(part 49) THE SECOND MONKEE, LONG HAIR, AND THE 60'S

Each one of these posts, and the content, is written with a purpose. I do not talk about being busted, my drug use, or who was with me just for the hell of it. Each part played a critical role in what actually transpired in the scheme of things over time. For example. If I had not been busted for drugs I surely would have gone to Vietnam. The fact that Gail Sloatman, Franks eventual wife, was with me will again play a specific role in how things turned out.

I went back to Columbia to participate in the planning of the "Monkees" TV show. David Jones and I went with someone from Columbia to The Ashgrove, a folk club in Hollywood in the 60's. There was always new talent there so we went to scout out other potential "Monkee" candidates.

I was beginning to notice that what they expected of me was to be that shiny faced "pop star" personality that I had learned to dread in England. I had started growing a beard and my hair was getting longer and there were hints that they wanted me cleaned up.

It sounds like a small thing, but at the time I was extremely reluctant to once again be guided toward a personality that was not really my own. A lot of things had happened to me in the past couple of years and had changed me. I was not so trusting and naive as I had once been. For me it was a form of protection to decide for myself who I was rather than have that critical point determined by others.

This fact began to push and pull me in two different directions at the same time. I knew I would benefit in a lot of ways if I became one of the "Monkees" but I also felt that being true to myself at that point was of equal importance, at least to me if not to anybody else.

I spoke to Phil Turetsky about it because he had gotten me the original audition for "The Monkees." He didn't make a big deal about it, but in fact said he had someone else he wanted me to meet who was looking for a new artist who wrote and recorded their own songs. Phil said they wanted to make an album with that artist.

His name was Steve Clark and he had a production company called Our Productions. They'd had a hit with "The Association" and the song "And Then Along Comes Mary" which I was familiar with. He told me Steve had a genius kid he was working with named Curt Boettcher and thought I might get along with him real well.

A time was set up for me to meet with Clark at his office in the tower at Sunset Blvd. and Vine St. in Hollywood. I had a lot of songs at that point, because like I said, I had done a lot of writing at Zappa's house and the other house where the drug bust occurred.

Phil told me that Steve Clark would be as easy to get along with as anyone I'd ever met. This was a good thing, because I was having trouble with the endless personalities and egos of record executives and wanna be producers. I was leery at that point about who I met and how I'd react to them. I was, needless to say, somewhat edgier than I had been earlier.

I think at that point in my life I had a lot of frustration, anger, and disappointment bottled up inside me and was kind of a walking time bomb in the making. I used drugs and alcohol to steer myself in a particular direction. Drugs and alcohol were working for me at that point and had become a prominent part of my new personality.

I have to remind myself, and possibly the reader, that this was the 60's. Everything was alive and electric. Things moved at a ridiculously fast pace. For a growing number of people, drugs were not negative. They were part of the mind alteration and new philosophy of social understanding. Drugs were part of the mind expansion and new sense of freedom that was sweeping across America and the world, and I was determined, in my mind, to be at the front of the battle lines.

These brave words nearly killed me in the end, but at the time they were deeply and sincerely felt by myself and an ever growing number of others world wide. I still believe that the 60's did more to change the world than anything I have ever seen or heard about. I'm sure there are those who would agree, but believe that most of those changes were negative.

Even though I was as much a victim as a survivor of those times, I believe I learned some of my most important lessons from those years. Even now, I am looking for the kind of openness and peace that many pursued in earnest back then. The world would be a far better place than it has become with a whole lot more peace and love than exists today.

Hippie girls, for me, were the loviest creatures I ever met. Every now and then I see someone who looks like that picture in my mind and I am instantly returned to the Sunset Strip, Griffith Park, and the 60's.

(part 48) WELL I DON'T GIVE A DAMN, NEXT STOP IS VIETNAM

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The war in Vietnam was really starting to get out of control in 1966 and I was scheduled to be drafted into the army at any moment. There I was trying to get my life to make sense while worrying about getting sent to Vietnam. The "Monkees" thing was still on and I was trying to get over being in my first major drug bust which was as fresh as wet paint in my mind.

I had to sit in jail for 3 days thinking my life was as good as over, when out of nowhere I was just kicked loose without explanation. To this day I'm not sure what happened, but I figure the police had done something wrong, like not getting a search warrant, or violating some other provision of law.

LSD had been legal, but somewhere along the line in 65 they had written new legislation and I guess it kicked in sometime in 1966. I learned to pay far more attention to things like that after my arrest. Everybody heard about it, but because I was out on the street and it was the 60's, it didn't cause that much trouble. What I'm saying is that I was not avoided by anybody or blacklisted because of it. It didn't effect my position for example as a possible "Monkee".

My draft date came and I was ordered to show up at the draft board to be inducted into the military. I had no choice and I hadn't come up with any way to get out of it, so I just went there on the date specified. I stood out like a sore thumb and attracted negative attention from the wrong people as soon as I walked through the door.

"Well who the hell are you bright eyes, one of the Goddamn Beatles?" This was a question hurled at me, amongst others, as soon as I arrived. I tried to lose myself in the crowd, which was large, and not get noticed so much. I looked around at all these young guys of every color and description and it was not a pretty picture. Each one seemed to be terrified on the inside but trying hard to put the brave face on the outside.

I knew I was scared. Hell I didn't want to go to Vietnam, period. I thought I'd get shot or shoot someone on our side for ordering me around. I was as piss poor at following directions as anyone you've ever met. We were told to remove our clothes down to our underwear, and then got put through a bunch of arbitrary jumping-jacks for what purpose I don't know, maybe just humiliation.

It was real similar to what they'd done when I was arrested and booked for drugs. There didn't seem to be a lot of difference. I stood in line while some drill instructor screamed at us. I tried desperately to think up some way to get my ass out of this situation. I heard the guy who was doing all the yelling say, "Has anyone here been arrested in the last 6 months for narcotics?" I looked around the room and up and down the lines of some 300 or so guys and didn't see a single hand go up.

The whole room was silent and everybody else was doing the same thing I was. Looking around to see if anyone was stupid enough to raise their hand. "Me," I said, "I was arrested for drugs." All eyes turned toward me. "You what?" the D. I. screamed, "What the fuck makes you stupid enough to raise your Goddamned hand and admit to a chicken shit thing like that you asshole?"

I was scared but said, "You asked if anyone had been arrested and I had, so I told you." The Drill Instructor looked at me in utter disbelief. The whole room was completely silent. "Why you cowardly little shit. Do you see this yellow line on the floor asshole?" he screamed, "Yes Sir I do," I said, "Well I want you to follow that yellow line where ever it goes until you can't go any further, do you understand me?" he yelled, "Yes Sir," I said, "Well then move your ass and get out of my sight you goddamned little coward."

I pulled on my pants and hauled ass along the route of the yellow line. It went on for a long way and it was a big building in the crappy part of L.A. I went down halls and up a flight of stairs and down some more halls until it stopped outside the door of an office. I figured I was supposed to knock on the door so I did.

A voice yelled from inside for me to enter. I opened the door slowly and looked in. It was a tiny dark office with a desk and chair and that's about it. Behind the desk was another guy in uniform who ordered me inside. He had a similar personality to the guy who'd sent me there.

This schmuck wanted every detail about my arrest I could give him and was just plain pissed off at me. I filled him in on the details of my arrest and then he basically kicked my ass out and said I'd be notified by mail of the decision regarding my military status. That was it! I left the building and I was the only one who did as far as I know. Every one of those other guys was still there when I left. I have always wondered about it. Why I was out and they were in? I didn't know whether to be grateful or feel guilty.

Months later I received a letter from the government telling me that I had been reclassified as 1-Y. I didn't know what that meant so I found someone who did. I asked them what 1-Y meant and they said, "It's a National Security deferment." "Well what the fuck does that mean?" I asked, "It means if the Russians attack Long Beach the army will take you, otherwise you're out." "You mean I don't have to go to Vietnam?" I asked. "Right! You don't have to go to Vietnam."

(part 47) ZAPPA, GAIL, AND BOBBY JAMESON

I started going up to Zappa's house in Laurel Canyon and writing songs on his living room floor after Frank and me made a couple of records together. Most of what I wrote there was a lot of stuff used in the making of Color Him In, though at the time I had no idea that would be the case. I just liked hanging around with Frank because all either of us did was work all the time.

We didn't talk a lot, because we were busy doing stuff and were both comfortable with that arrangement. But on one particular day Frank did want to talk and it was about my girlfriend Gail. Gail use to go with me to Frank's and just hang out while we were working on music or Frank's film. I knew she and Frank got along well and that was fine with me. That afternoon when he asked if he could talk to me about something it was different than all the other times Frank and I had been together.

I could tell it was important to him so I really gave it my full attention. Like I said, it was about Gail. I could see he was having a tough time getting to the point and I realized it was because he didn't feel too comfortable bringing up the subject. "I know Gail's your girlfriend," he said, "but I wanted to know how serious you were about her?" "I don't know Frank," I answered, "I just kind a hang around with her you know. I don't think I'm too serious about her other than we just like to hang out, why?"

"Well," said Frank, "I really like her and I don't want to cause you any problems, so I thought I better ask you about it and..." "Hey man, no problem," I said, "If that's all it is don't worry about it. You can do whatever you want. I'm not gonna be bothered by it." Frank stared at me for a second or two and then said,"Really?" "Really man," I said, "it's OK. If you like her and she likes you then whatever you guys decide to do is fine with me." He seemed immediately relieved and that was all that was ever said about it.

Gail was living with me up at the house off Woodrow Wilson Drive, where all the LSD was being sold. I don't think I ever remember Gail getting loaded much. She just happened to be around people like me who did. I had a bedroom at the house, with a bathroom attached that was directly across the hall from the front door. On one particular night Gail was in the bedroom and I had gone into the bathroom to write.

I used to sit up on the sink. It was big, and I'd lean against the wrap around mirrors in there and write lyrics. On this one night I dropped some acid and was waiting for it to kick in. While I was noticing the first waves of getting loaded, I heard this loud pounding on the front door about 12 feet from where I was sitting. The next thing I heard was a huge crash coming from the hall outside the bathroom where I was starting to hallucinate.

I jumped off the sink and went through the door to the bedroom where Gail was now standing at attention, it appeared, and staring wide eyed at something. The look on her face was fear, but I didn't know about what. I was hallucinating so much at that point I couldn't figure out what was going on. I heard something like yelling, but I couldn't make out what it was or where it was coming from. I just kept moving around the room trying to put the pieces together when all of a sudden I heard clearly, "Stop moving or I'm going to kill you!"

I looked in the direction of the sound and into the barrel of a 12 guage police riot gun which was aimed at my face. The guy with the shotgun was shaking and yelling for me to quit moving. If you can imagine, try to think what a 12 guage shotgun barrel looks like when you're hallucinating on LSD. All at once reality slammed back into my consciousness. We were in the middle of a drug bust and this guy was an undercover plain clothes narc! Fuck! What a trip!

I was hallucinating like a son-of-a-bitch and was in the middle of a drug bust with a guy about to shoot me. Finally I stopped moving. I stood deadly still at that point and glanced over at Gail who looked like she was gonna have a heart attack. This was one of the worst nights of my life and I'm sure hers too. It went on for hours while about 14 cops went through everything in that house.

I sat handcuffed on the floor and just tried to keep remembering what was happening and that I was on a drug. I kept saying to myself over and over again, "Don't lose it Bobby, don't freak out or these guy's are gonna kill you. Keep it together man, keep it together." I think that was the last time I saw Gail until the 70's when I ran into her and Frank at a recording studio. She was then Gail Zappa, and wanted nothing to do with me.

(part 46) ALL ALONE / THE MONKEES / WHAT NEXT?

The next record I made in 1966 was "All Alone/Your Sweet Lovin" on Current Records. The company was run and partially owned by one Mike Goldberg. After my Penthouse Records experience I went outside of Randy Wood's reach and signed a 1 record deal with Current Records. I was given label credit for arranging, writer, and artist. It was a good record.

I cut that record in a couple of hours one afternoon but don't remember everybody's name who played on it. I am sorry for that, because they all did a hell of a good job. J. Fisher is listed as producer and I have vague memories of who that is. He also played guitar as I recall, and possibly did the harmonica parts.

After the record was cut nothing was done with it. There it was and that was it. Same old shit. I went to Goldberg's office and asked him why nothing was being done with the record? He told me all the reactions by L.A. radio were negative and there wasn't much he could do about it.

I'd signed a contract that was going to tie me up for a minimum of 1 year and there was nothing he could do about it? I told him that was no good for me and asked him to release me from the contract which he said he could not do. I recall getting mad at him almost immediately because this was just one more bullshit hangup in a long list of hangups where my life and career were involved.

Goldberg finally said he'd let me out of the contract if I paid him for the cost of the session. Great! I was broke, as usual, and this guy wants me to pay for my own session to let me out of a contract that he's using to hang me up? He wouldn't work the record, so it's dead, and I gotta pay him to get out? Man was I was pissed off.

This guy had sweet talked me with promises into signing the goddamn contract in the first place and now wanted money to let me out of it because he wasn't doing his job promoting the record. It wasn't that it was a lot of money $500 or $600, but for me that was a lot. Fortunately at the time, I'd met another women named Carol Paulus, who I still know to this day, and she gave me the money to get out of that contract.

The record says Lightswitch Music is the publisher, but I will challenge that on similar grounds to those involving Penthouse Records and claims by other publishers. Record labels and publishers are bound, at least minimally, to do something more than record a song, claim the publishing, and sit on it. A contract is between the various parties involved, and each party has some sort of obligation to perform some duty to make the contract binding.

I upheld my obligations by writing and recording the songs so I challenge Current Records and Lightswitch Music on the basis of purposeful and knowing nonperformance. I would like to see the contract again, because my belief is it would be found to be insufficient as a legal document. Therefore I do claim all rights to my songs "All Alone" and "Your Sweet Lovin" and my recorded performances of those 2 songs.

That is 4 singles in a row that I wrote and recorded for 3 different companies in a matter of months. In each case I was promised something which I never received. I was led to believe by each of those companies who signed me, that they had made a good faith promise to do the best job possible with each record.

This by no means was the case with any of those recordings I made in 1966. In each of the circumstances the record was recorded by me, using my songs, and then abandon to a scrap heap by those who held the power and purse strings. The records were basically shelved by those labels and their executives, while at the same time their publishing arm claimed the rights to my songs. It is because of this practice that I feel each of these agreements must be challenged at this time.

Back at Mira Records Phill Turetsky had been watching this absurdity unfold for months. He finally got me away from everyone and told me he wanted to get me something more legitimate than what he had witnessed from his vantage point ay Mira. I was surprised by this and welcomed Phil's involvement in my life, knowing he was Johnny River's business manager and was capable of accomplishing something more concrete.

The first thing Phil did was tell me about a new TV show being planned called "The Monkees." Turetsky said they were casting for the show and believed I had a real shot at it. I was completely overwhelmed by this news and told him I was very interested. He told me Burt Schneider and Bob Raphelson, at Columbia, had based their idea for "The Monkees" on "The Beatle's" movie "A Hard Days Night." On hearing that you know how excited I must have been about doing it.

A meeting was set up and I was scheduled to meet with the producers at Columbia. It seemed to me at the time, that Phil Turetsky had intervened, for whatever purpose, in the black comedy he'd watched over at Mira concerning the career of Bobby Jameson. I guess he thought he could do a better job than what he'd seen Randy Wood, Ken Handler, or Mike Goldberg do.

When I arrived at Columbia Studios, on Gower St. in Hollywood I was ushered in without trouble. That in itself was different from what I'd gotten used to. I met with Raphelson and Schneider right off the bat and then David Jones, who had already been chosen as the first "Monkee." They were extremely nice and very excited about meeting me. It was a positive experience. I asked if the show was really going to be as hip as "A Hard Days Night" and was assured it would be that hip. But from the very beginning I kind of got the feeling that it was going to be exactly the way it turned out, kind of lame.

(part 45) OLD DOGS LIKE ME

Me in 2007

No comment! Excellent! Either my last post was completely uninteresting or I said something of an unacceptable nature. It doesn't matter which. I'm not trying to win a popularity contest. I'm trying to tell a story. I'm not trying to win you over or get you to agree with me.

It occurs to me at times as I remember all this, that I spent the last 40 some years mostly blaming myself for everything that happened to me in the 60's. What I am learning as I go, is a lot of what transpired had nothing to do with me screwing up. Don't get me wrong. I do a whole lot to screw me up later.

My point here is, I always came up with the goods. I had the songs and I recorded them. How that was dealt with by record labels, music publishers, producers, and managers, was pretty much out of my hands. I was 19 and 20 years old at the time most of this took place. I had no power or control over anything except writing and singing the songs.

From 1964 through 1966 I wrote and/or recorded 7 or 8 singles and 2 albums. I'm So Lonely/I Wanna Love You, Okey Fanokey Baby/Meadow Green, All I Want Is My Baby/Each And Every Day, Rum Pum Mum Num/I Wanna Know, Please Mr. Mailman/I Wanna Know, the album Chris Lucey Songs Of Protest And Anti Protest, Vietnam/Metropolitan Man, Reconsider Baby/Low Down Funky Blues, Gotta Find My Roogalator/Low Down Funky Blues, All Alone/Your Sweet Lovin, and the album Jameson Color Him In. For all that I received $250 and a $650 BSA motorcycle. Both albums and 4 of the singles were written and recorded in less than a year's period. From the end of 1965 to the end of 1966.

Although I was using drugs and drinking neither of them had done what they later did to me, which was to completely and utterly destroy my life. From 1964 through 1966 I always showed up and did my work. What was done with that work was not under my control.

What is becoming clearer to me as I write is the basis for my later complete freak-out which started years earlier. That is what I'm relating in these pages. The growing frustration that occurred over a number of years culminating into a very different person than the one who started out writing songs and singing for the fun of it.

If you think I'm attempting to heap blame on others you're Goddamn right. As much as possible. But if you think I'm not willing to heap blame on myself as well you're wrong. I, in the long run will eat, by experience, every single disaster that is the history of Bobby Jameson/Chris Lucey. I have not escaped any of the blame and/or criticism that goes with being me. I have lived through all of this, and still do, for over 4 decades now.

You cannot know, other than me relating it to you, what it has been like, and what it is like to this day. I have nothing to show for my work other than the work itself. I live in poverty. I am not saying that for effect. I live, and have lived in poverty for a very long time. I have this computer, my first, because a bootleg record company (Fallout) sent me a $1,000 when they illegally released "Color Him In" about a year ago. Thank God they did. They are the only ones who have. I bought this computer with that money.

I sit at this keyboard breaking my ass and my head, learning how to use it, and trying to recall and articulate the facts as best I can. I am not interested in anything other than putting the facts forward, for the first time, about my side of my story. I have been asked what I expect to achieve or gain from doing this and I have answered. Nothing! Nothing at all, except to know in my own mind, that Bobby Jameson's version of Bobby Jameson's past history has finally been put somewhere.

A small bit of attention may be given to this story. A story that has been taken so far out of context that I could no longer sit by and accept what others have said about me. That is the world I live in. I am sure that I will never gain anything from what I have done or do here. Getting blamed for all that went on is now, unfortunately, second nature to me. Maybe you think that's why things go wrong in my life, because I expect them to. I accept that criticism. But old dogs like me find it hard to trust humans, because it is humans who cheat and beat on old dogs like me. I'm not interested in a better philosophy. I am interested in better people.



Metropolitan Man as performed by Bobby Jameson in "Mondo Hollywood"

(part 44) MATTEL TOYS, KEN HANDLER, AND MY RIGHTS

So once again I did the right thing and the wrong thing happened. It was getting to be a world of backwards reality with me. It wasn't like I was screwing up back in 1966. I did my work but the outcome always seemed to depend on somebody else's agenda. Ever since Tony Alamo everything I did came out like this.

I didn't care that Ken Handler was gay. Hell I'd been around plenty of gay people, it was just a fact of life. The problem was, Ken Handler had all the power because he was rich and the son of the Mattel Toys family. He didn't have a damn thing to worry about. He was covered no matter what he did. I on the other hand was 20 years old and trying to do something with my life to get it off the ground.

I'd been misled by Handler, and didn't find out about it until the last minute. He forced me to choose between giving him what he wanted to get what I wanted, or to give up what I wanted, because I was unwilling to give him what he wanted. To him I was little more than a piece of ass as it turned out, but to me it was my whole world at that particular point. It wouldn't have mattered if it were a man and a girl or a women and a boy. Whatever configuration you come up with, it was a chicken-shit thing to do to anybody, and that anybody was me.

I brought all the gear Ken had bought me back to Penthouse Records at Mira's offices. His attitude was someone who put himself above everyone else, though I had not seen that part of him until I returned the equipment. He barely took time to acknowledge my presence as I recall, but asked the whereabouts of the motorcycle? "I'm not giving it to you Ken," I said, "I'm gonna keep it because I earned it."

He started to object and I got very cold with him saying, "I'm keeping it Ken and that's all there is to it." I stared at him until he understood that I wasn't kidding. He got to see a part of me that day that he had not been familiar with either. Anything said after that moment I pushed aside. I stood my ground, making it clear that no one would get me to change my mind about keeping the motorcycle. I considered it payment for my work and my time.

I had not been paid for my work on "Reconsider Baby" or "Gotta Find My Roogalator" so keeping the bike seemed reasonable to me at the time. Hell I should have kept everything. I'd experienced too many losses at the hands of others in the past couple of years to just keep standing around at the end with absolutely nothing to show for it. I was tired of the Tony Alamo's, Andrew Oldham's, and Randy Wood's of the world. Ken Handler became the first one I took something from. I took it and dared him to do something about it, and he did not. It was one small victory.

No one will ever convince me that in light of what the facts were, as they relate to Ken Handler and myself, that any contract I may have signed with Penthouse Records could be enforced. He and Penthouse dropped me and failed to fulfill even the most minimal of obligations as a record label and or publisher. In a court of law I would dominate on the law and facts alone, not to mention the fraud perpetrated on me personally by Ken Handler. His sexual advances and demands forced me into a "Do what I want or else stalemate." I was maneuvered into a no win situation and my choices amounted to non choices. As usual, I had had no leverage.

At the time of this writing I do hereby claim all rights to my songs "Low Down Funky Blues" "Gotta Find My Roogalator" and "Reconsider Baby." I further claim all rights to my recorded performances of those songs as well as "Girl From The East" which was recorded at the same time in 1966.

I don't recall with great clarity, following the Penthouse fiasco, what Randy Wood's position regarding me was. I was probably blamed by everyone for screwing the whole thing up. That I have found, is the nature of people who won't take responsibility for their actions. It has taken me many years to realize that many of the calamities in my past were brought about by the actions of others, at least in part. I have paid enough dues to those people. I am determined to one day set the entire record straight. I have no plans to sit by and allow forever, others to claim ownership of my work or profit from it while I live as a pauper.