete failure when I started all of this. My mindset was I was getting fucked by another record company the same way I had in the past. It was just the latest version of the same old thing. The difference being, that I could come and write about it on this blog, and various other places on the internet, like myspace and facebook. Any expectation that someone from my past would show up as a positive did not exist for me. I was damaged goods and knew it. I was a pissed off human being with nothing to lose. The music business didn't mean shit to me at that point, and still doesn't. I had the attitude of, "let's tell the truth about it," which I had never been able to do in the past, except to occasional individuals who might have listened for an hour or so. Whether or not anyone listened here was immaterial to doing it. It gave me an emotional release by doing it. A place to put my own decades long anger. I had been so penalized for being angry in the past, by friend and foe alike, that I needed a place of my own to vent at will, and this blog was that place.

I was not about to let the opportunity to speak out get squelched by anyone or anything again. My experiences were real to me, and the opinions of others, which came in the form of comments about what I wrote, were damn near meaningless. I looked upon adverse reactions to what I wrote as more reason to push on and keep writing, which I did. When you have almost no self-worth with regards to your own work you have to make up, and remake up, your mind on an ongoing basis and keep going forward, which I also did. In the music business I was condemned for being pissed off by the same people who had fucked me out of ever getting paid. On the blog I could say that and make it stick, at least in print. My only real enemy was myself. I could let the opinion of others halt me, or I could keep on going. So my daily battle was with me more than it was with anybody else. Along the way I stumbled repeatedly in my efforts to continue, but in the end I did continue, and am still here.

So if you understand, even in the slightest way, what I said here, then you will be able to understand why I say I was not expecting anyone from my past to show up and be positive about what I was doing. Negative...perhaps, but not positive. That is why I was surprised when women who I'd known in the past showed up and didn't condemn me. They'd left me in the 60's, so I figured they'd gone away for a reason, a reason that would be impossible for me to conclude had been positive. "If you liked me so goddamn much, why did you vanish one day without a word?" "If you loved me, what made you throw me away?" "Did you ever think about how it felt to me, looked to me, what it meant to me?" I seriously doubt whether you ever stopped to think about that. What I think is that you were much like me, a selfish son of a bitch who was out for yourself. What I resent is that you act as if you were pure as driven snow, and that your heart was true. Bullshit! You're heart wasn't any truer than mine was, and I was admittedly selfish as hell.


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(part 283) ......AND HOW WE REMEMBER IT.........

 still from "mondo hollwood" georgiana steele and bobby jameson

Becoming involved with women from my past, online, presented me with a variety of problems, particularly when it came to so-called social media platforms. The reason being, was each of them became aware of each other's presence. I had nothing to hide, as I said earlier, but hadn't considered the possibility that they might not like each other at some point. I'd known each of them separately, in the past, but now there was a collective intermingling taking place. Looking back on it now, I realize I blindly put my foot in it. I'd been so focused on what I was working on, before any of them showed up, that I paid no attention to the now obvious stupidity of it.

Early on it was Paula who started calling me on the telephone, just to say hi occasionally, and we'd talk about the old days in the 60's, and how we'd met. The more I talked to her, the more details I remembered about that specific time. She'd been one of the few people who was actually present at some of the "Color Him In" recording sessions, which, according to her, she remembered fondly. As for me, it was more a memory of the work I did rather than who was there.

As time went by, and the calls from Paula continued, there were conversations where I erupted in anger to some of her remarks about the old days in West Hollywood. One of them had to do with me being on the 11th story ledge, or roof, of the Continental Hyatt House on Sunset Blvd. in the 70's. You might want to keep in mind that I had not seen nor spoken to this woman since 1967. Her comments about this life altering occasion of mine seemed to be minimized by her at the time. For me it just stood out as an uncomfortable subject that she really didn't want to discuss. She told me she'd driven by as it was happening, but said she didn't know it was me up there until later in the day. I asked her why she hadn't tried to contact me after she found out? She said she'd heard I was up on the Hyatt House demonstrating against record companies.
"What?" I yelled, "I was up there because I was going to commit suicide goddamn it!"
"I didn't know that at the time," she said, "I just heard it was a stunt."
"Well even if it was a fucking stunt, as you call it, why didn't you try to get in touch with me if you cared so fucking much?"
I never really got an answer to my question that day about why she hadn't tried to contact me, but the feeling I got from that call never left me.

In another telephone conversation she told me she had been at a house in Laurel Canyon, in 1980, when I was there playing/singing with some musicians and song writers. Again, I hadn't seen her since 1967, and had no idea she was there, so I was pretty confused when she told me about it.
"If you knew it was me Paula, why didn't you say something?"
"Because I didn't like the outfit I had on that day and didn't like the way I looked," she said, "so I didn't say anything, and I didn't know if you'd even remember me!"
Huh? If I cared about someone as much as she was claiming to care about me, and I ran into them thirteen years later at a house in the canyon, I think I would have said something no matter how I looked, but that's me. My response to this was it kind of pissed me off, and I said so at the time. I had a hard time believing that she could care so deeply about me, if she couldn't even say hello when she'd been in the same house with me. 

As far as Sharon went, she'd taken to emailing me on a regular basis. I couldn't handle another set of telephone calls, so I never let that get started with her as I had with Paula. Sharon also said she'd always loved me, and said she'd named her son, Jameson, from her marriage to some other guy, but again, it was all news to me when I heard it. In both the case of Sharon and Paula there was one clear fact that stood out to me. The claim that, "I was always in love with you," that I was hearing from both of them now, had not been present back in the 60's. I don't mean to belittle what they said their feelings were, but history notes that both had suddenly disappeared from my life by their own choice. One day they were there and the next day they were not. So love had not been so clearly defined back then, or so it seemed to me.

Georgiana was a different case altogether. I had had no love interest in her whatsoever, at least that I could recall. I met her in 1966 on the strip, and I only know that because I saw us together in some film footage ( still picture at top of post) from "Mondo Hollywood" on youtube. We were walking through the Beverly Hills Court House together when I was on trial for disturbing the peace at Ben Franks coffee shop on Sunset Blvd. Bob Cohen filmed some of the trial and it ended up in his movie. Other than that I have no recollection of Georgiana being in my life until 1981. But on myspace, and then facebook in 2008 onward, she acted as if we'd been life long friends. I remember thinking what is this broad's trip? Even Georgiana was surprised by the "Mondo Hollywood" pictures of her and I together, so she hadn't recalled it either, until I posted the pictures on fb.

The one thing I've learned about people from my past, without exception, is that each of them have recollections that don't square with my own. I stand on my set of facts and details regarding what I say actually took place. If someone has a different version, and I'm sure that they will, let them put it forth if they'd like, and I will post it. If they remember things differently than I do, I understand, but I am writing about what I recall. I have no need to alter anything, because the facts themselves paint an extremely clear picture.


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(part 282) Not Too Many

I moved from myspace to facebook in 2008, because back then myspace was having technical problems that were horrendous. I spent more time trying to make the site work than I did using it for posting work. I know it is called social media, myspace and facebook, but socializing was not what I was doing on either of them in the beginning. They were a means to and end, in my mind, and a way to post songs, and parts of this blog. A place where people could see, hear, and read the work I had done, and was doing. I guess some would argue that I was socializing by doing it on those venues, and I get that, but for me, in my way of thinking, myspace and fb were simply technical apparatus that I used for posting work on, something brand new to me about the internet. I did try to make contact with Joe Foster, from Rev-Ola Records, on myspace, but did not succeed. It wasn't until I moved to facebook that I began communicating with him at all.

On facebook, in 2008, the battle between me and Rev-Ola Records had surfaced around the internet. It was not a secret anymore, and people started choosing sides in the matter. Because of this, I came into contact with people who would have otherwise been disinterested in me all together. Joe had his own following, because of all his work, and I was accumulating a following of my own because of the album "Songs Of Protest" and Joe's connection to it. There was no way to mince words about the subject. It was two distinct camps that refused to budge on either side. As I began to gain ground in the nonstop war of words, my friend's list grew on fb. The more people, the louder the volume. It was the beginnings of the social part of the equation for me. By then, Paula, who followed me to facebook from myspace, had become an ardent supporter of mine, as were others. Sharon also migrated to fb, along with Georgiana.

Throughout all of this, I suffered with 24-hour a day headaches, which I constantly complained of in writing. I made it as clear as I could to people that everything I did was under duress. I threatened to call it quits so many times I lost count, because of the headaches and the frustration over comments on the blog. The one thing I never got good at, and still haven't, were the comments from strangers about what an asshole I was for complaining about Rev-Ola Records and Joe Foster. On facebook, the same kind of comments became prevalent. I would erupt in anger and attack the attackers with a vengeance. I was incensed by comments of those who thought it fair game for Rev-Ola not to pay me for the reissue of "Songs Of Protest." I quickly acquired a reputation for verbal combat, and a willingness to delete anybody who came to my page to attack me or side with Joe Foster.

There was far more method than madness to this than meets the eye. I figured that if asking for my share of revenue from the "Songs Of Protest" cd reissue was not getting anywhere, then I'd just flat out beat the shit out of Joe Foster and Rev-Ola verbally, and turn the whole mess into a public free-for-all.  Interestingly enough, that actually worked quite well. It didn't get me paid in dollars, but it did give me a real platform from which to speak about the subject of foreign companies reissuing American made music without payment to those who originally created it. From my standpoint I had already been ripped off by Surrey Records and Randy Wood in the 60's, and wasn't in the mood to stand around silently and let a new group of thieves do it again. So the basis of my attitude, on facebook, was directly linked to the fight over "Songs Of Protest."

As more people became aware of me on facebook, the reason for being there kept changing. Other records of mine, and music I'd written and recorded in the past, that no one had ever known about, began getting some attention. In some cases there was praise for that work, and less interest in my battle with Rev-Ola and Joe Foster. I had to learn to incorporate this into my own thinking, which was admittedly, locked into the battle with Joe Foster at the time. The more recognition there was for some of my other work, the less my original intent for being on fb meant. The virtual world had begun to expand for me as fb increased it's reach around the planet. The number of people who showed up daily was daunting to say the least. I had never imagined anything like what was happening, and had to learn about it...as I was learning to do it.

From a nobody blog to myspace, and then facebook, my life changed each day. I got friend requests, and a number of offers to do interviews on the radio, which I always turned down. I had no idea of how to handle what was taking place, and was too sick with headaches all the time to accomplish it. So too, another album of mine from the 60's, "Color Him In" had been reissued as a cd, and that came with it's own set problems. In 2009 I got sicker. I had emergency surgery to remove a grapefruit sized aneurysm from my abdominal aorta. That, on top of the 24-hour daily headaches, nearly killed me. It was hard to live in my body at that point. It was like a torture chamber of pain. In the hospital, no one from San Luis Obispo came to see me, with the exception of my mother, a neighbor, and a single member of N A... It was another one of those moments in life, where I got to see who really gave a shit, and as usual the answer was, "Not too many!

It was Paula who called me when I was in the hospital. I remember being surprised at the fact that she did. I felt as though she had stepped forward from the rest of the crowd, and made her interest in me more concrete with that action. I was too sick to talk much, but it was the idea that she did it that impressed me. It made knowing her more real than just comments and messages on facebook and the blog

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THE CHAIR

 

i took her
picture down
and put it
away in a
cabinet
along with a
small box
of trinkets
she'd sent
to me
so many
years ago,
so many
smiles ago,
so many lies ago...
i'd begun
feeling
uncomfortable
at some point
like the
other man
in her life
like a once
favorite chair
now placed
in another
room…
occasionally
she'd come
by and
sit with me
but quickly
vanish
and i would
return to
waiting
and hoping...


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(part 281) LOST TO HISTORY

So it had been the the reissue of Songs Of Protest as a cd, out of England, that had gotten me interested in the internet in the first place, otherwise I never would have started when I did. When I came I came with a vengeance. The reason being, Joe Foster had shined me on for five years and refused to make contact with me, even though he had released my work and refused to pay me for it. My attitude toward him had soured overtime because of it, so my anger was pretty much front and center when I showed up. I used to visit music forums on the internet where people talked about music and records. I remember coming across one by chance, and the topic was the Songs Of Protest cd, and Joe Foster was their guest. I joined as a new member and started putting in my two-cents worth about Rev-Ola and Joe, and it basically blew up in my face. This happened more than once. So out of frustration I finally turned to the blog where I could say what I wanted.

I had no plan. I just started at the beginning. I hadn't asked for the blog, it was part of Google. They used to give it to you automatically when you got an gmail account. It was just there. It used to pop up all the time. A big orange and white page that sat for months with nothing on it. So that day in November of 2007 I started writing. At first it was "The Life And Times Of Bobby Jameson," which still exists, but then I got this one and called it "Bobby Jameson." I talked about being a kid in Tucson with my brother Bill, and how we liked music and learned to play. I moved it right along and wrote about going to Hollywood as a wide eyed kid with no experience of street-life or the music business. I wrote about how I made my first record and left disillusioned, and then came back a year later and hit it big.

I never really thought anyone would pay attention to what I wrote on it, but I was wrong...they did. Overtime it grew into something I'd never envisioned. People read it and left comments, and the comments drove me crazy. I didn't know how to respond to them, so I responded to all of them, bad and good. I didn't know how to control them with settings, so they just kept coming in. At times it was like a barroom brawl on the blog. The anonymous commenters would egg me on and I'd fall for it over and over again. Many were lost over the years due to editing the entire blog, but some I removed for personal reasons. Things change, people change, and feelings change. Some of those who supported me years ago changed their minds about me. Got bored with of me! Got rid of me! It was a choice that was difficult for me to make, but I made it. I made it because reading some of those old comments, from years ago, brought back memories and feelings of better times. I began avoiding this blog and quit writing on it for years. I did that because so many of those comments were from two women I'd known in the 60's, who now despised each other. Every time I came here I'd see all those comments from them, and question whether what they said was real or just for show.

The luxury of yesterday's today may at times only be seen in our tomorrows. Things that were taken for granted at one time become incredibly important later on...after being lost to history. In my life I have witnessed this too many times, in too many ways. The soft tender voices become the crowd of naysayers and scoffers. The radiant armor tends to rust and tarnish in the dim dampness of neglect. I got here broken from the start, and freely admitted it. I had no allies or compatriots, no backers or friends, no money or power, other than my words and history. I was only as good as my last write, and always flawed. I came alone to do battle, not by choice so much, but by circumstance. I longed always for assistance I never found.

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BUILDINGS AND TOWERS...a lost post from 2009

I don't climb up on buildings or towers any more to rant, rave, and yell, or even scream about the things that bother me. I don't go to bars and get into fist-fights, or brawls, over anything. I don't go to people's houses and get into arguments with them. I don't take drugs or drink, and go through suicidal overdoses. I just come to my blog and yell instead. But even though I consider this a remarkable achievement for me, taking all that acting-out and transforming it into mere words, for the purpose of blowing off steam, there are still way too many who cannot see what I do as anything other than negative and extreme. What you may consider negative or extreme, I consider art. It is the ability to capsulize my frustrations into poems, stories, and writings, and post them on this site. This is therapy for me. To write what I feel and think when I want, because I want to. This blog is my digital tower and building. Everyday I climb up here and scream and yell, so I don't have to live with all of it penned up inside me, and end up like I did before. Be that as it may, some of you can find nothing better to do than to complain about my life-saving process, as if it were something you have decided you must do, based upon your opinion of what I say here. You would stifle the creative process, if I let you, under the guise of good taste and rationality according to your moral compass. At times, I feel as though this is a lost cause for me, but this morning I woke up early, and realized the importance of what I am doing here for myself. If I were to abandon this blog, because of someone's disapproval of what I say, or may say, then I would cut myself off from the very outlet I created for the very purpose some find objectionable. Writing is a freedom. To write, unedited, is an art I understand and use. Editing myself, my feelings, and thoughts, for anyone else's comfort will not occur here. If you don't understand this, don't come here and read what I write. I am serious about this. Don't come here to see if I have violated some absurd moral position you hold, because I either have, or will. This is not an internet discussion forum for being for or against anything, it is my blog. I am angry, so what? Are you so incredibly fragile that you cannot bear my anger? Don't come here! I am intense, so what? So what if I'm intense, why are you so threatened by intensity and anger? What happens to you when you read me? What great threat to you am I that my words cause you such consternation? I know who I am, and I accept who I am. I am that pissed off guy, Bobby Jameson, who hates the music business and all it stands for, and all that it doesn't protect. I come here to say that, over and over again, because it needs to be said by someone. If you work for the music business, what I say probably bothers you. Good, you need some bothering. If I make you uncomfortable, good, you probably need to be knocked out of your chicken-shit comfort zone. But when you bring your zone of comfort here, expecting it to be appreciated, you are living in a state of unrealistic demands that I have no plans to abide by, ever. I could limit comments made here by some if I chose to, but I don't. You can say whatever you want, but when you come here anonymously and complain, I reserve the right to treat you like the chicken-shit you are. If you want to take up an issue with me, be my guest, but why don't you get the courage to complain and tell me who the hell you are? There are so many anonymous comments, I am continually forced to try and figure out who's commenting at any given time. Why is it so important to you to say something, while at the same time concealing who it is saying it? There are people who say things I don't agree with, but at least they have the consideration of telling me who they are. I do not take the position that I am right, or the position I am wrong, I just take a position and post it here on my blog. I may come back later and think I was completely full of shit, but I leave it, because that's what I thought at the moment. If I were concerned about being right, or moral, or justified, or any of those pathetic kinds of positions, I would not come here at all, for fear of making a mistake. I am a mistake. My whole life has been a series of mistakes, and I own that fact. After all I have told you about me, you cannot possibly think that I believe what I did was justified, nor do I. It's just what I did at the time. I post it for public consumption. I post my own foolishness, so I don't have to live my own foolishness. I paint it into words. I did not punch anybody today, I just wrote about it. I did not attempt suicide today, I wrote about it. Why would some of you seek to quash my right of self expression, particularly, since that right, answers the dilemma of human beings, "What do I do with all this shit?" I write on line, which means, in this case, you can read my thoughts, because I am not hiding them. I have invited you into my mind, to some degree, and allowed you to be part of the constant hurricane that I live in. But to have to endure complaints about my thinking, simply because I let you in on it, has started to become counter productive, to say the least. It might help if you came here thinking, "Well let's go see what that crazy bastard Jameson is thinking today." My mental health is based on my ability to take bad actions and transform them into words, thereby freeing myself from the necessity of taking the bad action. Everything I do here is to free myself from the need to suppress my thoughts and feelings. I come here for the exact reason some of you complain about, which is to "get crazy." You ought to try it sometime, because from where I sit, some of you would greatly benefit from the therapy of writing about your feelings instead of hiding from them. In years past, I would sit and think about the things that were driving me crazy, and after awhile I'd run out of space to keep all those thoughts and feelings inside. Then they'd get transformed into actions, tragic actions. Now I think about the same things as I did then, but I have a place to put them; here. I have the Bobby Jameson blog, where I get to be Bobby Jameson all the time, because I am Bobby Jameson all the time. I will not give up this place where I can be myself for your comfort, praise, or dissatisfaction. Some of you demand things from me, which I do not possess, such as peace and happiness, and a better outlook on life. I will be 33 years clean and sober on the 1st of April, so what I have is I am alive and growing. I've come a long way from where I started, and I didn't get much help from human beings or god, so I am stuck with me, the one thing on this earth that I can count on. Not AA or NA, or a church, or the state, or federal government, just me, my 90-year-old mother, and mentally-ill brother, that's it! Oh yeah, and this blog...

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