2-27-12 Survival Jobs for Writer-Musicians – Starter Job #55 (Preparing to move to the U.K. for Keeps. . .)

(great pic of young Nervus Rex me by SF photog. who needs to remind me of his name & whereabouts!)

My leg had now healed from my great skiing adventure with Nervus Rex. We’d played a few more gigs, but signs were pointing to a parting of the ways with the group. Two years before, we were so hopeful; two years later, everything was an uphill effort, and people in the band didn’t even seem to like one another. We’d recruited a young lead guitarist, Seth, who was a wonderful musician and a sweetheart of a guy, but our musical arrangements onstage had become long and somewhat overblown, though brilliant (the intro to “There She Goes,” our opening number at the Peppermint Lounge in the spring of 1981, was pretty over the top. . . five minutes of spacey, then driving, guitar riffs with the Panther organ and synth sounds -- not exactly poppy any longer, which suited Shawn’s mood but not the audience’s expectations).

Around this time, Nervus Rex had gone into the studio with a young Mike Chapman protégé, a recording engineer named Doug. We recorded a demo of a few tracks for our second album that we thought were pretty cool: “Funky Surfer Boy,” “Out of Love,” and “What I Really Want” (“We Learn To Live With a Little Pain, My Dear” was the chorus of another song Shawn was writing at the time -- a song that Shawn did later on with his pop group, Burning Puppets). At any rate, the titles of those songs sure are telling, hm? Whatever was going on in his brain, Shawn wasn’t into the relationship, and I was fed up, too. The record company passed on our demo, and Nervus Rex was label-less, too.

Shawn and I had been fighting for a year, and after my leg broke, we had pretty much broken up -- there were other romantic interests and a lot of “flirtin’ and hurtin’” happening. I reacted a lot to how I was being treated (I got mad and kind of suspicious when I was not invited out with Shawn when he hung out with his druggie drinking friends, and assorted “midget models” -- ouch and ouch). One young man I was “seeing” briefly (probably to hurt Shawn back -- yup, that was bad) lent me his cool black leather motorcycle jacket and wound up giving it to me (I’m lucky, see?). Crossing 14^th street on foot, he even said, “I’ll marry ya if you wear that leather jacket.” (Sadly, he was the wrong guy at the wrong time -- I was getting bored because he wasn’t real smart, just good hearted, which is good, just not enough for me.) After him, I was seeing a guy who was a real smooth talker and a big fan; he came from a well to do family in Connecticut (!!) but was kind of slimey -- of course hard drugs were involved. He was friends with a guy at Madonna’s record company who’d helped Madonna get a deal in return for sexual favors, so I thought all that inside info was quite titillating. . . anyway, it really was a mistake to date that guy but hey, I was young and had a right to make some pretty big errors in my life -- right? (just go with me on this!)

Above all, I’d wanted to move to England for some years. . . . and as if an answer to that prayer, I got a letter from my friend, Glenn Tillbrook, who knew I wanted that. He said, “Come on, move to England; you can stay in my flat in Blackheath for a few months.” He also hinted around that he and Chris Difford wanted to produce a recording project with me as the singer. Wow! Who wouldn’t jump at such an offer!

In the course of a few months, I sold my synthesizer, my Panther organ and a guitar or two (keeping my old acoustic Guild F-30), found a subletter for my apartment (and my mean- spirited calico cat, Claudette), and borrowed money from my sweet old Grandma.

Ask a relative for money? I really didn’t know how to do that, and was pretty scared and confused if it was the right thing. . .

2-21-12 Survival Jobs for Writer-Musicians – Starter Job #49 (“Go Go Girl”)

Lauren dancing to M. Henry Jones "Go Go Girl" video

All right, those of you who knew me and some of the people back in “the scene” knew exactly who I was referring to in the last blog. I feel safer not naming names if the person is still living. Just don’t want to make anybody too uncomfortable, you know?

And besides, as long as I can make a “compliment sandwich” -- say two nice things with something objective or objectionable in between -- that’s cool, right?

I’m remembering a mutual friend of ours (that S&M expatriot & Miriam Linna’s), a real creative guy, an obsessively creative genius young filmmaker named M. Henry Jones. He loved the Fleshtones and Nervus Rex, and used to hang out at gigs. He was on the scene, and had a very clean cut, almost 1950-ish retro look. I guess maybe a new wave Clark Kent? He was tall, slender, wore thick rimmed eyeglasses, and sort of stammered when he talked, all excitedly.

“Henry” as we called him did a few early music videos that were animated. He was all about animation, claymation, anything cool that took an indecent amount of painstaking time to accomplish. His patience MUST be legend.

“Soul City” by the Fleshtones, and “Go Go Girl” by Nervus Rex were two of his pet projects that have been revisited a few times. When he asked me if I could dance the pony for a project he did, I made sure it was with clothes on (I’m a good Catholic girl deep down, remember!). The designer, Haruko, made the b&w striped vinyl jacket; I had the miniskirt and black Beatle boots, and the dyed black hair that swayed nicely to and fro while I frugged and ponyed and twisted away.

I’ll attach it to this blog and if it works, enjoy!

2-18-12 Survival Jobs for Writer-Musicians – Starter Job # 46 (“Mystery Achievement” into “The Wait”)

(Photo by the famous Moshe Brakha, circa '79, of the glam new wave poppers, Nervus Rex)

One of Dianne’s great talents was as an amateur athlete. Besides being a swimmer and a golfer, she was an ace on the slopes, a really good skier. She and Jonathan knew people (Jon’s relatives?) who had a place up in Massachusetts at Mount Brodie ski resort, and we were all invited there for a long ski weekend in the winter of early 1981.

At this point, as a band, we were rather dispirited -- with no management, no booking agents, and a record company who were fast losing interest after sitting on our debut album for a year, then releasing it to meager attention and lukewarm reception. Our personal relationships within the band were approaching an all-time low as well. Shawn and me, Jonathan and Dianne were bickering and at odds.

At any rate, I was happy to be on that “break” and keen to learn to ski because I love ice skating (which is similar, balance-wise to skiing), and a new challenge is always fun. I may not be greatly coordinated, but once I get a rhythm going -- on an instrument or dancing around -- I’m all right. So, Dianne dressed me in one of her cool ski outfits and we went to the ski rental place to get me outfitted.

One thing that the people running the rental place forgot to mention to me (and Dianne didn’t check) was the importance of the ski boot releasing from the ski when the ankle bent at a certain extreme angle. That release prevented bone breaks. At least, that’s what I understood after the fact. I didn’t know about it beforehand, and everybody was so busy nobody checked my boot and rental skis for the release.

So, I spent three marvelous days skiing downhill on an easy slope (I did the side to side or “S” pattern skiing down to be safe -- no straight down skiing for me!) but on my last run a real game-changer happened: I broke tibia & fibula while my brain switched Pretenders songs in the jukebox in my head: from “The Wait” into “Mystery Achievement.”

‘Twas a mystery, indeed, how my ski slipped and crossed over in front of me JUST ten yards outside the First Aid Station at Mt. Brodie! Truth told, I had music in my head that slipped and the thought of some yummy hot chocolate by the fire at the ski lodge. Oh well. The boot didn’t release from the ski and BOOM! I went down, hearing the SNAP! of my brittle bones (not helped, no doubt, by years of near-starvation). Ouch.

Dianne rushed over on her skis, seeing me. “Laurie, what happened?”

“My leg broke,” I gasped.

“No!! No, you couldn’t have!” Dianne gasped back in disbelief.

“I heard it! Ow, it hurts. Help!” With help from the First Aid station, I was rushed there, then rushed to the nearby hospital, where they x rayed and set my leg, putting a real kibosh on the first and last Nervus Rex ski trip. I remember the Iranian Hostage Crisis -- and the release of the hostages -- was televised in the background, so we must have been away in 1981 between January 19^th & 21^st.

I remember the Presidential elections a few months earlier, where Reagan won and I felt sick to my stomach (I was eating dinner with Shawn at one of our favorite little Italian Restaurants at the corner of Spring and Sullivan streets). That kind of resolved me to leave the country -- I was so ashamed to have that bozo, Reagan, as our leader!

So, the Nervus Rex ski trip was a bust, and I went home to a fifth floor walkup on Thompson Street in Soho with a broken leg and no elevator (yet), a broken band, and a boyfriend who ran after “midget models” and had acquired an expensive habit that kept him up nights and upped his cigarette and vodka intake.

1981 was shaping up to be a real doozy. . . but I still had friends in bands like Squeeze. . . so one night in February, I got a phone call from good ol’ Glenn Tilbrook. . . .

2-17-12 Survival Jobs for Writer-Musicians – Starter Job #45 (“Another Nail in My Heart”)

Some other bands Nervus Rex double-billed with back in the seventies/eighties: Bloodless Pharaohs (Brian Setzer’s band), The Erasers, Richard Hell & the Voidoids (“You look like you got BLOOD on your lips!” Hell pointed out to me one night when he was blitzed, between sets), Milk & Cookies (Sal, the bassplayer, is still out there rockin’ & I bump into him occasionally), The Sic F*cks (or at least, I remember them, playing -- Russel Wolinsky, Tish, Snooky, Andy Bale & Jason), The Foolish Virgins (had a thing for Jim Morrisson and the Doors), and some other cool combos I’ll remember soon enough. We played CBGB’s, Max’s, Club 57, The Space, The Mudd Club, Hurrah, Peppermint Lounge, and more. . . I’m not remembering every place, every club, every band, but that was a strange way of paying my way through a few years.

I probably felt guilty I wasn’t doing more, but between rehearsals, promoting, gigging, and schmoozing with lots of the inevitable “hanging out” in between, it was a real bohemian living, all right. Of course I finished college and graduated in 1978, and kept writing freelance, too.

But if you ask, was that a “survival Job,” being in a working band who actually made a (meager) living, making music? Sure!

Another English band that Nervus Rex double-billed with -- and I just loved; they were my favorites: SQUEEZE. Their amazing lyrics, melodies, vocals & musicianship gave them the early albatross (‘cause it’s hard to live up to, consistently) of “The New Lennon & McCartney.” Difford & Tillbrook were two very different personalities, South London boys who had a great time thrashing out intelligent pop songs onstage and having fun with it. They became a great hit in England, and also in our musicianly “New Wave” circles, circa ’79 - ’81, especially.

Managed by Miles Copeland (of the FBI agency, who also managed and booked The Police), they toured the U.S. often and made a splash with airplay and record sales. Being very pop & fun, Nervus Rex was a good double bill, and we had a great time sharing the stage.

Squeeze’s music was so uplifting and fun, I couldn’t stop dancing and singing along to every single song on Argybargy. What a great pop album! Few others come close, even today. . .

Anyhoo, because we worked together, I got to hang out with Squeeze & became friends with Glenn, especially. Chris Difford had an American girlfriend who became his wife, Cindy. So it was kind of hard to hang with him. . . though my designs on those guys weren’t anything more than platonic -- and perhaps wanting to work with them. After a bit, Jon Bentley became a great friend. . . he was sweet, cute, and so funny.

While in town and not into other shenanigans (he DID have a girlfriend, Jo, back home on the first tour or two), Glenn T. came over my Thompson Street apartment to play my rinky little studio piano and sing songs like “Paper Roses” with me. We even recorded a little on my TEAC 4-track. It was a riot, and such fun. We both loved classic, old country music. This was around the time they were working with Elvis Costello, who was writing “Good Year for the Roses.” Glenn & Chris wrote and recorded “Labelled With Love” with Squeeze, and that country ballad hit the British charts.

But one of the best feelings, ever, was to hear “Another Nail In My Heart” or “Vicky Verky” live, with all that adrenaline, the octave-unison double vocal of Glenn and Chris, with Gilson Lavis pounding away on drums, Jools Holland finessing on keyboards and Jon Bentley on melodic but driving bass. What a band! I still smile to think about how awesome they were at The Ritz & all. . . the levitating kind of energy from a band in top form.

But that’s not all! Stay tuned for more Squeeze stories whilst scraping by in seventies New York, just stayin’ alive and surviving in the belly of the beast. . . .

2-16-12 Survival Jobs for Writer-Musicians – Starter Job # 44 (Corrections! My Memory Might Falter -- But My Instincts Are Intact)

Dianne Athey gave me some input after my C. Hynde/Pretenders blog. She (kindly) pointed out that Nervus Rex did indeed open for the Pretenders: at Maxwell’s in Hoboken and at the Ritz in NYC. I imagine those places were packed. . . I don’t know how I toughed it out, as I have an aversion to crowds & crowded places.

Maybe that’s why being onstage -- and backstage -- is bearable. You’re not in the crowd, that way! I’m not a tall person, and too much humanity is just too much, dig?

Another thing: it seems that some people have an exaggerated opinion of themselves, and others -- like me -- do the reverse and downplay. I’m hoping to not be boastful, ever, but be “truthin’” on the whole. Always trying to learn how to toot my horn without blowing it. Anyway, yup, we did play on two bills with The Pretenders back in the day!

I’m gonna look for that silly cartoon that Chrissie did of “the Rex” -- you could tell she had a fondness for Dianne & Jon from the way she portrayed them, a tone one step beyond teasing. Shawn and I got off lucky, considering!

(One more thing: Jon Gildersleeve taught me a very valuable thing when I was in my early twenties. I’d arrive late to something he or the band was a part of and start apologizing and making excuses. From the git-go, he cut me off, saying, “Don’t be sorry, just BE THERE. Don’t give me excuses, just BE THERE or don’t be there. No excuses.” Or something along those lines. It made an impression AND it me a much more credible, reliable grown-up to not keep prattling on with babyish explanations and excuses! Thanks, Jonathan . . .wherever you are. . .)

2-15-12 Survival Jobs for Writer-Musicians – Starter Job #43 (More Youthful Brushes with Greatness: Chrissie Hynde)

In Nervus Rex and in real life, Dianne Athey was tall and gorgeous, and had a lot of class (still is and does!). She grew up in Akron, Ohio and had a best friend who moved to England, did some rock writing, started a band, wrote songs, sang with devilish vibrato, and rocked harder than any other “chick” (Joan Jett excepted?).

Chrissie Hynde was Dianne’s best friend. And being D’s boyfriend for several years, Jonathan Gildersleeve was also a friend of “C. Hynde,” as he called her (Dianne always called her “Chrissie”). Both Dianne and Jon were ecstatic when The Pretenders hit the charts in 1979. We were in Los Angeles at the time as Nervus Rex, recording our debut LP with good ol’ Mike Chapman, producing.

We’d drive around in rented cars, singing along to Chrissie Hynde’s amazing voice on “Stop Your Sobbing,” “Kid,” and “Brass in Pocket.” That voice -- along with that tough, rockin’ attitude. Whoo hoo! We loved her and the amazing Pretenders.

So, once back in NYC months later, maybe in early 1980, The Pretenders -- and C. Hynde, of course -- came to town. Dianne asked her to come to one of our gigs (was it at Maxwell’s in Hoboken?) and since The Pretenders were so big, we didn’t get to open for them (unless I’m not remembering accurately -- which happens!). But Chrissie came to one of our shows, and made a drawing of her impressions of our band, Nervus Rex.

I’ll find it and scan and include in blogspot soon. . . it’s a cartoonish riot!

Anyway. Dianne and Chrissie had a very close friendship, and since I was also a friend of Dianne’s (and in her band!) she invited me along to hang out with her & Chrissie at D’s London Terrace apartment on West 23^rd Street (just a few blocks from the Chelsea Hotel, where Chrissie most likely stayed, at least, where she theoretically belonged!)

In February, 1979, Sid Vicious (Chrissie’s friend) died. His girlfriend was killed at the Chelsea Hotel, and Sid was being held as suspect. Anyway, in light of that grisly memory, perhaps the Chelsea wasn’t a shoo-in (the Gramercy Park hotel was also a music biz hotel, so maybe The Pretenders stayed there?).

Anyway, maybe Dianne remembers these details.

So I was sitting on the carpeted floor of Dianne’s beautiful one-bedroom/semi studio apartment that night with two older, wiser, very cool “rock chicks.” I did a lot of listening, I’m sure, and threw out whatever witty remarks I could muster. We laughed a lot. Chrissie had recently started dating “Ray” (Davies) and they were in a tempestuous romance. I’m sure that heavy drinking had a lot to do with it -- Chrissie and Dianne drank a whole bunch of wine, and I’m sure I stuck to other stuff (like coffee, diet soda, whatever).

Chrissie: skinny, sexy, scrappy, kinda cranky, quick-tempered, brusque, outspoken, dark-humored, cool. Likable, in a smart, rockin’, tough girl way.

At one point, I had told Dianne & Chrissie about my ambition to move to London, England, and write songs -- I guess in a way, similar, to Chrissie’s story. I just felt so out of it in the U.S.A., and I hated the political climate. . . I needed to find out where I belonged in the world, and NYC just wasn’t cutting it. I always WAS an Anglophile. . .

“All right, go ahead. Move to England. Sure, you move to England. Good luck.” I couldn’t tell if C. Hynde was being ironic or sarcastic. . . but looking back, she probably was. She didn’t tell me to look her up or anything. . . not that I would have presumed at the time, but if it’d happened NOW, you can be sure I would have contacted her!

Oh well. I was just so young, optimistic, and humble. But I truly, naively believed things would be great in London. . . a place of destiny for me, I thought. But to no two singers the same fate befells. . .

2-13-12 Survival Jobs for Writer-Musicians – Starter Job #41 (Nervus Rex’s First Recording Session & Our Growing Pains. . . )

Being that I’m a daring gal if nothing else (“too headstrong to learn the piano from me,” as my mother hmphed more than once), I’ll plow right through and recollect about some of the early N Rx experiences and growing pains.

(Of course I’ve been writing these blogs out of sequence -- they’re not paying me to be an editor and/or do a chronological blog -- and really, do we care??!!)

As before stated, our first drummer, Miriam, left the band to be with Billy Miller and become a Zantee and co-founder of Norton Records. Our then-bassist, Lewis Eklund, worked somewhere like a music store (if he’s out there or Shawn remembers, let me know where) he knew a slightly older guy who played drums by the name of Jonathan Gildersleeve.

Yes, I’m pretty sure we got Jon G. in the band because of Lewis Eklund. So we met with this guy, Jon, who was a big guy, tall & imposing, who had a great shag haircut and piercing, intelligent eyes. He had a crazy, lopsided smile, a quirky drumming style, and a love of gin -- but he knew pop music inside and out. At the apartment he shared with Dianne Athey and their cat, Natty Dread, he’d run a regular “radio show” at a given time every day. Jonathan would pretend he was a dee jay, and spin his favorite records for an hour or so. Such a music lover -- he taught me about a lot of new and old music that was cool.

The four of us -- Shawn, Lewis, Jonathan & me -- went into the renowned RPM recording studio (12 East 12^th Street) in the heart of Greenwich Village. Steve Israel co-produced two tracks with us, “Don’t Look” b/w “Love Affair.” Shawn and I both had roaringly awful head colds the day we went into the studio -- but it worked out advantageously, somehow. When the cold is in my head, not throat, I can sing high notes better -- funny, huh?

Now, I thought Lewis was a pretty great bassplayer --just listen to those cool bassparts on “Don’t Look,” very Stones-y, which was his favorite band after all. But his cocky personality and odd sense of humor didn’t quite jibe with Shawn’s -- or mine. So. . . after a year of working with him, Shawn was ready to switch bassplayers. I felt really awful about Lew being asked to leave the band (bands are really like little dysfunctional families, with problems but love and loyalties, usually).

Then, it turned out that Jonathan had a plan in mind: to recruit his beautiful, talented, artist girlfriend, Dianne Athey, into the band as our new bassplayer. I was very fond of her, and regarded her as an older sister more than a friend. . . she gave me lots of great advice about life, love, and finances.

Dianne was the first person to explain what a credit rating was, and why it behooved me to start building mine up by obtaining a credit card and paying it off regularly. Thanks, Dianne! That was one very useful life lesson I’ll always remember *-)

We greatly enjoyed the blue cheese/cashews/sprouts/pear salads at the Broome Street Bar, and had a good time in the band together. Because our boyfriends were in the band with us, and being young (and feisty), we were often at odds with our guys. And yes, being attractive girls, we did have our fans. . . but that wasn’t much of a head turner as much as the need to occasionally get away from the pressure of being in a much-liked band with demanding boyfriends who didn’t always act like grownups (as if WE were much better at that!).

Dianne also handed me my first alcoholic drink. We were at the Ritz, either hanging out or in-between playing a show there. The place was packed -- and I get so nervous being in crowds. Shawn was avoiding me, running after some model-type girl (or vice-versa). At any rate, I was so angry -- fit to be tied -- and Dianne saw how upset I was. She handed me a screwdriver -- and even though it tasted bad to me, I took it as “medicine.” I might have had two of them. Then I still wanted to kill that other girl! I think we very nearly had a “catfight” there, at the Ritz -- but my faulty memory, again, keeps that detail at bay. But OI do know that Dianne definitely handed me my first vodka drink. . . I don’t touch the stuff now, but it was like a rite of passage at the time, and kind of amusing in retrospect.

Dianne was tall and gorgeous, and once she was in the band, Shawn found a way to push me behind my keyboard stack (my Panther organ and synthesizer, which I used to add little parts to the musical mix, though I could never say I’m any kind of good keyboard player) more and more. . . Dianne was certainly the femme fatale in the band, and I was the cute little enthusiastic waif.

To this day, I admire and respect Dianne for her character, great laugh, good looks, and musicianship. She’s still a friend, whether we spend much time together or not. I only hope we’ll play again together in some way, somehow. . .

Until next blog, “Don’t Look” while Dianne and Jonathan’s erstwhile Ohio crony makes it big in the rock music world with a fabulous voice, look, and attitude: Chrissie Hynde comes to town.

2-10-12 Survival Jobs for Writer-Musicians – Starter Job #38 (Growing Up in Public at CBGB’s pt. 4- 1977 & the end)

All right, well, I was talking about change at the end of the last blog. . . and how I kind of

“grew up in public” at that great divey club on the Bowery, CBGB’s. So many good things happened there, esp. in the early days. I met Danny Fields, who I really liked because he was smart, cool, warm, humorous, and, well, if you ever met him, you know he’s a guy who not only knows rock music & legends (like the Doors and Iggy Pop), but he managed the Ramones early on. He was a great gossip but also able to keep confidences -- his expressive eyes and knowing nod gave a feeling of being in on something very intimate and exciting.

Anyway, I really wouldn’t want to hear any dirt about Danny Fields because I was very fond of him (not in “that way,” but just as a great human being) and he made you feel special just by paying attention to you. That’s what I want to be known for, too: making others feel special. And that, my friends, is a special talent. . . I also thought that Terry Ork, Television’s jolly elflike manager with the dark glasses and booming chuckle, was a laugh and lots of fun. Sadly, he’s gone now.

OK, so there were people who made you feel good, and others you just wanted to avoid. Some of those people were in bands, one of whom I won’t name but he was a guitar player in a band that played often at CB’s, a short and skinny guy who acted very slimily around girls and tried to stick his tongue down my throat one time when I naively accepted a ride uptown with him (to be dropped off at my then-boyfriend’s studio apt.). Ugh! Anyway, he’s deceased now, so I don’t want to speak ill of the dead. . . he did play a pretty good guitar and cut a good figure onstage back in the seventies.

So, come ’77 or so, the fun nights at CB’s came fewer and farther between. Unfamiliar faces popped up more and more, and where I’d formerly waltz in and see somebody I knew, it just didn’t happen anymore. On my 21^st birthday, I sat in the audience (rare for me -- I hate sitting down at clubs; leaning against a wall in the back is more my style) at CBGB’s while the Dead Boys played. They weren’t my faves, but I didn’t know where else to go and I was on a date with a guy I wasn’t too keen on. If we went somewhere with loud music, I wouldn’t have to talk or hear him talk. . . he was one of the few inane guys I (briefly) dated. Most of my “dates” were pretty darn interesting, or at least in some ways felt worth my while.

Well, in 1978, Nervus Rex were playing CBGB’s one slow February night, and two of our musician friends, Clem Burke and Jimmy Destri, were taking Blondie producer Mike Chapman out on the town in NY. As we happened onstage, the half-sodden Chapman was told by our friends that he should listen ‘cause we were good -- I think that’s what happened.

So, after our set, this drunken Australian nutter (skinny, med. Height, thinning reddish hair, big blue eyes) comes backstage to drawl, “I’m going to put you on the CHARTS!! I’m going to make you STARS!!” Ever the polite girl, my other’s pride, I nodded and smiled, yes, of course. Then I cornered our worldy older drummer, Jonathan Gildersleeve, to ask, “Jon, who IS that weird guy?”

Jon could hardly breathe, he was so excited. “That’s Mike Chapman!!!” he whispered.

“Oh.” I sort of knew who that was, but my cynical side wasn’t convinced of his ability to do all that Charting and Starmaking. I don’t know why. . . I just didn’t trust it. Shawn, on the other hand, went with it -- but I still am not sure how he felt at that moment.

Anyhoo. Once we got signed and started to work on our debut album with Mike Chapman and Nicky Chinn (of the ChinniChap Production company), the whole scene in NYC and at CBGB’s never was the same. Talking Heads, Television, Patti Smith, the Ramones, Blondie: they all went on tours and became recording artists of note. Nervus Rex didn’t fare too well once our album was in the can and held back for a year before it was released to lukewarm reception and low sales. The B-52’s came out before us, and we were labeled “B-52 like,” only not as good. It was sad, but that’s the breaks.

Things change, and if you can’t change with the times, He who marries his generation becomes a widow in the next (Leonard Cohen).

It was time to find another survival job and maybe ship out. . . so let’s talk about Chrissie Hynde, Squeeze, and running off to Blighty for 18 months to lick my wounds after Nervus Rex broke up.

1-23-12 Survival Jobs for Writer-Musicians – Starter Job #21 (What I did for the Porn Industry in ‘70’s NYC)

Now, don’t get too excited -- or horrified -- by this entry down sweet ol’ memory lane (LOL -- nothing was that pretty back in the day, so it’s ironic). I worked for a few kind of raunchy magazines -- as a writer and a proofreader.

Yes, I created and facilitated content for magazines whose pictorials were beyond suggestive; they were XXX rated. I had to laugh, though, because it seemed so stupid to me that people would fetishize sex to the point of it seeming unappealing and downright disgusting. Sex should be healthy, playful, intense, loving, and pleasurable, in my mind.

At SUNY Purchase, one of my creative writing class colleagues, Mara, told me she was editing copy at a place called National Screw Magazine (a sideline to the National Screw paper and Midnight Blue cable TV Adult show with the very unappealing Al Goldsstein) and wanted me to write for them.

In writing class, we would quietly share a laugh at the instructor, who called hyperbole “Hyper Bowl.” (He was definitely an autodidact). At first, I wasn’t sure it was the same hard-core porno pub that peeked out of the newsstands at Gem Spa and the like, but when she confirmed it she said, wryly, “Gotta find work that pays, and it’s not always easy.”

Later on, when I discovered another friend of mine was secretly turning tricks as an S&M prostitute (she did both/either -- versatile girl!), I didn’t bat an eyelash, either. Somehow, very little surprises me, but I always look at the absurdist angle because, let’s face it, in every predicament, in every bummer, there’s something blackly humorous if you look hard enough.

For National Screw, I wrote “Talkin’ BunkMate Blues,” a semi-fictional story of being a tough chick who shunned living with roommates because of dissenting tastes in music and a need for privacy (to bring over boyfriends and have sex was the implication -- though I didn’t have to write about sleazy sex acts, thankfully).

Then, I was sent on assignment as the National Screw “Punkophile” to write about the great New Wave band, Television. I quoted -- or misquoted -- a lyric from a TV song, “I Don’t Care”: “’Cause when she whispers in my ear/I get so hard, I get so hard. . . “ Was that really the lyric? I don’t care (ha ha). It sounded like the words, and it made sense, and I knew they’d want to bold face that line in the story, so I went with it. Sorry, Tom Verlaine, if that wasn’t right -- maybe it would work, don’t you think?!

My greatest -- and last --job in the porn industry was as a proofreader for a XXX rated glossy mag called Cheri. Diana from New Wave Rock Magazine was the editor, and I think my friend, Fran, recommended me for the position of proofreader there at Cheri.

The receptionist was a sweet girl from Georgia named Rusty, whose alias was “The Cherry Bomb” at Cheri, a cover girl for this really raunchy magazine. She had the hugest tits you ever saw -- just mammoth -- and she would pose any old way they asked her to in addition to being the receptionist at the magazine. One pictorial showed her frolicking with a one-legged also-naked woman who had a pegleg that was strategically positioned on the Cherry Bomb’s ass -- as if pegleg lady was buttfucking her.

As my dad might have sarcastically commented, “Mmm, deLIGHTful!” Other than Rusty the Cherry Bomb, there were a few other characters in the office, though the rest of us looked kind of dorky and we’d NEVER be good pictorial material.

As proofreader for Cheri, I went to the copy editor to ask questions like, “SO, in this story, are we using c-u-m or c-o-m-e?” or “What caption do you want for this sex pirate pictorical, ‘Pardon my buccaneers?. . . ‘” It was surreal. I think I made about $150 per week, net.

That job, as a proofreader at Cheri in midtown, paid all right but only lasted a few months. When they downsized, I was history. Luckily, I was eligible for unemployment and got paid a princely $75 per week, about half of my previous earnings. Oh well.

Unemployment in the 1970s -- another surreal experience. . . NEXT time!!

1-22-12 Survival Jobs for Writer-Musicians – Starter Job #20 (Shawn gets equal time to make an aside re Nervus Rex in ‘70’s NYC)

This memoir writing is really funny when it’s shared on FaceBook because people who were THERE have different memories. . . and as much as this blog is about ME recounting personal history -- with a twist -- sometimes, I have to agree to disagree and if it’s interesting enough, share what other people say. I’ll include some of my retorts, too.

From Shawn Brighton on FaceBook: “Lauren, here's history for ya - you're not quite correct. That invite (to play a loft party on Mercer Street) didn't occur until we (actually I) already knew the 52's. The first NYC gig they ever did was co-headlining with Rex at Max's and it was awkward. I talked to Kate beforehand and told her that we weren't opening for them but, rather, co-headlining as we had already played there many times. . After that gig, I became good friends with them - took them on a tour of Goodwill stores, thrift shops, and rag bins to find them vintage clothes for their onstage outfits, then we'd hang out at Eno's apartment on 8th Street which they were subletting, and I spent a week getting them acquainted to the NYC scene. One of my fondest memories is of you, I, and Ricky going to Coney Island and riding the Mighty Mouse, a rickety wooden roller coaster. As the thing was chugging up 1000 feet in the air and we were just about to take our first plunge, Ricky turned to me and, in his thick Georgian drawl, said "Shawn, I think we made a mistake." And then we plunged to, what at the moment, we considered our last moments on Earth. Poor Ricky. I was really fond of him. A really decent, unpretentious, giving human being who died way before his time.”

My reply: “Well, Shawn, maybe at this point I have to agree to disagree because I do not remember the B-52's gig, THEN the party (I thought loft party was first, then the gig). . . and I NEVER ride roller coasters; they're much too dizzying for me and I'm terrified of getting a migraine in public from dizziness. But I'll take what you wrote and put in my blog for equal time, OK?? It's certainly interesting, and cool to have different POVs. Love, L. PS - I thought Ricky was a real sweet guy too, but didn't know him real well. We also played the Mudd Club with the B's, right?

Shawn: “YOU didn't ride the roller coaster. It was just Ricky and me. Now I know why.

Ricky was a great guy. It was a tragedy when he died. . . I'm not sure we played with the B's at Mudd. I remember that we played there a couple of times and I remember seeing the B's with, of all people, Richard Lloyd (of Television) hanging around on stage and riffing and screwing up their set. It was like listening to 2 different radio stations at the same time. I wish there was a recording of that. Strangest thing I'd ever heard.”

Anyway, to use another of my dad’s favorite phrases, “That’s the way the cookie crumbles.”

1-21-12 Survival Jobs for Writer-Musicians – Starter Job #19 (More Roots of “The Rex” -- Second Wave band Nervus Rex in ‘70’s NYC)

Okay, as for the early days of Nervus Rex, we did all sorts of nutty things, but mostly started getting gigs at places like CBGB’s, Max’s, and later the Mudd Club, Hurrah’s, the Peppermint Lounge, and numerous other dives. At the time, Giuliani hadn’t yet busted the mob for running music clubs, so there was a lot of “dirty” money needing laundering, and paying bands $1,000 a night wasn’t unheard of; some even made more.

And since the drinking age was young -- 18 -- kids came out to hear bands in droves. You COULD play the city (Manhattan) more than once a month. You could also do private parties in rented spaces and people’s lofts. The scene was small, but lucrative for musicians.

One such party came to be because I was friends with an otherworldly woman with a lazy southern accent -- Atlanta & Athens, Georgia -- named Judy. Her blue eyes were psychedelically dazzling, and she was a sweet, shy, gentle soul. She asked me, outside CBGB’s one night after Nervus Rex played, if we’d help out some friends of hers. Her ex-husband, Kevin, was guitarist in a Georgia band called The Fans. But this favor wasn’t for them.

Judy’s friends, Danny Beard and Maureen, came with the deal -- but they were so nice, too. They were the band’s record company and management -- and they were all friends. Judy said this:

“Would ya-all mind throwing a party for some friends of mine, a band from Athens? They’re called the B-52’s. You know, after the hair-do.”

“Well, they’re from Georgia? I like people from Georgia. Are they good?”

“MMmm hmmm,” Judy nodded, “REAL good. That would be so nice of ya-all. . . “

Sight unseen and band unheard, I told Shawn we should do this, because it would be a cool thing to do and a fun party, no doubt. Our last party was a big success, and Shawn’s parents seemed OK with us using their loft. At this time, they were probably in their forties, so I’m sure it was fun for them, too.

At any rate, Judy and Danny and Maureen introduced us to Kate, Cindy, Fred, Ricky and Keith a few months later, and they couldn’t have been nicer, as people. When they played music together onstage, they were so tight that you could feel, and almost see, the energy, like a V-shaped wedge or force field. I had a similar reaction to hearing Television on a good night. . . whatever “it” was, they-all had it.

One night, we did a double bill with the B-52’s at Max’s Kansas City, and it was just an amazing experience, when they got into a groove and played “52 Girls,” “Why Won’t You Dance With Me,” or “Rock Lobster.”

I couldn’t even feel envious that they got all the attention and scooped up management and a record deal in record time. They were simply awesome live, and so much fun. Long live the B-52’s, and Ricky, rest in peace.

1-20-12 Survival Jobs for Writer-Musicians – Starter Job #18 (An aside during “The Rex” -- Second Wave band Nervus Rex in ‘70’s NYC)

Miriam wrote: "Lauren- I remember you lunching on a bowl of cole slaw with Sweet n Low sprinkled atop.. and a cup of tea, of course... at the University Coffee Shop on University and 12th Street. No wonder you maintained that girlish figure! X M"

Of course, I think that sounds totally gross, but at the time, I guess my strange menu choices (and the Sweet ‘n’ Low -- ugh!) were dictated by pocketbook and anorexic disposition. Yup, I was hospitalized for that at the age of 16, and sometimes, old habits die hard. I always wanted to be skinny, and never ever felt skinny enough (even at 79 pounds, in the hospital!). Oh well. Crazy is as crazy does. I am at a sane weight now, but sometimes I miss being the skinniest gal in the room. . . nobody comments on me being thin any more, so being healthy is my lot in life of late. And that’s cool by me.

So, in the late ‘70’s, I made friends with Fran Pelzman and Mary Harron at CBGB’s. Fran was the cutest little gal, very bubbly, whip-smart, short curly reddish brown hair & laughing brown eyes. She was working as a photographer and going out with Billy Ficca, drummer of the awesome New Wavers Television. And Mary Harron, her friend, was also pretty, thoughtful, intellectual, stammered at times, had an English accent (Canadian by way of Oxford education), blonde hair, blue eyes, and was a friend of cool English bands like The Gang of Four.

At any rate, dear Fran Pelzman wrote about my band, Nervus Rex, a lot, and photographed us in the early days. She had a friend, Diana Clapton, who edited this short-lived New Wave Rock Magazine (all of our friends were in it). The fashion editorial called for a lovely “Gamine Waif” type -- and Fran asked ME to pose!

I always wished I could be thin and pretty -- and I never thought I was good enough. But now I was a model! Wow! (or Woe! I dunno.) So for me to pose in color for this really cool ‘60’s tribute fashion spread, I was on Cloud 9. I was in a band at last, and getting recognition for other talents (and looks -- women especially are judged on this and so we sometimes need to know we’re gorgeous). Very cool. Thanks again, Fran.

Now, seeing Diana Clapton’s name and New Wave Rock Magazine makes me remember another really wacky job I had for a few months. . .

. . . But that’s for another blog!!