(part 29) NO ONE TO SAY GOODBYE TO, NO ONE TO SAY HELLO.

Ben Franks coffee shop on Sunset Blvd.

I boarded the plane at London's Heathrow Airport and looked out the window at England for the last time. There wasn't anyone to see me off, and no one was waiting for me back in America. Other than looking like a "pop star" I was again the boy from Tucson, Arizona via Geneva, Illinois, who played songs he wrote on a guitar in his bedroom.

I was leaving with nothing more than 2 failed records and 2 dismal British TV appearances. I was the has been that never was. The big hype! Mr. publicity and not much else. It was a strange feeling to have done what I had for the past year and a half and to now be leaving as if nothing had ever happened.

I had no idea at 20 years old what this all meant. I had no money, other than about $20, and no plan for what to do when I got back to the U.S. No one on earth knew where I was at that moment, and most likely didn't care, with the exception of my own family who didn't know either. I hadn't called anyone and asked for help, because I was too ashamed to.

I believed they thought I was doing great so I couldn't tell them I was coming back a failure. The use of the word failure has caused some people to scold me after having read what I have written. But "failure" is what I was. I hadn't succeeded at getting anywhere. I had just made a lot of noise, and got my picture taken, and my name printed. There was no hit record, no money, and no anything else.

Hell I couldn't even find someone to take me to the airport. So if the word "failure" is out of place I'd like to know what else to put in as it's replacement? I had not succeeded. Where I come from that is known as failing. I also learned "If at first you don't succeed, try, try again." I had every intention of trying again.

I didn't exactly know how at that moment, but I believed that Bobby Jameson would come up with something just like he always had. It was like some sort of magic with me. Something I couldn't explain, but something that I relied on no matter what the conditions around me looked like.

I landed in New York City many hours later and got off the plane. I had a layover until my flight to LA so I was put up for the night in The Americana Hotel. After getting my room straight, I went down to the bar to try and get a drink. People stared at me because I looked the way I did and they thought, well you get it, they thought what they thought. I was dressed in a suit so I looked pretty good and had no trouble getting a drink at the bar. I was 20 years old but no one asked me for any ID.

I was standing at the bar by myself when two couples started watching me and whispering to each other. They'd look over at me and then laugh. I guessed at what they were saying, and eventually they came over to where I was and one of the guys said, "You're one of them aren't You?" "One of who?" I asked, "Oh come on now," said the guy, "we know who you are."

I started to correct him and say he'd made a mistake, but stopped because he wanted to buy me a drink. Hell, I didn't have any money and I wanted to drink, so I said "OK!" I'd been speaking with more of an accent than I'd realized from living in England for nearly a year, and coupled with the way I looked, they'd mistaken me for one of The Beatles.

We were all getting along famously, but as I drank my southwestern accent began to emerge. All of a sudden this guy starts accusing me of being a liar and tricking all of them into believing that I was somebody that I wasn't. It didn't do any good for me to explain. They were just pissed off and insulted that I'd duped them into believing something that wasn't true.

The following day my plane landed in Los Angeles. I arrived at LAX with zero fan fare. Nothing! No one to pick me up and no one to say hello. I will never forget it. Just the sense of aloneness, like I didn't exist. Just another body pushing along through the nameless crowd to I didn't know where.

I took a bus transport to the Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel for $3, it was all I could afford. I wasn't going to stay at the hotel, it was just the closest place to Sunset Blvd. where the bus stopped. Once there I got a taxi cab, another 3 bucks, to Ben Franks on the Sunset Strip near La Cienega Blvd.

I got out of the cab and told the guy driving I was broke and couldn't tip him while I paid the fare. He was a black guy and told me not to worry about it, that he understood. I watched him pull away and then turned to look at Ben Franks. I had no money and no where to go. I had no one I could call and no plans. I was just there, standing like a statue, in the parking lot of that coffee shop. I didn't know what I was going to do or where I was going to sleep that night. I just stood there and didn't move for a long time.....

(part 28) BOBBY JAMESON Fab Magazine 1964

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(part 27) LOOKING BACK AND MOVING FORWARD

8th week Billboard ad campaign with Tony Alamo

So there I was. After 3 records, with 3 different labels, in 2 different countries, I hadn't made 10 cents. The only one of the records that had really done well was "I'm So Lonely" which I wrote, arranged, sang, and produced. Somehow at 19 years old and turning 20 I was blamed for each and every failure that occurred. Tony Alamo, Andrew Loog Oldham, Brit Records, Lee Karsian, and his rich British friends who'd walked out, were all blameless according to them.

Still in a foreign country without so much as lunch money, I was concerned with my tenuous circumstance. I analyzed the closing chapter of my English experience and my overall career to date. Whatever the final outcome was to be, I felt, and still do, I deserved more credit for persevering than I have ever received.

I learned it's easy to blame the artist for failures rather than admit to any yourself. It was management, producers, and record labels who were responsible for many of the failures, but it is Bobby Jameson that they blamed. Be that as it may. I was headed back to the USA with only a tarnished reputation to show for the prior, nearly year and a half, of the Bobby Jameson story.

I would ask that the reader be somewhat patient with me, as I am experiencing dreadful headaches, and find it somewhat difficult to remember and write clearly my experiences. I have tried to highlight specific parts while acknowledging that many details have been omitted from these writings, though nothing of a pertinent nature has been left out. Admittedly I could have done many things better, looking back, but I and the reader have to keep in mind that I was only 19 years old and completely inexperienced.

I had no lawyer, no manager, and obviously no friends by the time I left England. I did the best I could at the time of these events.

Here are the facts...

Bobby Jameson and Tony Alamo. No contract of any kind. That includes publishing. I never signed away the rights to any of my songs to Tony Alamo or anyone else who may be claiming to own my songs or any one of the songs that I recorded while with Tony Alamo and Talamo Records. That would include Kim Fowley Music, who claims to own "I Wanna Love You" which he does not. I reject his claim outright.

Bobby Jameson, Andrew Loog Oldham, and Decca Records, no contract. I have never been paid one penny for the record I made with Andrew Oldham, Mick Jagger, and Decca Records. I never signed a contract with anyone at any time regarding the record "All I want Is My Baby/Each And Every Day." That record has been released numerous times as a single and as an addition to numerous albums world wide in 44 years.

Bobby Jameson and Brit Records. Probably some sort of an agreement made with a 19 year old kid under duress, on foreign soil, with no legal representation at the time of the signing. Questionable at best. I have never received any compensation from any source at any time for this record and song other than my rent was paid and I was fed while working for Brit Records. Again, Kim Fowley Music claims ownership of the song "Rum Pum Mum Num." I reject his claim outright and claim all rights to my song and performance.

As I relive these facts from my past, and attempt to clearly detail those events here, I am forced to examine how it is that not one penny in royalties for writing/publishing/and or performances has ever been paid to me, or seems to be of any consequence to those who shared in the responsibility of the events that occurred. I have never made a penny from any of these recordings or songs, or spoken to, or been contacted by any of those involved.

(part 26) AMERICAN POP STAR GOES HOME A FAILURE

It was a big deal to both Brit Records and the TV show's producers. I'd crossed some line that you don't cross according to all of them, and they were not going to stand for it. They demanded an apology from me and went on and on about how much they'd done for me, and how insensitive I was and this and that and... That was it! I kind of lost it at that point, because all I'd heard for over a year was how much other people had done for me, as if I hadn't done a goddamn thing.

I told Chris Peers, who was the big cheese ball at Brit, that someone should have told me about what they were planning to do on the TV show before I got there, so I might have had an idea of what to expect before they dropped it on me at the last minute. "I thought it was a bullshit idea Chris," I said, "but nobody asked me. You guy's all expect me to do what ever you say and that's it. Well I guess you know now that's not just it."

I laid into him pretty good at that point and aired some of the feelings that had been building up for a long time. "When I was in America," I said, "I was singing live on stage in front of thousands of people. Ever since I came to England all I do is go in the studio and then on TV. I told you guys that "Rum Pum" was not the right song, but you wouldn't listen so I did it your way." "Look Bobby," said Chris, "We told you in the beginning that we at Brit thought it was the best way to to things. To gain a commercial success with a song like "Rum Pum," and then you'd be able to do the kinds of songs that you wanted to do."

"Well it's not working out Chris," I said, "You've got another TV record just like before. Why don't you give me a band and let me put together a live show?" "Now Bobby, we've been through all this before, and everyone agreed that the way we're doing it is the proper way to present you to the British audience."

I interrupted him and said, "Chris, I frankly don't want to do it your way anymore, or Andrew Oldham's way. All I know is that I'm the one going on television not you, and that both of those times have made me look and feel like a fool. I never had that happen until I came to England and let other people tell me what and how to perform. It's just something I always knew how to do. But for some reason no one in this Goddamn country will let me do it."

At that point, some of the other people in the room said it was time to end the meeting and let everyone have time to reflect in a calmer fashion. So there I was, alone again. Bobby Jameson, boy wonder, pissing off the hand that fed me. I felt like shit and had no idea of what to expect or what I should do. I knew I didn't want to keep parading around like a "teen dolly" for the likes of Chris Peers and Brit Records and do more absurd TV performances. So what then? What should I do?

I remembered what PJ Proby had told me when he was in a similar jam over splitting his pants and being threatened by the British Home Office with deportation for lewd public acts, as they called it. "Bobby," said PJ, "You'll know when it's time to leave England. It'll just be obvious to you when it's there." That was the last time I ever spoke to Proby, but now here I was, asking myself if that's where I'd gotten to. "Was it time? Was this it?" I had that feeling like, "Yeah, fuck it! It's time to go home."

My life had been like a buzz saw for over a year now. I was a completely different person than the one who'd been discovered in Hollywood, at the "Carolina Pines" by Tony Alamo. I'd seen and done things in the past year and I don't know how many months, that a lot of people will never even know about let alone experience. I felt lost and lonesome for the States. I just wanted to get out of England and go back to America, so that's what I set out to do. No matter what anyone said, and they had some things to say, I was going home.

Brit refused to help me in any way and that was that. They turned their back on me and I understood why. I had no money and no friends. There wasn't one person in that whole country I could ask for help. The only way I ever got help was to put myself up for sale, as I have already written about in a previous post. I had no way to buy a plane ticket out of the country. Brit would only assist me if I continued to do what they wanted, and that was out. So what was I supposed to do with this new pile of shit I was living in?

I didn't know then, and I don't remember now, but somehow I ended up at the American Counsil or something. You know, like a diplomatic US building in a foreign country, that's where I went. I told them who I was, where I was from, and how I got into England in the first place. I told them I'd been brought to England by a bunch of people, both American and British, as an American pop star to work with Andrew Oldham and make records. I said that things hadn't gone too well and now I wanted to go back to America, but none of the people who brought me here had made any arrangements to get me back. "They all abandoned me," I said.

The guy looked at me like I was from Venus. He got so mad I thought he was going to have a stroke right then and there. "What do you mean they abandoned you?" he asked. "I mean they just left me here about 5 months ago and went back to America and I haven't heard from them since," I said. This guy got even more pissed off after I said that. "We'll bloody well see about that," he said. He told me to go back to my flat. He asked if I could do that and I said I could. He told me he'd contact me as soon as possible with news on what we'd do about my situation. He verified my passport and wrote down a lot of information and then politely sent me on my way.

In a couple of days or so, not very long, he contacted me and said there was a one way ticket in my name to New York City, and then on to Los Angeles. He asked if that would be convenient for me? I told him "Yes!" but was a little startled that it happened so fast. I asked him to tell me who paid for the ticket, but all I could get was that it was paid for by the same people who had arranged to get me to England in the first place. It was clear, I thought, that they had not been given a choice in the matter. Something about International Law and responsibility regarding citizens on foreign soil and such. I figured they'd threatened Lee Karsian and his rich English friends into getting my ass back to the US. I, to this day, do not know what actually happened.

(part 25) "THE GLOVE" ANOTHER TV DISASTER

Brit's build up to their new release of Bobby Jameson on it's basically new label, was as much for their own self promotion as it was for me. They calculated that making me into a star all over again would do nothing but good for Brit itself. I think they determined, at least in their own minds, that they could succeed where Andrew Oldham and Decca had failed.

As I said, "The Glove" was now becoming a story unto itself. I had these custom made gloves with zippers on the back so I could get the thing on and off with out much trouble. The glove was long and ran about 3/4 of the way up to my elbow. That was so you couldn't see where it ended. It went under my shirt cuff and just kept going. It was jet black and the zipper was silver, so it stood out pretty good.

Everywhere I went people would look at this thing and wonder why I only had one, and was there something wrong with my hand so that I had to cover it. I gotta tell you that this was one of the stupidest things I ever did. It was a great gimmick, but I got tired of wearing it. I wanted to shit can it altogether, but the guys at Brit wouldn't let me. They kept saying how important it had become and that they were building a publicity campaign around not only me but "The Glove" too.

I wore one only on one hand, but every now and then I'd switch hands just to see if people were paying attention. Every now and again someone would ask me about it, in a kind of confused awkward way. "Didn't you wear that glove on your left hand"? "No man, I always wear it on my right hand." This was pretty entertaining for me, because it gave me a way to put up with my own bullshit creation that I was now trapped into continuing.

But I had to be careful and not end up saying what hand I wore it on to someone I'd previously said it to, just in case my answer was in conflict with what I'd stated earlier to them. Pretty damn confusing, but even that became part of "The Glove" game. "What hand does Bobby Jameson wear his mysterious black glove on?" This went on for months, if you can believe it, frankly I still don't know why.

Christmas and New Years came and went and I began to feel a sense of loss not being in America at Christmas. I guess it was that I'd never been away from America at Christmas until then. As the months wore on I moved again to Chelsea, and I don't think there was a reason for it other than I conned the Brit guys into believing it was necessary. I must have played "I'm your little shining star" on them and they reluctantly agreed to it.

Knightsbridge just wasn't where most of the "pop stars" were. A lot of them lived in Chelsea. So there I was in Chelsea, playing "I'm a pop star" once again. With a new record and a new label, there was only one problem, I didn't like the record and I didn't like my image. I was as phony as a three dollar bill. I was caught again by my own dreams and chained to the "Dream Makers." They, amongst other things, had booked me on one of the biggest television music shows in England and I was going to have to lip sync "Rum Pum" for all of Britain once more, as I had with "All I Want Is My Baby."

I think the first TV show that I originally said was "Thank Your Lucky Stars" was actually "Ready Steady Go," and that this second big TV shot was "Thank Your Lucky Stars," out of Brighton, England. The producers of the TV show had arranged with Brit, without my knowledge, to do some very elaborate stuff with me, but I wasn't let in on it until the day of the show when I arrived at the television station.

They showed me a 30 foot ladder that I would be climbing up with a mirror at the top of it. The TV camera was on the ground and focused on the mirror at the top of the ladder, so as I climbed up the ladder the TV screen shot, going out nation wide, would show my hands, "The Glove" coming toward the camera. In other words it would appear to the television audience that the camera was at the top of the ladder taking a picture of me climbing up.

These days with smaller lighter cameras they'd of just had a camera up there, but back then the cameras were big huge floor models, thus their mirror gimmick. (If I didn't make that clear enough I'm sorry.) I thought the whole idea was pretty lame, but agreed to do it none the less. I was then ushered back to a dressing room to wait for my turn on the show. When I got back there, I met another act from America, who was also on the same show with me, John Hammond Jr., the son of Hammond Sr., who'd discovered Bob Dylan.

John was strictly an authentic "Blues" guy and we hit it off from the gate. We were back in that room for at least an hour and a half and ended up loaded on "hash" and "whiskey" from a pint that John brought with him. We were talking about what they wanted me to do on this TV show and laughing our asses off at the whole thing. I believe Donavan was in there with us, but wanted no part of our party, even though we tried to get him to smoke some dope with us. At some point John and I decided the coolest thing I could do was not to wear "The Glove," because the whole appearance was built around it.

"Yeah" I said, "that's a good idea, I won't wear the glove." After a while someone came back to get me saying that my spot was coming up next. I made my way back to the main stage and readied myself for their cue. We'd already run through what they wanted me to do, so I just stood there waiting for the music to start. I kept my hands in my pockets so no one ever noticed that the glove was missing. The music started and I began climbing, lip syncing the lyrics as I headed up the ladder. I could see my reflection in the mirror as I continued on, putting one hand in front of the other.

About half way to the top I could hear voices hissing below saying "Where's The Glove? He hasn't got The Glove on." At the time, I thought this was pretty damn funny, but soon found out that no one shared that opinion with me. When the stunt and song had ended I went back down the ladder to the ground, where an incensed British TV producer greeted me with absolute scorn. He told me in no uncertain terms that I had destroyed his vision and that I would never be allowed to do that television show again.

(part 24) THE GLOVE "AMERICAN POP WHORE" IN LONDON

I worked on various songs to record for Brit. They were more along the lines of "All Alone", "Vietnam", and "Gotta Find My Roogalator", which I recorded when I went back to America in 1965. They are also on my myspace site currently, which you can go to by clicking on a myspace link at the top of the page.

I had zero luck at trying to convince the powers at Brit to go along with me, which was another disappointment in my English adventure. I had also written a song called "Rum Pum Mum Num Dip Ta Dip, which was shortened to "Rum Pum" for the record. It was an overly cute song using old nursery rhymes strung together, and Brit loved it. They also loved another better song called "I Wanna Know" for the B side.

It was recorded with about a third of the players from the London Symphony Orchestra. It was a long way from Bobby Jameson and his guitar in his bedroom singing Buddy Holly songs a few years earlier to recording in London England with an orchestra of that calibre. It was a hell of an experience, but once again it was not me. It was an overly exaggerated super teeny bopper pop thing and I had a hard time coping with it.

As usual I gave it my full attention and the recording was good, it just wasn't me. The goddamn "Glove" thing was being hyped up to the eyeballs with the new record's release, and I kind of groaned about that, but had only myself to blame for starting it in the first place. I felt like a little dancing puppet all the time running this way and that for whoever was paying the bills, and it became annoying the more I did it.

It had been that way with Tony Alamo, and with Andrew Oldham, and now it was happening again. I felt like a girl with a sugar daddy. Ok we'll pay your rent but you gotta do what we tell you to do. Bobby Jameson, the good little "pop whore." It was a trade off for sure. I wanted something so I had to provide something, and "they" got to call the shots because they had the money and the power.

My life was like a crash course in the music business. In less than one year I had learned a ton of shit about myself and other people. Had it not happened to me the way it happened, I reckon I would be a completely different person than I am now, but it did happen the way it happened and I'm still trying to sort it out. When you're as young as I was at the time, you are transformed by things much more than you would be if you were older and more settled. I didn't know shit, so all of these things affected me deeply.

On top of that I didn't have anyone to rely on, you know, like a person I could talk to about how I felt inside. I was always running around with that "pop star" look in my eyes, so people never knew what I was thinking or feeling. Anyway, I was living in Knightsbridge during this time and every day, like clockwork, Lady Grey would come to my flat and hang out with me for hours. When I say Lady, I mean like "Lords and Ladies", she was "Lady" Grey.

She showed up with her two little Whippet dogs and listened to me play music and talk. I never made love to her, although I believe I could have, I just never did. I can't really remember how we met, but I think it was through Peter Caine. I think she met Peter first and then me. I liked her a lot. She is in my memory forever. Her and many other details of what it was like to be an American "pop whore" in London, in 1964 and 65.