49
Don’t You Forget about Me
R.I.P., J. J. Jackson
Mark:
MTV was a trial by fire. We went through this wonderful, terrible experience together, and it bonded us. It was almost a happy accident that we all liked each other and cared about each other—I’ve had plenty of coworkers in my life I didn’t feel that way about. It had something to do with the circumstances, but it also had to do with the people we became together.
Martha:
Mark and I had our tussles, but we VJs stick together, like brothers and sisters. When my second child was born prematurely, the doctors said he might need a blood transfusion, and that it’d be wise to line up donations from matching friends and family. Mark came to the hospital right away—I remember that more than any arguments we’ve had.
My son was three days old, so tiny, but Mark took one look at my boy and exclaimed, “Dude! What’s up, big guy!” I get a lump in my throat whenever I think about it.
Mark:
We may have been at our closest in Los Angeles, when we were hanging out together by choice. For a while, I lived around the corner from Alan, and often all five of us would end up at his house—Jan loved to entertain. And after J. J. passed away, that cemented the bond between the four of us.
The last time I saw J. J. was a couple of months before he died. We went to see a Lord of the Rings movie together, and afterward, we stood in front of the theater, talking about life and how we had evolved, and the things that were important to us. He smoked a cigarette, and I was pissed at him for that, because I wanted him to take care of himself. At the end of the night, I hugged him and told him I loved him. He was such a caring, sweet guy, and a genuine friend. We got to be very close, especially in those later years in L.A.
Alan:
J. J. died of a heart attack on March 17, 2004. I was immensely sad—we didn’t see each other very much, maybe twice a year, but his laughter and wisdom were always comforting. Aside from my father, I had never had such a dear person in my life die.
Nina:
Maybe J. J. didn’t get the most fan mail, but I think he was the most respected of any of us, hands down. I was gratified to see how many people came to his funeral.
Alan:
I flew to L.A., feeling calm, which is the opposite of how I normally feel when going there. I was going for one reason: to put my friend to rest. Hollywood could suck it.
The memorial service was quite an affair: a packed house that looked like a movie back lot, with actors and extras in a myriad of costumes. People I never would have guessed that J. J. associated with—and Rod Stewart, quietly sitting in the back, weeping.
The four of us took turns at the lectern, speaking about our dear friend; I could see that Martha, Mark, and Nina had all prepared some notes. I didn’t have anything, and I started to have the actor’s nightmare: Not only did I not know my lines, I didn’t know what play I was in. I worried about how I would be received—would I give the best memorial speech of the day? Self-absorption can be a defense mechanism. But when the moment came, the words flowed easily—it was one of the very few times in my entire life I didn’t care about whether I was impressing people. I thank J. J. for my serenity that day.
Martha:
After J. J. died, I got a phone call from one of his best friends, Joe. He told me that he and a friend had a product they were developing that J. J. was involved with, and very excited about, before he passed away. They wanted to know if I would consider taking over J. J.’s involvement.
Joe was like a brother to J. J., and therefore to me. I said, “Joe, whatever you need of me, I will do.”
“Can we pitch the product to you?”
“Absolutely.”
We met at a café in Studio City. I brought Jordan with me, so he could give me his opinion on the product: I figured it was probably a microphone or something else musical.
Joe showed up with his partner, and said, “I just want to tell you, J. J. really believed in this. It was blowing his mind.” I couldn’t wait to see what they had created. They pulled out a box. Jordan and I were on the edge of our seats. They opened it up for the big reveal. Inside was . . . a glass fishbowl with some sand and a few little plastic plants. They adjusted the plants and argued over who forgot to bring the miniature treasure chest. I was still waiting to see what the product was. Finally, Joe presented the bowl with a flourish. He said, “It’s the Invisible Fish.”
Blink. “Excuse me?”
“The Invisible Fish. Like the Pet Rock. It’s going to be the next big thing. And we want you to be the face of the Invisible Fish. We’ll send you to trade shows, gift shows. We’ll get you booked on Good Morning America. You’ll do all of the interviews launching the Invisible Fish.”
Jordan could barely speak. He had his face in his hands, trying to act like he wasn’t laughing. He said he needed to get some coffee and totally abandoned me. I watched him take off, not believing that he was leaving me to handle the Invisible Fish negotiations by myself. Joe was the sweetest guy, and I didn’t want to be rude to him, but I knew there was no way I was getting involved with the Invisible Fish. I came up with an excuse; I said, “Gosh, Joe, I just had a baby. I’m so sorry, I can’t travel.”
That was no problem for Joe: “Oh! You can just do the TV shows, then! Like the Today show!”
Now I was sweating, but I said, “Oh, I wouldn’t want to say yes unless I could be there one hundred percent for the Invisible Fish.”
Afterward, I realized that the night J. J. died, he was driving home from a meeting with these two guys. I knew J. J. loved Joe, and I could picture him wanting to be kind to his friend during the meeting. One thing about J. J.: When he thought something was really funny, he would laugh until tears were rolling down his face. He could get out-of-breath hysterical. Maybe, just maybe, J. J. drove away from the Invisible Fish meeting with Joe and his partner, and busted out laughing after an hour of nodding politely. I imagine that his heart gave out, he pulled over because he felt some pain, and then he died in his car.
When his best friend, Jim Ladd, identified J. J.’s body, he said that his face was very peaceful.
50
We Can’t Rewind, We’ve Gone Too Far
Final Thoughts
Alan:
There are days when I can’t believe I was at MTV, in the middle of everything. Only when fans come up to me with their own ’80s anecdotes does it sink in: That was me, at the best party on the planet.
When I left MTV, I felt like a kid with the rest of my career in front of me. Being a VJ wasn’t the sort of job that made you feel grown up. But through all the ups and downs, I’ve had a charmed life—and I have the Buggles to thank for that.
Mark:
In a lot of ways, I’m happier now than I was in the ’80s. My theory is that the best songs come from pain, not happiness. I think the emotional shit I went through during, and after, MTV has made me a better person. I’m a lot more empathetic and easygoing now. I’m grateful to be part of rock ’n’ roll history, even if I still don’t know quite how to handle it when people come up to me and tell me how much I meant to them when they were younger.
Nina:
At the time, I don’t think I realized how much impact we had on people’s lives as VJs. Not many people get to be part of something like that, and I’m very grateful.
Martha:
In the beginning, everyone told us MTV wouldn’t last. As it turns out, they were right—our MTV doesn’t exist anymore. There’s no videos on the channel now: It’s Jersey Shore and Teen Mom and My Super Sweet 16. Recently, I was shopping at my local farm stand, and the farmer introduced me to a teenage girl. He told her, “This is Martha Quinn—she used to be on MTV.”
She said, “Really? What show?”
Endnotes
Even though the VJs disagree on some of the particulars, this book is truthful to the best of their memories. There are no composite characters; discretion led us to alte
r the names of two ex-boyfriends (“Tony” and “Quentin”) and one drug dealer (“Peter”). Any dialogue in italics is transcribed directly from video of the event (some of it from the VJs’ own collections, some from YouTube). We used many other sources to double-check memories and make this volume as accurate as possible.
The passages in chapter 2 where J. J. Jackson discusses his background and Led Zeppelin’s pool party are excerpted and condensed from the e-book J. J. Jackson Remembers Led Zeppelin: The Music and the Guys Who Made It, by the very kind permission of author Frank Reddon and editor Lou Anne Reddon. The book, based on a series of 1999 interviews with J. J., tells the story of his relationship with Led Zeppelin in depth, and includes J. J.’s song-by-song analysis of the band’s debut album and his memories of their groundbreaking shows at the Boston Tea Party. We strongly recommend it for fans of Led Zeppelin, or of J. J.
Acknowledgments
Thanks to everyone who helped us research this book, especially Ken Clark, the VJs’ former assistant, who not only stockpiled photographs, memos, press clippings, and videocassettes, but graciously opened up his archives and his Oregon home to Martha and Gavin.
Thank you to Daniel Greenberg, a colossus among agents, who has been a pillar of sanity and wisdom. Thanks also to all his colleagues at Greenberg/Levine, especially Monika Verma and Tim Wojcik.
Thank you, on an epic scale, to Amy Tannenbaum, our exceptionally talented and wise editor at Atria. We are also very grateful to everyone at Atria who worked their magic on this book, including superstar publicity director Paul Olsewski, publicist Ariele Fredman, production editor Carly Sommerstein, designer Kyoko Watanabe, copy editor Polly Watson, managing editor Kimberly Goldstein, and, especially, publisher Judith Curr.
In addition to the individual acknowledgements below, the VJs would like to thank our lawyer, David Fox, for motivating us to just write the damn book already. Huge gratitude to everyone at MTV: the executives, the office staff, the crews at Teletronics and Unitel, and the superstar floor staff. Without your efforts, we wouldn’t have had anything to write a book about. Thanks to SiriusXM for valuing our history as much as we do. And finally, we want to send out our heartfelt appreciation to everyone who ever watched or loved MTV.
Nina:
Thanks to my mom and dad, for always supporting my music and acting . . . Danny Sheridan, my longtime manager, who taught me that you really can get paid for being a performer . . . Robert Morton, Sue Steinberg, and Bob Pittman, for hiring me . . . my fellow VJs, for traveling our wacky road together . . . Gavin Edwards, for his talent, insight, and being the calm center of Hurricane VJ—you are indeed the best . . . Debbie “Jettz” Fingerman, for saving my life . . . Hank Hojda, for his wisdom and guidance . . . Martine Collette (and the Wildlife Waystation), my hero! For all you have done on behalf of the animals, you are always in my heart . . . Kelly Vincent, for making my life meaningful—I love you eternally. . . .
Alan:
MTV was the start of my career and the beginning of a lifelong friendship with four disparate, unique human beings. Love to my VJ partners in crime and punishment: Martha, Mark, Nina, and J. J., whose hearty laugh and bear hugs I miss dearly. A heartfelt thank-you to Jan, for living those MTV years with me and for giving me Dylan and Callie, the first two VJ babies. To the man who hired me, Bob Pittman—thanks for seeing the potential in an aw-shucks southerner. A snuggly group hug to all the ’80s artists, MTV and music biz execs, and the army of production folks—many still my dear friends—who were instrumental in creating the madness we delivered to America’s living rooms twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. And finally, to my wife, Elizabeth, and the last two VJ babies, Parc and Lochran—thank you for your love and patience and for acting totally interested as I relived, reveled in, cried over, and cringed at this chapter of Western civilization’s not-so-ancient history.
Mark:
I want to thank Bill Flanagan, David Wild, and Rob Sheffield for all being way too busy to help us with this memoir, and to thank Rob for then pointing us in the direction of Gavin Edwards. It is Gavin’s tireless effort and scholarly pursuit, coupled with a mind that is ordered perhaps to the point of excess, that have helped me to organize the holes in my memory into something that is accurate, concise, and bordering on complete. Also, big thanks to Stacy Creamer, whose input was always available to me, but only when I asked. I often did, and it was always helpful.
Huge kudos, heartfelt thanks, and maximum love to Jill Shapiro for accepting me and loving me, even after learning more than she wanted or needed to know about my past. She has been my sounding board and editor, which can’t have been easy. Thanks to Spencer, my hormonal teenager (her term, not mine). It’s amazing to me, considering what I’ve been a part of, that the brightest moments in my life have to do with her. I hope she won’t ever read this book—for all the reasons that will become obvious once she does.
I have to thank Sue Steinberg, Bob Pittman, the crews at Teletronics and Unitel, and the hugely talented APs, ADs, and directors at MTV, without whom all of this would not have been necessary.
To Nina, Martha, and Alan—I’ve learned so much more about each of them by doing this book. This VJ thing could have gone any number of ways, but for some reason, we all got lucky. We’ve been tied by the slender threads of experience that bind our lives together. They are my friends who have become my family.
And, of course, J. J. I miss that guy. I think he’d be proud his story—our story—was finally getting published. I think we all had him in the room as we moved forward with this project, and I hope he’d approve. I’m sorry we all didn’t get to hear more from the man himself. It was my great pleasure to know him.
Martha:
My life boils down to two phone calls. One was made by Buzz Brindle to Bob Pittman, telling him I should audition to be a VJ. Because of Buzz, I did indeed find myself at the “center of the universe.” To this day, I have the honor of being able to live, work, and breathe music. Because of Buzz, I have the privilege of calling Nina Blackwood, Mark Goodman, Alan Hunter, and J. J. Jackson . . . family. I love you guys so much. It turns out that no amount of time can put asunder what Bob Pittman joined together. For that I am grateful each and everyday. (And thank you, Gavin Edwards, for climbing aboard the VJ crazy train!)
The second phone call that changed my life forever was made by Brett Gurewitz to Jordan Tarlow, inviting him to come down to his studio while I was there. Because of Brett, I married not just “the cutest guy I ever saw in my life,” but the man who would join me in becoming a vegetarian and support me in breast-feeding and attachment parenting. Who would navigate our family through the neonatal intensive care unit and piece me back together after dark days of postpartum depression. All while remaining the “cutest guy I ever saw in my life.”
Gavin:
I am indebted to my brilliant and foxy wife, Jen, for many reasons: The way she made it possible for me finish my work on this book is only the most recent. All my love to her, and to our two boys, Dashiell and Strummer. (And thanks to Strummer for extra inspiration: I was driving around with him when “The Safety Dance” came on the radio. “This song sounds happy,” he said. “What’s it about?” “Nobody knows,” I told him.)
Thank you, Abby Royle, for superhuman feats of transcription, transforming countless hours of conversation into Word files. Thank you, Chris Molanphy and Alan Schwarz, for timely research help. Thank you, my dear friends Jennifer Armstrong, Ted Friedman, and Bill Tipper, for generously offering feedback on early versions of this book.
A special shout-out to Rob Sheffield, whose love of MTV is an inspirational beacon to everyone in the Western Hemisphere. He was instrumental in making this book happen, generously introducing me to both Daniel Greenberg and the VJs themselves (and many months later, offering sage advice on the manuscript). Plus, he’s just an outstanding human being.
Most of all, thank you to Nina, Mark, Alan, and Martha, for trusting me with your stories, welcoming me int
o your homes and your lives, and being the slammingest collaborators around. To adapt an old MTV slogan: With the four of you, too much is never enough.
Mark in the WMMR studios in Philadelphia: “Here I am, looking really pompous about playing Meat Loaf.” (© Scott Weiner)
Nina with her harp: “Taken by my manager, Danny, in the front garden of his parents’ house, in Russell Township, Ohio.” (© Danny Sheridan)
Alan with his high-school girlfriend (and head cheerleader): “Mary, on a Spartans football game day, telling me sweetly that if we don’t win, there’ll be no nookie afterward.” (courtesy Alan Hunter)
Martha’s theatrical headshot from her junior year at NYU: “You can tell I cut my own bangs!” (courtesy John Hart Studio, NYC)
Mark hosts MTV’s first live call-in show, with Hall and Oates—it was plagued with technical disasters. “This must be before it started—everyone looks happy.” (© Ebet Roberts)
Nina: “John Mellencamp has come a long way since his Cougar days of snatching me off my feet.” (© Gary Gershoff)
VJ: The Unplugged Adventures of MTV's First Wave Page 29