The Zapple Diaries

by Barry Miles

  None of the Beatles went to college . . . Their great area of knowledge and learning was popular music. They would travel across Liverpool, changing buses three times, to hear an American single they had heard someone had or to get someone to show them a new chord.

  The Hells Angels arrive in town, as reported in International Times.

  Programme for Fillmore East, Bill Graham the concert promoter there, bankrolled the Angels’ trip to the Beatles on pain of death (literally). Fillmore East was a rock venue on Second Avenue, near East 6th Street, which played host to some of the biggest names in rock, including a performance of John Lennon with Frank Zappa and the Mothers of Invention on 6 June 1971.

  Chapter 5

  Hells Angels

  IN SAN FRANCISCO ON 7 August 1967, on a Haight-Ashbury walkabout with Pattie, Neil Aspinall, Derek Taylor and ‘Magic’ Alex, George Harrison ran into Hells Angels Tumbleweed and Frisco Pete on the corner of Divisadero. In a friendly gesture George foolishly invited the Angels to visit, even giving them his card. They naturally took up the offer. It took them a while to get it together; money had to be raised for the trip, but this was forthcoming from Bill Graham, the impresario and concert promoter. Over the years he had received four bullets from the Angels, each representing a death threat caused by some slight or disrespect in their eyes. Graham had them displayed in a row: .357s, .44s on his desk. Now the Angels presented themselves in his office. It was payback time. Peter the Monk arrived and explained that they would take back the bullets in exchange for $1,000. Graham no doubt remembered how the New York Angels had hung him out of his second-storey office at the Fillmore East when he tried to stop them wearing their colours in the auditorium. Peter the Monk left with his money. On 4 December 1968 George sent round a memo that read:

  Hells Angels will be in London within the next week, on the way to straighten out Czechoslovakia. There will be twelve in number, complete with black leather jackets and motorcycles. They will undoubtedly arrive at Apple and I have heard they may try to make full use of Apple’s facilities. They may look as though they are going to do you in but are very straight and do good things, so don’t fear them or uptight them. Try to assist without neglecting your Apple business and without letting them take control of Savile Row.

  It was initially intended to start the Zapple series with an album by Ken Kesey, whose Merry Pranksters had been one of the inspirations for the Magical Mystery Tour. Communications with him had been inconclusive, and he was not on my list of people to record in the first batch. However, Kesey had decided to attend the Grateful Dead-organized Hells Angels trip to London, which worked out perfectly. As I was just about to depart on my recording trip to the USA it was decided that Derek Taylor would produce Kesey’s album in London; perhaps recording his impressions of the city or a live reading. It was up to him to decide. It was through Kesey, who sent a note to George Harrison, that Apple knew that the Angels were expected.

  The first news of the arrival in Britain of thirteen family heads from some of San Francisco’s tribes came in the form of a telephone call from Heathrow customs asking for £250 in shipping charges for two Harley Davidson choppers. Apple paid. The party consisted of Kesey, Peter Coyote from the San Francisco Mime Troupe, Peter the Monk (their spiritual adviser – a Buddhist monk turned Hells Angel, real name Peter Zimmels), Slade and Spider from the Pleasure Crew, Frisco Pete and Bill ‘Sweet William’ Fritsch and their ‘old ladies’ Blanhe and Frankie Hart a.k.a. Frisco Fran, two Deadheads Connie Bonner and Sue Swanson, and the Grateful Dead’s two managers, Danny Rifkin and Rock Scully. The party had begun as soon as the Air India DC-8 took off on 23 December. There were not many passengers aside from the Angels on the overnight flight, so they took over the middle of the plane, let all the seatbacks down and covered them with their sleeping bags, the airline blankets and their coats and sat cross-legged in a giant circle. Kesey told them Northwest Indian and Eskimo stories, and someone produced a harmonica; they had a sing-song and a bit of jam session. David Dalton wrote, ‘To complete the picture, Peter Coyote’s injecting himself in the stomach with Vitamin B12 and methamphetamine. He’s got hepatitis, and Doctor Feelgood, the famous New York City doctor, has given Peter his own secret remedy, a walking cure for hepatitis.’1

  As the plane approached London in the early morning fog Kesey wrote in Demon Box, ‘everybody realized that after our transatlantic antics a customs check was almost certainly coming up, and what couldn’t be flushed had better be swallowed. Up to the bustling British customs table we floated, a big-eyed baker’s dozen from America, in leather and furs and cowboy hats and similar fashionable finery. The weary officer sighed sorely at the sight, then politely searched us for three hours, even the cylinders of the two Harley Davidsons.’2 Everyone had gone to the Nothing to Declare line except for Peter who went to the red zone with his brown paper bag filled with syringes and weird-looking bottles of medicine. The customs officers’ eyes lit up with delight when they saw him. It took him a long time to pass through but not as long as it took to get the choppers out of customs.

  Naturally the motley crew headed from the airport straight to 3 Savile Row in an assortment of Land Rovers, cabs and motorcycles, some of which had been sent by Apple. Jimmy Clarke, the Apple doorman-cum-security guard, got an awful shock as they pulled up and the two Angels precariously balanced their choppers on their stands directly across the street from Apple’s front door. He listened courteously to their request to see George and explained that he didn’t doubt for one minute that they were indeed friends and guests of George’s but that it was still early in the day and he was not in yet, so would they mind waiting. The tea ladies bustled around, making them tea and crumpets, and by the time Derek Taylor arrived they were all crashed out, having been up all night and jet-lagged, sleeping on couches in the waiting-rooms and in George’s office.

  George showed up at midday and gave them the tour of the building before disappearing. Ringo made a fleeting appearance. The Californians had made no plans, expecting to stay with George in his mansion. Derek Taylor had to explain that George’s house was completely booked up but had he known they were coming things might have been different. Now the Apple staff had to sort out accommodation for thirteen. As the two Angels were the only ones actually invited by George to stay, they, their girlfriends and their bikes were sent to Ladbroke Grove in Notting Hill to stay with Apple press officer Richard DiLello – the ‘House Hippie’ – who shared a flat with Stanley Mouse the cartoonist and David Dalton, who had been commissioned to write the text for the Apple book to accompany the album Get Back. Most of the others were sent to a large ground-floor flat belonging to a friend of a friend of someone on Prince of Wales Drive in Battersea. Somehow space was found for everyone across town, although some of them stayed in a large room at the top of the Savile Row building that was already occupied by American hangers-on, who had managed to infiltrate the Apple office.

  Paul’s and John’s declaration on prime-time television that they would help everyone had naturally attracted all manner of cranks and mentally disturbed people, all of whom had to be dealt with by Apple’s long-suffering staff. This included a group of hippies called the Firedog Family from Fort Smith, Arkansas, led by ‘Emily’, who had arrived at the doorstep and somehow insinuated themselves into the building, where they had been given a large room in which they lived, ate and slept. Kesey was astonished that they had even made it through the front door as ‘they were even scruffier than we were’. He described them in Demon Box. ‘Half a dozen big bearded dudes with ragged grins, a bunch of naked noisy kids, and one woman – a skinny redhead on the sinewy side of thirty sporting a faded blue dress of hillbilly homespun with matching hicky twang. “We’re the Firedog Family . . . I had this dream me and John was running side by side through the electric-blue waters of the Caribbean and he looked at me and says, ‘Come Together.’ . . . We know they is in the building . . . Y’know, don’t you, that the Beatles is the most blessed people o
n earth? They are.”’3 The Angels were not particularly appreciated by those working at Apple, who were, after all, trying to run a record company. Apple director Peter Brown described them as ‘a travelling entourage of smelly, stoned, long-haired Californian hippies in bells and love beads’,4 and most of the staff were outright scared of them.

  Grateful Dead manager Danny Rifkin spent quite a bit of time at my place, but I don’t recall if he was actually staying there. It was great to hear all about the San Francisco scene, and he wrote a report on it for International Times. We went to the Portobello Road market, and he wheeled a Victorian coal scuttle all the way back to Westminster. His most memorable line came when he finished rolling a joint on a tea tray, smoked it, then swallowed the tiny roach. ‘Now your tray’s clean, man!’ he pronounced. I was delighted.

  After sorting out their accommodation, and meeting George and Ringo (Paul was in New York, John was getting ready for the Apple Christmas party that evening), the Angels and their party set out to explore London and try out some of those British pubs. Meanwhile Sally and Diana, the Cordon Bleu cooks, spent the day cooking a 43-pound turkey and finishing the arrangements for their long-planned gourmet banquet to be held in the boardroom.

  Christmas was a big event for the Beatles: they always made a special Christmas-themed record to send to members of their fan club; when they were touring they always did a Christmas Show at the Hammersmith Odeon; and Brian Epstein always laid on a fabulous Christmas party for their staff, complete with presents that Brian himself chose. The Beatles continued the tradition at Apple, and the internal memo issued for the Christmas party held on 23 December 1968 read:

  In the middle of the party we will be visited by Ernesto Castro and April, entertainers to the Queen and the Duke of Cornwall and the late Sir Winston Churchill, MacDonald Hobley and others. Mr Castro is a conjurer, ventriloquist and children’s entertainer. April is his assistant and also his wife and she plays guitar. So the idea is that all of us at Apple will bring our children and those of us who have no children are invited to bring a couple unless they can arrange to have one of their own in the meantime.

  Over a hundred children attended the children’s party, held at 2.30 p.m. in Peter Brown’s office where they sang and danced, and consumed a mountain of sausage rolls, ice-cream and Christmas cake. Ernesto and April ended the show with a powerful rendition of the ‘Lettuce Leaf Hop’, and then the children went to meet John and Yoko, dressed identically as Mother and Father Christmas, in the press office where they handed out presents to staff and families of staff, ‘ho-ho-ho-ing’ and full of good cheer, assisted by Mary Hopkin, and a fun time was had by all.

  Meanwhile those without children, the press and those who had already received their presents gathered in the press office in more or less two groups, those who were smashed on whisky and beer and, in the small back room, those who were smashed on pot and hashish. John and Yoko, out of their costumes, sat on the floor cross-legged, surrounded by Emily’s Firedog Family, waiting for the food to be ready. Suddenly Frisco Pete, stoned out of his mind on hash and drink, pushed his way through the crowd with giant strides and stopped, glaring down at John Lennon. ‘What the fuck is going on in this place?’ he screamed. The room went silent, the enjoyable atmosphere immediately soured by this unwelcome intrusion. ‘We wanna eat! What’s all this shit about havin’ to wait until seven?’ The Angels had been drinking all day, and it had not occurred to them to eat so they were tired, jet-lagged and hungry. Alan Smith, a music journalist and the husband of Mavis Smith who had started work in the press office at Apple only two weeks before, stepped forward saying, ‘Let’s have a little consideration.’ It was a mild rebuke, but in response Frisco Pete closed his fist and punched Alan in the face. Kesey, who thought that Alan Smith worked for Apple, gave a colourful, and probably exaggerated, description of what happened next. ‘The executive went somersaulting backward all the way to the wall, where he slowly slid down in a pile against the baseboard and lay there, like a rumpled rainbow. The room suddenly polarized, all the Englishmen springing to one side of the carpet to surround their clobbered countryman in an instant display of British pith, all the Yanks to the other.’ Kesey took off his watch ready for a fight as Pete challenged the room. ‘Anybody else?’ he asked. Derek Taylor sent Richard DiLello to fetch Peter Brown who was, fortunately, just outside in the hall. Richard continued the story in his autobiography:

  Peter Brown glimpsed in two blinks what was happening. The House Hippie gulped and closed his eyes as Peter walked calmly up to the San Francisco chapter of the Hells Angels Motorcycle Club. Tapping him lightly on the shoulder, Peter Brown moved between John Lennon and Frisco Pete just as a fresh flow of verbal punches was about to begin. An audible intake of breaths circled the room.

  ‘Now listen, Pete, we have every intention of feeding you and I apologize for the delay, but I was hoping you could appreciate that the kitchen staff have been working since 9:00 and they’ve been under considerable pressure. We’re waiting for the caterers to finish laying the tables and it shouldn’t take more than another ten minutes and then we can all go downstairs and gorge ourselves to death but please, I beg you, be patient.’5

  Frisco Pete turned and abruptly left the room, so the Americans didn’t have to beat anybody up. Unfortunately when the door to the boardroom was opened ten minutes later Frisco Pete charged in, grabbed the turkey, tore off a leg and began chomping on it. He and his fellow Americans demolished the feast, eating with their hands and drinking the fine wines from the bottle, leaving the cutlery and glasses unused. By the time the rest of the guests had filed in there was nothing left. Sally and Diana, who had spent weeks planning their gourmet Christmas dinner with all the trimmings, complete with candles and crackers, were devastated to see it all demolished. Tony Bramwell wrote, ‘It looked like a battlefield. The Merry Pranksters had ruined the whole event and now they were seriously drunk and mean. They threw up on carpets and insulted their hosts. Enough was enough, and a few days later they were turfed out of the building by George who was very embarrassed.’6

  Ken Kesey in full cowboy mode, dressed for the tourists in London (all his clothes were probably bought at Carnaby Street). Kesey, through his notorious acid tests, was the leading exponent of the sixties drug culture.

  There was a bit of a struggle when it came time for the Angels to leave and a few of the bigger men had to assist them out of the building. It was generally thought that next time George wanted to invite a bunch of thugs to Britain he should have them stay at his place, not the office. It was several days after Christmas when Frisco Pete and Sweet William left London, intending to go to Czechoslovakia to fight against the Russian-led Warsaw Pact invasion which ended the ‘Prague Spring’. Styling themselves as ‘freedom fighting gorillas’ – their spelling – they headed off towards Harwich, intending to take a ferry to the Hook of Holland, but the English weather was too much for them, the snow and ice incapacitated their choppers, and they never even made it to the port. Presumably Apple paid to ship their choppers back to the balmy sun of California. The Russians were no doubt relieved.

  Ken Kesey had originally arrived at Apple in nothing but the clothes he wore, an unwashed tunic and large cowboy hat, jeans and boots – no luggage. Tony Bramwell, as head of promotions, was given the job of making him look presentable to the media for interviews, photographs and so on, the usual press office stuff. As Bramwell wrote, ‘With money no object, he soon got the knack of shopping. I can’t say I blame him. It was all free, and Carnaby Street had some wonderful things to offer.’7

  Kesey recorded nothing when the Angels were in town, he was too busy hanging out and exploring, but he returned to London in the new year with his wife Faye and their three children and borrowed a flat in Hampstead. He chugged around town in a borrowed 1958 Cadillac with huge fins, and each day he took the tube to Apple, where he had a desk and an IBM Golf-Ball typewriter (something much sought after in the building – being a published write
r obviously gave him higher status than most). He was also given a portable tape-recorder, presumably a Uher 4000 Report, the best low-cost professional portable around at the time, as I doubt that even Apple would have trusted him with a Nagra. While I was away he borrowed my Revox A77 to play back his tapes, which made sense.