2-23-12 Survival Jobs for Writer-Musicians – Starter Job #51 (Elder Care -- an Introduction to Working with Greenwich Village seniors)

How are Greenwich Village oldsters different from any others? I found that out when my friend, Jack Baittinger (now called Zach), asked if I’d be available to help look after an older woman who lived in the West Village. Part of her story was, she lived in the village during prohibition, and might have even met Dorothy Parker (!).

Or maybe it was Edna St. Vincent Millay. At any rate, my new elder-care charge was about 80 years old, and somewhat in the throes of dementia -- though at the time, we figured she was an ornery old woman who liked to get attention by doing outrageous things. This might have been one of the problems with getting a permanent assistant for her.

I was planning my trip to London and needed to do any kind of work to get by. . . the Nervus Rex income was drying up, and I was able to grab more freelancing and some good paying transcription work, as well (for Martha Hume, I think).

So I went to meet this legend of a woman, Nadya Olyanova Carruthers. A noted handwriting analyst (or graphologist), she was a pretty big deal for a while. In fact, when I met her, she had me write a page in longhand as a sample for her to analyze before deigning to hire me as a part time helper.

I passed the test -- for years, I had studied graphology informally and made sure I had all the good traits, or at least, I cultivated them. “Change your handwriting, change your personality, change your future,” was the idea -- and as a kid, I desperately wanted to change because I was one unhappy twelve-year-old. Of course, now I know that most 12-yr-olds are desperately unhappy, but I digress.

(from the NY Times obituary in ’91) Nadya Olyanova, a graphologist who analyzed the handwriting of Adolph Hitler before his death and said he showed strong suicidal tendencies, was a consultant to the psychiatric services of Kings County Hospital in Brooklyn and to the Menninger Clinic in Topeka, Kan. She was also a consultant to psychologists, psychiatrists and businesses.

Born in a small town near Kiev in the Ukraine, she was brought to the United States as a child and grew up in Brooklyn.

In the early 1930's she studied psychology in New York with the Austrian psychoanalyst Alfred Adler. She had a weekly radio show on WOR and analyzed the handwriting of thousands of people.

In the fall of 1939, six years before Hitler's death, she wrote in The Ohio State Journal in Columbus: "Characteristic of Herr Hitler's handwritings are three outstanding traits: indecision, depression and morbid introspection. It takes no handwriting expert to recognize the cramped, drooping uncertain signature as a manifestation of the Fuhrer's cramped, self-centered approach to life."

Now that we know more about this amazing woman, I’ll come back and talk about what it was like to care for her in 1981. . .

2-22-12 Survival Jobs for Writer-Musicians – Starter Job #50 (further info re last blog & M. Henry Jones)

Ah, as our friend Shawn Krushenick Brighton, attests on that ever-friendly FaceBook: “Remember though, trying to finish that stop-animation actually caused Henry a nervous breakdown. He was working 24/7 on it and crashed big time.”

I responded with: Um, yeah, that's right. Too much stress. But I guess I don't (tend to) mention too much of the really difficult stuff when it comes to others. . . I don't know how Henry would feel about telling that, but you're right: he did crash, eventually, and partly because of his perfectionism and doing those kind of difficult things -- before computer graphics & programs that did it for you, he was the hands-on guy, literally! I'll add that in next blog. Thanks. . .

I find it way easier to say the good stuff about individual people, then generalize about the less-than-good traits or habits they took on, and lump that whole category into something that might sound close to moralizing (me, preachy? Never!). It’s just stuff I’ve learned along the way.

And I guess it comes down to philosophy. Do people change? Yes and no; I think, sometimes, if self-aware and motivated enough, people will turn to alternative choices that change them for the better (or sometimes the worse). But mostly, for the better (I just seem to know more positive people than not).

A shy person will always be that way, deep down. They may have altered their behavior along the way, but there you have it. Same with bullies: deep down, they’re always going to have that edge, but if something happens to change that in their lives, their awareness will help them blossom into something better.

I believe that chemical imbalances happen to many people, and many of them are the brightest, most creative, and sensitive people in the world. The artists, poets, musicians and writers who can function often have to overcome more obstacles than we’d like to know about. This is America, land of the rugged individualist and hero, the lone sheriff or lone ranger who sometimes has a sidekick, but no teamwork.

Pah! As with the many group efforts I’ve been a part of, we couldn’t have done it without the team. And because of individuals being different, each team member has/had its own quirks to deal with.

And if Henry had a nervous breakdown doing his work, I’m sure he’s stronger for it. I’ll bet he learned something from it. And you can bet many others have had breakdowns at one time or another -- the lucky ones recover.

The lucky ones, the lucky ones. . . just keep telling yourself, you’re one of the lucky ones.

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!

2-20-12 Survival Jobs for Writer-Musicians – Starter Job #48 (“Oh Bondage, Up Yours!”)

Around this time, a lot of bands came out -- especially from the U.K. -- that were real cute, real pop, and adorable. I loved the Revillos (or Rezillos) who did “Where’s the Boy for Me?” I also loved the immensely amusing X-ray Specs and Poly Styrene who sang “Oh Bondage, Up Yours!” Which reminds me. . .

I actually knew a girl at this time who dabbled in S&M work for good pay. A versatile girl, she did bondage as both a submissive and a dominant. That was an interesting survival job, but the burnout rate and psychic price was way high. Her memoir, “I Was For Sale,” was a real page turner -- not sure if it’s around as a mass market or even available, but this gal was really cool and kind of crazy. But really, who wasn’t? She always had great boots and clothes, and was very secretive, cool, and scary smart.

She was just a little more over the top than most. For a while, she lived out in Brooklyn, near Park Slope, in a cool big old apartment with a guy she married who was certainly interesting. They had a party one time and showed an album of pictures from the wedding and honeymoon. There was a picture of him holding his, shall we say, impressive penis or massive hard-on, sitting back on the bed.

I quickly flipped the page over, thinking they hadn’t meant to leave that in the album. But no: that was a proud memory they shared. She came over, flipped the page back, commented on it, and laughed. Oh well.

Togetherness sure has some interesting connotations; every couple has its limits -- or no limits, in this case. Maybe a little TMI, you know?

That same visit, along with several other friends, we went horseback riding in the Park on some overworked animals who were capable of a brisk canter when least expected. How I held on for dear life with my knees and arms (leaning over on the horse’s neck, holding its mane while holding the reins), I’ll never know. Just glad I didn’t fall off & get hurt. . . horses are big, beautiful, nervous, scary animals!

I still won’t name this nutty girl because I’m not sure she’d want me to. At any rate, she was a hoot and wound up making a lot of money on Wall Street, then moved to France (always a smart girl) where her failing health is aided and abetted by a great social welfare system. She’s still coming up with creative projects and probably some more scams, too.

Here’s to making that smart life choice, like she did. . . and getting your pony AND cookie in life!

2-19-12 Survival Jobs for Writer-Musicians – Starter Job #47 (“Labelled With Love”)

(photo of me circa '81 by SF photog R. . . please help get this guy's name, it's a great shot!)

Real Squeeze fans know about original bassist Harry Kakoulli breaking his leg. So when Glenn called me a few weeks after I broke mine, inviting me to hang with them at their gig in NY at the Palladium, opening for Elvis Costello and the Attractions, I winced and lamented into the phone:

“Oh, Glenn, I did a Harry Kakoulli!”

“Ohhhh. . . sorry!”

“But hey, I can get around OK. I have crutches and there are lots of cabs, you know?” A feisty gal such as I won’t be held back by a silly thing like a 20-pound full leg cast -- right? So, I got all gussied up, hopped down the five flights of stairs one step at a time, and arrived at the Palladium on 14^th street, bedecked in my New Wave best, plus. My boyfriend had all but deserted me, and I was a free gal out on the town -- which suited me fine, as I am madly independent of action and thought.

I went backstage before the show, and was cleared to sit in the wings during both the Squeeze and Costello sets. Sweet! Even if my broken leg was throbbing, I was feeling no pain and very happy to be there, hearing my favorite songs one after the other. Then again, I probably wanted to dance my lil’ ol’ ass off. . . and I doubt I tried it, considering the full leg cast & crutches.

Backstage, Elvis C. was in a great mood, and when I asked him to sign my cast, he gladly did so -- as did the rest of his band and the guys in Squeeze. Of course, would YOU save such a gross thing as a big, dirty old plaster leg cast from 1981? I did, for years -- then one day, I probably came across it and saw the terrible shape it was in and tossed it. Oh well.

I also saw Bebe Buell backstage -- she was madly in love with Elvis Costello, and quite the beauty. I always thought “Girls Talk” was about her. . . anyway, I’d seen her at the Peppermint Lounge, also, maybe it was the year previous? She was chasing after one of the guys from Echo & the Bunnymen. The layout of “the Pep” was a large circle, and I was sitting on a barstool in the bar area. Bebe and the lad must have come through three or four times. It was like a Sylvester and Tweety Bird cartoon. . .

Liz Derringer hung out with Bebe sometimes. . . anyway, the funny things you remember, the visuals! I tend to recall comical scenes -- and maybe a few tragic ones, too.

Anyway, having a broken leg didn’t much slow me down. . . because I played gigs with that leg cast (then they re-set the bones with a half cast), and went out on the town. I got great at hopping up the stairs, pulling myself up with one arm, crutches under the other armpit.

One day, I went up to the hotel where Squeeze was staying to hang out. They had a large suite, and in the middle of this afternoon, quite the party was going on. At a table in the room, Nick Lowe sat with Carlene Carter, his then-wife (or fiancé?). They were both charismatic, warm, sweet, very attractive people. Nick was drinking heavily, and probably she had a few, as well.

At this time on the music scene, the drug of choice was cocaine. For some, they chose heroin, or speedballed both. As a rule, I knew few junkies but a lot of people I knew snorted enough coke to make them foolish, stupid, and rather broke. Coke’s an expensive habit that makes you feel great at first, then you come down, need more, feel great, drink copiously, smoke like a fiend, need more coke, babble like a mad fool with nobody listening, then your teeth start to grind and chatter, then you need more coke, more vodka, more cigarettes. . . then you’re up all night and a total wreck long after daylight. You need a valium or two to get to sleep, and after all that drinking, do you really want to be taking a valium??

‘Twas a vicious cycle at best. Several friends of mine, gifted musicians, were in the grip of that cokefiend weirdness. Eventually they stopped, but the wreckage that behavior left behind was never pretty, and certainly sad.

Because Glenn got preoccupied with band business and a certain Rockette named Sunny, John Bentley, the great Squeeze bassplayer, and I started to hang out. We developed quite the rapport. . . he became a good friend, indeed.

I told the guys in Squeeze that I dreamed of moving to Blighty -- as that’s all I thought about, laying around my little NY apartment, thinking about the great new songs I was writing. I wanted to try to move to England and go solo -- and Glenn and Chris thought that would be cool.

Lo(we) and behold, in a few months, that dream would unfold -- thanks in part to Freddy Laker and his cheap transatlantic flights. . . .

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. . . .