(part 191) CLEVELAND DISTRIBUTOR FOR RCA

In Cleveland, Ohio we searched and searched, but could not find "Stay With Me" for sale anywhere. Based on that single fact we headed straight to RCA's distributorship.

My girlfriend's father and I simply walked into the building and found no activity going on whatsoever. There were two guys sitting in chairs behind desks having a conversation, but other than that, nothing.

As we approached them they appeared somewhat surprised to see us there, and asked, "Can we help you?"

"My name is Robert Parker Jameson," I said, "and I'm an RCA artist. I came here to see if you have any copies of my record in stock."

They looked at each other like a spaceship had just landed in front of them, and one of them stammered, "Well, yeah I guess so, who'd you say you were?"

"Robert Parker Jameson," I said again. "and my record is "Stay With Me" on RCA. It's on the radio here in Cleveland. We've been all over town trying to buy the record, but couldn't find a single copy of it in any store, so we came here to see if you even have the record."

They looked at each other again, trying to compute what was going on, and one of them said, "I'm sure we got that record here, uh, yeah, uh, we got that record."

"Well where is it if you have it?" I asked, "We'd like to see it, because I flew here from L.A. and he," I motioned to my girlfriend's father, "flew here from New Jersey just so we could see if you have the record in stock."

I stood there like a statue, with no plans to leave that building without an answer, and at that point, my girlfriend's father was of the same mind.

We waited, and I said again, "I want to see the record. You say you have it here so where is it?"

Since I may have been the only artist who ever came into that building asking to see his own record, the two of them were unprepared for what was now happening, or how to respond to my demand.

They began looking through paperwork on their desks, when one of them eventually said, "Here it is, I got it, it's over there." He pointed to stacks of boxes piled on top of each other and said again, "It's right over there in that stack."

"How many do you have?" I asked.

He looked down at his paper again, studying the print, and announced, "Twelve! We got twelve of em."

I looked at my girlfriend's father and shook my head. "Twelve?" I asked, "That's it? How many did you get all together?"

He looked at the paper again, "Twelve! That's all they sent us."

"So RCA sent you twelve records and that's it?" I asked.

"According to this," he held up the paper, "that's it."

"Where are they exactly?" I asked, "I want to see them."

They looked at each other again. One of them drug himself out of his chair, and went over to the stacks of boxes and searched for the record. "Here they are," he shouted triumphantly, "here they are, I got um."

I walked over to where he was and looked down at a brown box the size of a 45 rpm record and opened it. "Eight," I said, "there are eight records here," I repeated, glancing over at my girlfriend's father.

By now I was getting irritated. I turned to the two guys again and said emphatically, "I want you to call RCA in New York, right now, and ask for the president of the label, Bob Summer, and tell whoever you talk to there that Robert Parker Jameson is standing in your building in Cleveland, and wants to talk to Bob Summer."

They both looked at me like I was completely nuts, but for whatever reason, seemed to think that what I'd asked them to do would be more like entertainment than a problem, and said, "OK!"

One of them picked up the phone and started dialing, and in a few moments began reiterating to someone what I'd said.

"Ok," he said, "they're gettin' em," and handed me the phone.

In a minute or so I heard Bob Summer's voice on the line, "Bobby?" he asked.

"Yeah, I'm here," I replied,

"What are you doing in Cleveland?" he asked.

"I came here to see if "Stay With Me" was in the warehouse." I answered.

"Why?" he replied.

"Because the record's on two radio stations here and doing good, but no one can buy it in Cleveland, because you haven't shipped any records here. I'm standing in the warehouse, right now, with a single box of eight records, and according to the invoice only twelve records were ever sent here."

There was a noticeable pause on the line, and I glanced over at the two guys, who appeared spellbound, as they listened to me talk to the president of the label on their phone.

"Well I don't know what to say to that, Bobby. It must be a mistake of some kind," he said.

"You know," I went on, "I got a call from a program director up in New England a couple of days ago, who told me RCA hasn't shipped any records there either. He said he was going to have to pull "Stay With Me" off the air, because no one could buy the record there. That's why we came to Cleveland, to see if we could buy it here, but we can't."

There was no response. "It's a little hard to sell records, Bob, if the company doesn't get them into stores, if you know what I mean," I said.

"Yes," he replied, "I know what you're saying, and of course you're right. I will look into it and see what the problem is as soon as I get off the phone with you."

"OK," I said, " I just thought I'd come here and find out for myself, so that's why I called you."

"I'm glad you did," he said, "I didn't know this was happening."

"OK," I said again, "Thanks for taking my call and talking to me about this. I guess that's it, Bob."

"Alright, Bobby, you take care of yourself, and I'll go see about this immediately." I handed the phone back to the warehouse guy and said, "Thanks, man, I really appreciate it!"

"No problem," he said smiling, as he took the phone from my hand, "you ought to come by more often. I'll be telling my grandkids about this one."

(part 190) "STAY WITH ME" WASN'T GETTING SHIPPED

My sense of responsibility and frustration had boiled over in the office of RCA's west coast PR department. My girlfriend's father was now in the red for $80,000, and I was trying desperately to protect his investment by getting the label to push "Stay With Me" for real.

My outburst, though volatile and unhelpful, stemmed from the growing list of facts I was faced with. In New York, a cocaine dealer who wanted into my life, had the ear of Bob Summer, the president of the label, and on the west coast, a do nothing PR department sat motionless.

I also wondered if the executive from Billboard Magazine had actually said something to RCA about my past as he'd threatened he would?

I pictured him running around town spreading his venom about me to every Tom, Dick, and Harry who would listen, but in reality I just didn't know.

I'd already endured L.A.'s refusal to play my records in the past, so hearing they weren't going to play this one, meant nothing had changed, and was par for the course, at least in my experience.

On the brighter side, "Stay With Me" just kept getting played on more and more radio stations around the country. I figured my only option was to keep pushing the record, and force the label to pay attention to the airplay it was getting.

I guess I could have teamed up with DP and made things better, and believe me I thought about it, but that really wasn't an option for me at this point. My sobriety was more important than getting help from a cocaine dealer who wanted to manage me.

As I fought on, trying to convince RCA they had a hit, I cut off all my hair and shaved so I'd look more like a businessman than an artist.

It was one of the dumbest things I remember doing, but somewhere in my mind I believed if I shed my old look I could somehow shed my old past with it.

Similarly, that's why I'd chosen to use my full name, Robert Parker Jameson, instead of Bobby Jameson. I was trying to become someone else and cut all ties with the old me.

As the girls and I continued updating and mailing out flyers to radio stations from my apartment, I tried not to think about failure and watching everything go down the tubes.

Although the thought kept lurking in the back of my mind somewhere, I relentlessly kept my focus on the record, and the ever increasing number of stations that added it to their playlist.

One afternoon as we worked, I got a call from a program director back east, who said he had "Stay With Me" on his station. He asked if I was the same Jameson who'd released "Color Him In" in the 60's, and I said I was.

"Man!" he said, "I thought it might be you. Boy that was a good album, and a big hit back here, all through the New England area."

I was somewhat taken back by his remark, because it was the first time I'd ever heard that "Color Him In" was a hit from someone in radio. It gave rise to more shades of lies from Verve Records and their version of how the album had done in the 60's.

"Hey, Bobby," he said, as I snapped back into attention, "I have to tell you something important."

"OK," I said, "lay it on me."

"As I told you, we're playing "Stay With Me" on our station, which is heard in multiple states up here, and it's been real popular and gets a lot of requests."

"Wow, that's great," I interrupted.

"Yeah, but here's the problem," he said, "the record's moving up our chart, and looks like it could go top 10, but no one can buy it here, because none of the stores have it."

I was confused, as I listened to him talk. "Why?" I asked, "did it sell out?"

"No!" he answered, "You can't buy it, because there aren't any here, there never have been. You've been working so hard on your own record that I felt I had to call and tell you what was happening. You're doing a hell of a job, Bobby, but RCA's not helping you at all. They're not shipping records to anyone up here, and believe me I've checked."

I felt as if someone had just hit me in the face with a two by four. I couldn't think of what to say to him.

"I'm really sorry about this," he went on, "but I have to pull your record off the air, because it's not for sale here, and if no one can buy it, I can't keep playing it."

"OK," I said bleakly, "I understand. I really want to thank you for playing the record and for calling and telling me all of this. I really appreciate it."

"OK man!" he answered, "Sorry it had to be me who gave you the bad news, I just thought you had a right to know."

I hung up the phone and looked at the girls. "What's wrong?" they both asked, "What happened?" I told them about the part of the conversation they couldn't hear and said I had to call their father.

I dialed his phone number in New Jersey and filled him in on the details of the program director's claim that RCA was not shipping records.

We agreed we needed to know if this was happening in other parts of the country, as well, or was just an isolated incident. The only way we could know this first hand, was to go somewhere the record was doing well, and see if it could be purchased there.

In Cleveland, Ohio, the record was on two big stations and moving up the charts. RCA had a distributorship there, so we planned to meet in the city, try and buy the record in some stores, and if we couldn't, then we would go directly to the distributor, and see if they had the record in stock.

(part 189) BOB SUMMER AND THE GUYS IN NEW YORK

DP was a cocaine dealer, and he was paired up with the president of RCA Records, Bob Summer, in 1978. Between the two of them, my future was in their hands, at least in regards to my being an artist with RCA.

From where I stood, it was becoming pretty clear that as a result of their relationship I was going to be the loser.

Had I not been clean and sober this would not have been an issue, but if I had not been clean and sober, I wouldn't have written and recorded the songs that got me on RCA in the first place.

It was confusing as hell, believe me. What got me there was now going to keep me from getting much further, it appeared. I couldn't believe what I was seeing was actually happening, but it was.

I began to question deeply where God was in all of this. I was like a child, in a way, trying desperately to believe things would work out, but on the other hand, the old cynical me thought it already knew what was going on.

I'd seen a lot of positive things happen since I got clean and sober in 1976, but now, every time I turned around, the old negative garbage of the past was there to greet me.

Dope dealers, record executives, con jobs, promises, manipulation, and bullshit. It was all there. The same old crap I'd always run into with record companies and people in and around the music business.

I just kept trying to look past the gathering storm to a brighter future, but like I said, I was somewhat of a child, trying to keep the faith and believe in something better than my past experiences.

Through it all, the number of radio stations playing the record kept growing, so I ran another ad in Billboard Magazine. To my surprise, each time I did this, three or four times, Bob Summer would have RCA send me a check for the amount.

It was hard to know exactly why he did this. But I believed it was because he was waiting for me to come around to his way of thinking, and agree to let DP be involved. I knew that wasn't going to happen...ever...

As usual, Stay With Me got no airplay in Los Angeles, an old fact that hadn't changed since 1964. No matter what I did, L.A. radio wouldn't play my records, they never had.

With the help of my girlfriend and her sister, we sent out thousands of flyers to radio stations, nation wide, from my apartment, and over a thousand promo copies of the record. I got the addresses from a book listing every station in the U. S., along with the kind of music they played.

I included my personal telephone number, and invited DJ's and program directors to call me collect, which many of them did, and each time I updated the flyer, we included a complete new list of all the stations that had added the record to their playlist.

With all of this, RCA took the position that I wasn't accomplishing a thing, and that what I was doing amounted to nothing more than an amateur attempt at PR, and was nothing but a waste of time.

On the other hand, the DJ's who called me said they hadn't seen an artist work his own record this hard since the 60's.

Because I was so upset by the label's response to our efforts, I got thoroughly pissed off at them and went to the RCA building on Sunset Blvd. in Hollywood. Once inside I told them I was an RCA artist, and wanted to talk with the head of their promotion department.

After some internal telephone calls, I was escorted to some guy's office, and once again I don't remember his name. He was introduced to me as the head of west coast promotion for RCA Records.

"Well I'll be," he said, "Robert Parker Jameson in my office," as he smiled and shook my hand. "Yeah, well Robert Parker Jameson isn't too happy about having to promote his own record without any help from RCA," I said.

He looked at me with an irritated look, not expecting what I said to him. He tried acting unmoved by it, as he sat down in a chair behind his desk, but he was clearly uncomfortable.

Rather than get into a bullshit session with him about how everything worked, which was typical in the record business, I launched into my second point of dissatisfaction with the label.

"I'm tired of doing your job, man," I said bluntly, "and want to know if you guys plan on do anything at all with my record?" With that, he angrily jumped up from his desk chair and yelled, "Nobody does my job for me, nobody!"

"Bullshit!" I yelled back, "I been doing your Goddamn job for months now, and I'm not even gettin' paid for doing it, but you are. You haven't done a fucking thing with the record out here and you Goddamn well know it, man."

There we were. Face to face and eyeball to eyeball. He on one side of his desk and me on the other, just standing there like a couple of jerks ready to brawl.

All of a sudden he seemed to come to his senses, realizing how far out of hand this had gotten in a short amount of time. His expression softened a bit, and he sat back down in his chair and looked at me with that "now whatta we do" look.

I peered down at him in his chair and said, "Come on man, you haven't done anything with the record. Why don't you get it on the radio here in L.A.?"

He stared at the top of his desk while wiping his hand across the surface as if he were cleaning it. "We tried," he said, still wiping at the desk, "but the response was soft."

"Soft?" I asked, "What the hell does that mean?"

"It didn't get a positive reaction when we played it for a few radio people," he said.

"So what does that mean?" I asked again, You just gave up on it, because a couple of assholes didn't say, "that's a hit? You gotta keep on it man, until someone takes a shot with it and puts it on the air, that's what promotion means. If they say no...make em say yes."

He looked up at me and studied my face for a moment, hesitating, "To be honest with you man," he said deliberately, "I didn't get the word from the guy's in New York to keep on you're record."

At that, I stopped. I stared at him blankly, with no response, as the air ran out of me.

I knew what that meant, that remark about the guys in New York. It meant I was not going to get anything in the way of help from RCA. It meant I was of no importance to the label. It meant that DP had Bob Summer in the palm of his hand.....

(part 188) ZERO SUM GAME

I WAS MAD
AT GOD
I WAS MAD
AT FAME
BUT I KEPT
ON TRYIN
IN A ZERO
SUM GAME

IT BEAT ME
SENSELESS
IT BEAT ME
BAD
BUT I KEPT
ON TRYIN
GAVE IT
ALL I HAD

I SCRAPED
MYSELF
OFF THE
WALLS OF SHAME
AND I KEPT
ON TRYIN
IN A ZERO
SUM GAME

PEOPLE JUST
LAUGHED
AND TURNED
THEIR BACK
SHOOK
THEIR HEADS
AS MY LIFE
TURNED BLACK

BUT I DIDN'T
QUIT
I TOOK
THE PAIN
AND I'M
STILL HERE
IN A ZERO
SUM GAME

Bobby Jameson Aug 2009

(part 187) BILLBOARD AD, RCA, AND DP...

President of RCA Records in 1977-78 Bob Summer

I contacted my girlfriend's father and told him the cost of a full page ad. He agreed to it, and told me he was sending the money, not just for the ads, but enough to pay for the office and his two daughters salaries as well.

At least he was cognizant of the fact that the upkeep of all it was an ongoing issue, so he continued to supply the means necessary to keep it afloat.

Two thirds of my expenditures were the girl's salaries and the upkeep of the office. It came to nearly $30,000 a year.

The first ad was a full page in Billboard. It was an all black background with red lettering, and when you saw it, it jumped out at you.

It said Robert Parker Jameson "Stay With Me" on RCA Records. It was simple and dynamic, because it looked different than every other page in the magazine.

When RCA saw the ad, they weren't all that happy about it, and had had no idea I would be running it, let alone paying for it. I received a telephone call from the president of the label, Bob Summer, and he asked why I'd run it without saying anything about it.

"I was told by your PR department, while I was in New York, that they had no plans to do any advertising, so I decided I would," I said.

There was a slight pause in the conversation. "Well I wish I had known what you were planning," he responded. To which I said, "I thought you'd be glad." "It's not bad," he replied, "it's a good ad. I just wish you would have let me know about it."

This went back and forth awhile and resulted in him saying he would send me a check for the amount of the ad. I guess he didn't want it to get around that I was paying for my own publicity.

After we hashed that out, he changed the subject to DP, whom he said he'd spoken to about my refusal to let him manage me. "You know, Bobby, DP and I are friends and he told me that he felt hurt by your decision to cut him out of the picture."

I knew then what was coming. The president of RCA was going to lean on me about DP. "Look," I said, "I've known him for a long time, and a lot of shit happened between us in the last five or six years. Things you probably don't know about."

"I do know a bit about your history," Summer said, "DP told me some of it, but outside of that, you need to work out your differences with him so we can concentrate on the future. He's only trying to help you succeed, Bobby, and he can't understand why you turned against him."

I sat listening to the president of RCA Records, and couldn't believe what I was hearing. He was telling me, in essence, to agree to have a cocaine dealer manage me, even though I was clean and sober, and had made a decision not to let DP get involved.


President of RCA Records 1977-78 Bob Summer

He was attempting to override my position, for what ever reason, and because of it, I had no other choice but to tell him, "No!" again.

Bob Summer did not like this one bit, and so he went on, "I want you to think about this, Bobby," he said in a now serious low voice, "Give it some more consideration before you shut the door completely. I'd consider it a personal favor."

The conversation ended, and I had the distinct feeling that I'd just been given an ultimatum by the president of RCA Records. I wondered, again, about what he was getting from DP that made this so Goddamned important to him.

The only thing I could come up with was drugs, and possibly sex from DP's lady friend. That added up, in my mind, to two of the big three, sex, drugs, and rock-n-roll, and that would be enough to control a lot of people. So how much control did DP have?

As I mulled this over in my mind, I knew there was no way I was going to place my sobriety in danger, and let a coke dealer manage me, no matter who he was..or what it cost me.

If the whole thing went in the shitter, I wasn't going to end up getting loaded to save it. I knew these guys didn't give a damn that I was clean, but I did.

I cared so much that I was willing to let my decision kill the whole deal, if necessary. This was a complete change of attitude for me, because I'd always been willing to deal with the devil on music business bullshit, but not this time.

This time was different. I had something of real value to protect, and I wasn't willing to jeopardize it for any deal at any price.

I called my girlfriend's father and told him of my conversation with Bob Summer about DP. Being as conservative as he was, this was somewhat of a bewildering turn of events for him, and he questioned me as to why I thought it was happening.

I told him it was probably drugs and sex, and again, this was a confusing possibility for him to comprehend. I said it was like alcohol. "Once it gets going in your life, you just become a slave to it, like a drunk with a drink." He understood that.

As we talked on, I made it clear to him that we needed to keep promoting the record ourselves and protect what we'd accomplished so far.

"The record's doing pretty good," I said, "it's on a lot of radio stations. So if we keep at it, RCA will go along, if the record looks like it might be a hit. Then all the bullshit will stop."

"Well I gotta tell you, son, I've been in business most of my life, but I've never seen anything like this before." "I know," I said, "it's like a disease in the music business. Think of it as being like alcoholism in any other business, it's irrational, it just doesn't consider anything else except feeding itself."

Later that night when I was alone, I made a list of my current responsibilities. Stay sober, pray, trust God, stay positive, work at my relationship, go to a meeting, spend her father's money wisely, give support to her sister, stay true to yourself, don't panic.

(part 186) BREACH OF FRIENDSHIP AND BILLBOARD MAGAZINE

I knew DP well enough to know he wasn't going to accept my position without an argument. He wanted to manage me, period, and he fully expected my cooperation in return for his part in getting RCA to buy my songs and release a single.

I knew, too, that he considered us friends, and that my refusal to do what he wanted, in his mind, would be a breach of that friendship. He would take it to mean I had shit on him, but in reality it just wasn't in the cards. I hadn't talked to him in years.

On the other hand, I was sober and clean, and couldn't see myself being managed by a cocaine dealer, and was well aware that being clean and sober was of little, if any, importance to DP.

In his mind, he probably thought it was temporary, and that I'd get back to my old ways eventually, with his help. Because of this fear, I wanted to stay as far away from him and my old life as I could get, and this was the key reason for my decision.

Each of us had a real position to protect, and that meant there was going to be something else said and done about this further up the line.

When my girlfriend and I got back to her parents' house in New Jersey, I explained to her father and mother what had happened and how I was dealing with it. To say the least, they were impressed with my explanation of the facts and subsequent decision about DP.

I also said that RCA would not commit to any real promotion of Stay With Me, and that if we wanted the record to have a chance, we had to promote it ourselves. "RCA is in a wait and see mode," I said, "and that's not good."

Her father asked me what I thought needed to be done, and I said that running a couple of ads in Billboard Magazine would help. He agreed that it sounded reasonable, and told me to let him know how much it would cost once I got back to L.A. and found out.

After a few more days in New Jersey my girlfriend, her sister, and I headed home to Los Angeles and West Hollywood. All through the flight, I thought about Billboard Magazine and how an ad ought to look and what it ought to say.

A few days later I went to the offices of Billboard. They were located in the 9000 building on Sunset Blvd., some four or five blocks from my apartment.

AImost immediately, I ran into Bill Wardlow, and he was pretty damn happy to see me alive and looking so well. He'd been with Billboard when Tony Alamo had run the Bobby Jameson ad campaign in 1964, so we reminisced about it for a time.

While we were doing that, another Billboard executive entered the office after hearing I was there. Before I could say anything, he began yelling that I still owed the magazine $14,000 for the unpaid bill from the 60's.

Wardlow interrupted him and said emphatically that Tony Alamo and Gordon Gessler were on the hook for that amount, and it had never been an issue that I owed the money to the magazine.

None the less this guy kept ranting. He said he was going to call RCA and let them know who I really was--the crazy guy who jumped off buildings, and that they shouldn't have me as an artist on their label. I do not recall this guy's name, but I guarantee you he was pissed off at me.

After Bill got the guy out of his office, I gathered my senses, and asked him about the cost of running some ads. Wardlow apologized for the guy's outburst, and said if I ran it as an artist ad, paid for it out of my own pocket, I'd get a price break.

This broke down to somewhere between $1,600 and $1,800 for a three color full page. I told him I wanted a black page with red lettering, something that jumped out when you saw it. He agreed that it would have a definite impact and liked the idea.

After a bit more talk, I left Wardlow's office. The guys outburst at me had been another one of those unexpected land mines that had blown up in my face.

Even though I was trying to do the things necessary to make a go of my life, it was now becoming obvious to me that some people just didn't believe it or care. It was another jolt, just like the DP thing had been, and came without warning.

As I walked along Sunset Blvd., back to my apartment on Doheny, I wondered how many others would there be that just felt I shouldn't be given a chance.

My past, all the way back to 1964, had just been thrown in my face by a total stranger, and my career, in his opinion, was a threat to RCA's integrity if, in fact, I was an artist of theirs.

I always knew there were people who didn't like me, but in truth I was shocked by that asshole's attack on me at Billboard. Thank God Bill Wardlow had been there or I would have been thrown out of the place and never allowed to return.

That's what the guy had kept saying to me, "You don't have the right to be here. You didn't even have the right to walk in here." Whew! What a bummer the whole thing was!