Tonight! The Charlie Manson Band

by Michael Beiriger

  September 28, 1969

  9:00 pm.

  “It’s Freddie John, taking you into the night here on K-OWL!

  That song you just heard was “Look at Your Game, Girl,” at the top of the nine o’clock hour. And we have a very special, very far out guest on our ‘Local Voices’ show tonight, just for all you great K-OWL Kids. A K-OWL exclusive interview with Charles Manson – leader of The Charlie Manson Band, and the writer and singer of “Look at Your Game Girl!” Wow! The phones are already lighting up like craaaaazeee! But before we take any calls, let’s hear from Charlie – welcome to the show, man!”

  Charlie looked at the microphone pointed at him like a man staring at a coiled cobra inches from his face. He didn’t like microphones, or anything else, pointed at him.

  “Thanks, man,” he whispered.

  Marv, who had met up with Charlie at the station, motioned to Charlie through the studio glass to come in closer to the mic.

  “Congratulations, Charlie! It’s always great to see a local group on the charts!” Freddie said. “Where are you from, originally? From around here?”

  “No,” Manson said simply. Freddie and Marv made ‘speak up’ motions to Charlie. “Uh, no – not California. I moved around a lot, saw a lot of things, man.” Charlie laughed his speed trip giggle. “Just livin’, ya know?”

  “Well, did you always play music? Did you study it in school?” Freddie was completely bored with interviewing these musicians. Always the same questions, then the same answers: “The first time I heard the Beatles … hated that old people’s music … wanted to create our own sound … had to give myself a chance at the big city …” But this Manson was a different animal. He was at least ten years older than most of the kids he interviewed on the show, and Manson had a strange, compelling way about him. Not exactly bored, not calm, but focused on something Freddie couldn’t see.

  “Well,” Charlie said, “I learned guitar from a friend of mine when I was about twenty, I guess. But I’ve always written poetry, songs – stuff like that.” He was sitting in the guest booth of the studio, cradling his guitar. Marv had tried to take it away when the interview was coming on, but Charlie wanted it. Now he started to play bits and pieces as he did the interview.

  “Charlie – tell us about your song: “What’s Up –” Marv shook his head at Freddie and pointed to the record sleeve. “Look at Your Game, Girl.”

  Instead of answering, Charlie began to play the song.

  Freddie was miffed. He was losing control of the situation. Manson singing the song during his interview show could be construed as an endorsement by the station – a free ad, more or less. That could be trouble.

  “There’s a time for livin’

  The time keeps on flyin’

  Think you’re lovin’ baby

  And all ya do is cryin’

  Can ya feel - are those feelin’s real

  Look at your game girl

  Look at your game girl!”

  “Very, very cool, man!” Freddie interrupted. “A bonus show, K-OWL Kids!” Manson scowled at him through the window, angry and confused about being stopped.

  Freddie continued. “But your fans want to know about the song, Charlie – what does it mean? What inspired you to write it? Things like that.”

  Manson strummed a loud, angry chord - like a flamenco guitar riff. “Mean? What do you think it means, man? Weren’t you listening? It’s a song – you just listen to the words, right? I’m not trying to preach anything, man! It’s a song for a girl who’s on a bad trip, man – an ego trip thing.” Charlie laughed. “She’s a real bummer chick, man!”

  “Yeah, right on, Charlie!” Freddy agreed nervously. This was really getting wild. Freddy got the feeling that Manson might say anything on the air – that Manson didn’t have the usual awe and respect for the radio gods. Marv was mouthing “Calm down!” through the glass.

  “What I’m all about, Freddie,” said Charlie, in earnest, “is trying to get people to see themselves in the clear light. Beautiful - like they really are. Accept that there’s good and bad in everyone, and dig it. Live together, love each other. Like - Good and Bad are just words, man.”

  “Uh huh” Freddie said, searching his rack of 45’s for a disc to play – and quickly.

  Charlie began to sing again.

  “All the songs, have been sung

  And all the saints, have been hung

  The wars and cries have been wailed

  And all the people have been jailed

  The world - it’s yours my friend

  It’s yours to begin or to end

  Oh, the eyes of a dreamer

  In the eyes of the man”

  He stopped abruptly and began to talk into the mic. “People,” Manson said, “you’ve been trained since you were babies, man. ‘Do this – don’t do that – up is down – black is red.’ I’m just trying to show the people that they don’t have to obey that crap. Free their minds. Free your mind!” he shouted. The guitar chords for another song started.

  Marv sunk in a chair, his head in his hands. Freddie was near panicking now, and the coke they had all snorted before the interview started was not helping. Freddie started to spin the record, and faded Charlie’s mic out. Manson kept on singing, oblivious that he was no longer on the air.

  “Wow, kids! The amazing Charlie Manson!” Freddie crowed over the new music. “He’s gotta split for the Strip right now, but we will definitely have this incredible guy back – he has a ton to lay on us, that’s for sure!” Freddie leaned back as the record took over. Jesus! Just barely got out of that one! he thought. This guy’s a loose cannon!

  A man poked his head in the studio door. “The phones are completely swamped, Fred! They all want to hear more – what’ll we do? We’re supposed to do a call-in contest next!”

  The two men were the only people from the staff in the building. The night shift was usually a quiet time, but now they had to make a heavy decision that would be reviewed tomorrow when the executives came in.

  “You gotta put him back on!” Marv pleaded, now grinning. “C’mon! They love him!”

  Freddie considered his options. “OK – one more song, man!” he told Marv. “But you gotta go in there and control this guy. And no more swearing, or we will all have to answer to the FCC!”

  Freddie turned his mic back on when the song ended. “Bay-Bee! That was this week’s number four song on your K-OWL Hoot Sheet: “Hurt So Bad,” by the Lettermen. Ya know, I gotta tell you – we are getting a phenomenal response for Charlie Manson. All you guys on the phones gotta cool it! We’re gonna have him do one more song, then he’s really gotta go! Don’t change that dial! We’ll be right back with more Charlie Manson!” He pushed a button on his console, and an acne cream ad started to play over the air. “20 seconds!” he said to Manson and Marv over the intercom. “And no more cursing!”

  I See the Party Lights

  1962 Claudine Clark

  September 28, 1969

  9:30 pm.

  Alex had to work at finding his way to the ranch in his rental car. It was very dark and crazy hot for 9:30 pm. He didn’t understand how it could be this hot so late at night – it was almost October. Then the clerk at Rent-A-Wreck explained the Santa Ana winds to him.

  He recognized the ranch turnoff from the Pass road, maneuvered onto it, and immediately worried that the rental Chevy may not be able to handle the rutted road. He made it to the plaza, and Alex saw that the café and surrounding buildings were ablaze with light. Quite a few Family members were hanging around the porch and steps staring at him. Once they recognized him, a joint re-appeared and began to go around again.

  As Alex approached he got a few hushed hellos, but many more distant, even angry looks. Some kind of bummer scene must have happened he thought as he walked into the café. But inside, everyone seemed happy – laughing, singing Charlie songs and hugging. He saw Sandy in the crowd, and made his way to her. Sandy saw him and immediately went stiff, her eye
s darting around, checking the room for something.

  “Hey, Sandy! I’m back!” Alex said. “What’s happening, babe?” He tried to hug her, but she backed off.

  “Alex! I – uh – what are you doing here?” she asked, nervously twisting at her ponytail. “I mean, like, why?”

  Alex was confused, and a little hurt. “Well, I was hoping to see you, most of all, babe!” he said. “Is something wrong?” He looked around the room. “Seem’s like everyone’s pretty stoked right now.”

  She looked down and bit her lip softly. “We were, uh - Charlie was on the radio just now, doing an interview and singing. It was so great! He played a bunch of songs and rapped to the people. People were calling in to the station – for real! We couldn’t get through on our phone the whole time! It was far out!” Sandy was excited about it all over again, and seemed to forget her original hesitation.

  “That’s cool!” Alex said. “I wish I could have - “

  “Alex! What the hell are you doing here?” It was an angry Kat – hands on hips, wearing a sweat-soaked wife-beater undershirt and a dirty blue bandana that kept her hair off her perspiring face.

  “What do you mean? Everyone keeps asking me that!” Alex said, annoyed. “Why wouldn’t I be here?”

  “Not wouldn’t -” Kat scolded, “ – shouldn’t. Didn’t your boss give you the message? We don’t want you out here anymore. We’ve had enough of your questions – we don’t want to read some lies about us in a stupid magazine!”

  Alex needed some time to think. He needed this scene to work out to his advantage. He tapped out a cigarette from the pack, and lit it. “Yeah, I heard that Marv had some kind of hissy fit, but we just chalked it up to him having a bad day, or something. You mean you all feel that way?” Alex looked at Sandy, who dropped her head. “Where’s Charlie – I want to talk to him!”

  “It was a Family decision. Charlie agreed with Marv that we were finished with you. So – you gotta go. Adios.” Kat turned and walked away.

  “C’mon,” Sandy said. She grabbed Alex’s arm and they went out to the porch. Spence emerged from the crowd and followed them, glaring. Once they were all outside, Spence leaned back against the wall of the café and rested one foot on a window-sill, watching.

  “What the hell?” Alex asked Sandy, keeping his voice low.

  “I don’t know, Alex – I don’t know. A few days ago, Marv got all weird and said you shouldn’t be here anymore, blah, blah. And they all said fine.” She exhaled deeply. “I guess we could see each other off the ranch – they didn’t say anything about that.”

  “You’re just going to go along with it?” he asked.

  “Alex – we’re a family. It’s decided.”

  Alex steamed. He had been dumped before, but never because of a cult leader’s orders. Then he remembered the high school girls who could not go out with him because their fathers forbade it.

  “Shit! And the article was really starting to come together, too,” Alex said.

  “I’m sorry,” Sandy mumbled.

  Alex took a last drag from his cigarette and flicked the butt off in an arc into the dirt. A trail of orange embers followed, like a tiny fireworks rocket.

  “Alex!” Sandy screamed, and ran off the porch in a panic. “Are you fucking crazy?!” Alex jumped, unsure of what was happening. Sandy chased the glowing cigarette butt as the wind blew it back toward the buildings. She finally cornered it and stomped it into the dust like she would a black widow spider.

  Sandy walked back to the porch, shaking mad. “Don’t ever do that again, man! This whole mountain will go up in a fucking flash, dude!” she said, snapping her fingers. “The whole state!”

  “I – I’m sorry, Sandy, I wasn’t thinking. I grew up in a place where it’s always wet. I’ll be more careful.”

  Sandy shook her head. “You gotta go, Alex. You don’t understand the first thing about our life here.” She looked down and folded her arms across her chest. “Maybe we can hang out in Hollywood, or something.”

  Alex wished he could have the whole day over again. So far, this trip to L.A. was a bummer. “All right,” he said ruefully, “I dig.” Then he remembered Sherrie. “Oh – I almost forgot!” He pulled out a business card from his motel and handed it to Sandy. “Here’s where I’m staying. You can call me there, or leave a message. And I got a call from Sherrie while I was in Chicago – could you give this number to her, too?”

  Sandy held the card at the corners like it had just come from the gutter, and looked at him strangely. Jealous? Alex thought. That wasn’t like her.

  “I – I don’t know if I can, Alex,” Sandy said.

  “Why? Is she gone?”

  “No, she got put in solitary,” she said.

  “Here?” asked Alex, incredulous. “Solitary?”

  “Yeah – we’ve got a place to put troublemakers, just like anywhere else. It’s a shack at the edge of the ranch. Charlie says it works pretty good in prison.”

  “Wow. Really? Far out – and against the law, by the way,” he said, shaking his head.

  Sandy shrugged. “Best thing for her. She’s always cryin’ and runnin’ her mouth.”

  “Well,” Alex said, “can you give it to her? When she gets out, I mean.”

  Sandy looked at the card again, set her lips tight, and kissed him on the cheek. “I’ll try. I mean – sure.”

  The Big Show

  October 3, 1969

  3:30 pm.

  Four days after the KOWL interview, Marv sat in his office, stewing. He was seriously questioning his whole goal. Even though the radio interview went surprisingly well he was sick of the bullying and strong arm tactics that Charlie, the troubadour Marv plucked from obscurity, was now using on him. Marv was also disturbed by his embarrassing encounter with Sherrie and Manson that night. He doubted that Sherrie knew anything about Charlie that could make a difference, but decided that her threats were important enough to keep Swain away from her and the ranch. Marv called Phil Crane and told him to cancel the story. Charlie had been disappointed at first, but agreed with Marv as he got angrier, thinking about Alex Swain snooping among his girls.

  Maxie was not dealing with all the hassles very well and had even moved out for a while. But after a few days with her mother and father, she didn’t waste any time coming back when Marv tried to apologize. But she was very firm: Manson and his people were not allowed near the apartment and if they came to the office, she would leave until they were gone.

  To stay close to Marv, she still worked at the little office in the mornings. It was usually a quiet time and they mostly handled phone calls to the East and Midwest. In the West coast scene, nothing ever really happened before noon.

  But quiet was not what Marv craved. On the charts and sales side things were going very well. He knew his strategies were working. The single was solid in all the major markets and, thanks to Charlie’s performance on the KOWL interview last week, “Look at Your Game” was approaching the Top Ten in L.A. – the hallowed plateau of the music business.

  But Marv could simply not supply records to the stores fast enough. He was in the trap that all growing businesses face when they have no bankroll: cash flow death. He had no credit with the record pressing plants owners, who demanded cash. The record stores and distributors would howl with laughter when he asked them to buy the records up front, even when he promised to refund them for any returned, unsold records. They would pay MaxTone, like all the rest of the record companies, in 30 days - at best. Without investors or loans, and sales growing, he would forever be taking in less than he needed to spend at any given time.

  Marv swiveled in his chair, hands clasped, fingertips at his lips. Sunlight glared around the edges of the mini-blinds. The air conditioning was weak, and struggled. He knew no one that could, or would, bankroll MaxTone. Now, after Charlie’s raid last week - even though he had bullshitted him about how much money he got from Jamie - he was flat broke again. He needed more records desperately, and the next u
nrelenting round of monthly expenses was coming up.

  You can’t let this fail! Marv yelled at himself inside. The collapse of MaxTone would be the last straw for his family who, Marv was convinced, all thought he was pretty much a loser. Some even said as much to Marv’s face while making backhanded compliments about the single’s success. And then he would never be able to make up the lost ground between him and his father – that could only be done, Marv was also convinced, by a startling, overwhelming success. Otherwise … Marv didn’t even want to think about that. There must be a way! his brain screamed.

  He considered picking up someone else’s record to promote, but – no. Marv had to remind himself again that all his previous clients were now his competitors. Sell the car? Jeez, get real. Marv knew what was needed, but couldn’t face it. He needed to call his cousin, again. Jamie would not be easy – Marv doubted he would come through. But he had no other place to go.

  Before Marv could pick up the phone to call Jamie, it rang. Maxie announced over the intercom, “It’s Ted Johnston from KOWL.”

  Marv grabbed the phone. “MaxTone Records – Marv Feld here.”

  “Hey, Marv! Glad I caught you! It’s Ted Johnston from K-OWL.”

  “Ted! How’s it goin’? Thanks for that interview time, man! It’s made a world of difference!”

  “Yeah – I think we all got a hit on our hands, Marv! And I need a favor that may work out great for both of us. Can you talk?”

  “Yeah, sure, sure. What’s happening?”

  “KOWL has sponsored a slot at the Rock Fest ‘69 show at Devonshire Downs next week – you, know the big weekend festival thing?” Ted asked. Marv knew about it, of course, but the names were all too big for Marv to even dream that Charlie and the band could join them on the bill.

  “Yeah, big show. Creedence, Hendrix?”

  “Right. Well, our group, the Lemon Pipers, had to cancel – the singer broke his leg, or some bullshit. So, all of us here thought that Charlie might be a good fit for the slot. It’s just an opening day slot, early, I know, but it’s a shot. KOWL seems to be the flagship station for your single and the band’s fans, so it makes sense to get together. What do you think?”