Painted Black

by Greg Kihn

  Erlene paused. There was twinkle in her eye. “I’m pregnant.”

  Brian phoned around midnight and told a groggy Clovis to just forget about picking him up. The coast was clear. He had decided to spend the night at Courtfield Road and leave the next day.

  “What could happen in twenty-four hours?” he asked.

  “Plenty,” Clovis wisecracked. “I’m going back to sleep now. Remember, tomorrow Keith and Mick go in front of the judge for the Redlands bust, so be on your toes. There are bound to be reporters around.”

  “Stash is here. We’ll be fine.”

  “Don’t open the door for anyone.”

  Brian and Stash stayed up all night drinking brandy, smoking copious amounts of weed, and listening to John Lee Hooker records. The blues always seemed to soothe Brian whenever he was upset or distracted.

  Brian loved to talk music when he was high. Stash was a good listener and a fellow student of the blues.

  “If you notice, John Lee Hooker never changes chords. The other guys in the band do. It’s implied of course, but he stays on the root chord the whole time. His mind doesn’t work like yours and mine, he cuts right to the essence of the blues.”

  Stash considered Brian’s words. Light filled the eastern skies. Dawn was approaching. The room was full of smoke.

  Stash said, “But I’ve heard you speak of three chords, the universal three chords of life.”

  “Yes, three chords for you and me and everyone else in the world. But only one chord for John Lee Hooker. He only needs one. It’s not about the music with John Lee, it’s about the pain.”

  The morning passed without incident. Brian made tea and toast. John Lee Hooker gave way to Muddy Waters and Little Walter.

  There came an insistent knocking on the door. Brian, immediately paranoid, jumped up and looked around.

  “Who is it?”

  “It’s probably the milkman.”

  “The milkman never knocks twice.”

  “Isn’t that the name of a Hitchcock movie?”

  Brian looked through the peephole and saw an officious-looking gentleman in a brown suit. He foolishly opened the door.

  “Yes?”

  “Brian Jones?”

  Brian’s heart sank. He looked past the suit and saw Detective Sergeant Norman Pilcher looking smug standing behind him.

  “Pilcher!” Brian gasped. “Why do you keep hassling me?”

  “You know the game, Jones. We have a warrant to search these premises.”

  They stepped past Brian. He saw twelve uniformed officers standing outside waiting to come in and toss everything he had upside down.

  Brian stood there stunned as the police swept in. They searched for forty-five minutes, and only thing they came up with were a few joints. Brian stood by, tears streaming down his face.

  “Leave me alone! Why can’t you just leave me alone?”

  Sergeant Pilcher showed Brian a vial containing white powder.

  “Is this your cocaine?”

  Brian held up his hands, visibly shaken.

  “Whoa no! That’s not mine. We smoke weed and hash, it’s true, but I stay away from the hard stuff. Somebody must have planted it. One of your blokes, perhaps?”

  As they left for the police station, a crowd of reporters gathered outside. They had obviously been tipped off. TV cameras lit the morning like a movie set. They were waiting for this moment.

  The cops handcuffed a trembling Brian. It was completely unnecessary, of course, Brian was zero-risk flight threat. It was all for show.

  They led Brian and Stash directly in front of the throng of shouting reporters. They drove them to the Kensington police station. A mysterious purple leather bag containing some grass turned up. Neither Brian nor Stash had ever seen it before. It was clearly a plant by the cops, and Brian complained bitterly. It was all a setup.

  At the police station, there were more cameras and reporters. The circuslike atmosphere was all captured on TV and broadcast around the world. Brian was convinced the tabloid News of the World had engineered the whole thing to boost circulation.

  The message was clear. First Mick and Keith and now Brian. The Stones were under attack from every quarter. The establishment had declared war on the Rolling Stones.

  Unlike the Beatles, who spread goodwill from the British Empire throughout the world, the Stones were dirty. They took drugs and spread dissent. Finally, they were going to get what was coming, according to the papers. The line had been drawn.

  A week later, Brian called Clovis. He was afraid to go home, convinced the cops were out to get him at that address. He’d been staying in hotels around London.

  “John invited me to come over to Olympic and record a sax solo for their new single. All the studios at Abbey Road are booked so they decided to visit Olympic for a change. I need you to pick up my sax and dulcimer at Courtfield Road and take me over there.”

  “You want me to bring you to a Beatles session?”

  “Yes, exactly.”

  Clovis was stunned. “Do I get to hang out?”

  Brian chuckled. “I don’t see why not, as long as George Martin doesn’t throw you out.”

  “But … I work for Olympic, not you. I can’t just drop everything and go.”

  Brian paused. “Why don’t you come and work for me?”

  Clovis shook his head. “I can’t quit my job at Olympic. I need the money.”

  “I’ll pay you twice what you’re getting now.”

  “Now hold on there, pardner.” Clovis banged the phone on the table, then brought it back up to his ear. “There’s something wrong with the phone. It sounded like you said double the pay. You don’t even know what I make.”

  “I can guess. It’s a pittance, correct?”

  “Well, it ain’t chicken feed.”

  “I’ll pay you twice what Olympic is paying you to be my personal assistant.”

  Clovis scratched his chin thoughtfully. “I don’t know, man. … No offense, but you’re no day at the beach.”

  Brian laughed. “Come on, think about it. Do you know how to restring a dulcimer?”

  “Sure.”

  “Tune a sitar?”

  “It would take a while, but yeah …”

  “Fix a hundred-watt Marshall stack?”

  “I got my own soldering iron. No problem.”

  “Then you’re well worth the money.”

  Clovis began to grasp the enormity of the situation. He immediately thought of Erlene. She didn’t like Brian. That would cause problems. But to work with a Rolling Stone … for double the pay. It was too good an offer to refuse.

  “I’ll have to talk to my wife first,” Clovis mumbled.

  “Sure, sure, take all the time you want. But the session is tomorrow, and if you want to go, you gotta make a decision.”

  Back in Baltimore, Bobby read about Brian’s bust in the newspapers. He felt terrible. If he’d been there, maybe he could’ve prevented it. He’d been trying to call Clovis all day but all he got was Erlene.

  “He ain’t here, hon. He’s out workin’ for a livin’.”

  “Well could you tell him to call me the minute he comes in?”

  “Sure, but what’s so all-fired important?”

  “Well, it’s Brian, he—”

  When Erlene turned up the heat, her voice got husky. When she got mad, she barked.

  “Brian, Brian, Brian! That’s all I hear around here. I’m so sick of that man. He’s got Clovis jumpin’ like a goddamn horny toad. I wish he’d keep his nose out of our business.”

  Bobby sighed. “Brian’s just going through a tough time right now.”

  “Tough time, my ass. He’s wicked. I swear. He put the evil eye on Clovis. Him and that German witch of his, Anita.”

  “They’ve broken up.”

/>   The sarcasm in her voice was evident.

  “Oh yeah, I forgot. She’s with Keith now, hopping from bed to bed like a randy little rabbit. That was a real classy move on her part.” The sarcasm gave bite to her words. “They’re all depraved if you ask me.”

  “I was shocked when I heard about Anita and Keith.”

  “I wasn’t. Their karma is terrible. It only makes you wonder what Brian did earlier in his life to have such misfortune now.”

  “Tell Clovis I called.”

  Something in Erlene’s voice sounded uncharacteristically shy and uncomfortable.

  “Bobby?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’ve been having dreams.”

  “What kind of dreams.”

  “Bad dreams. Like we’re all in danger. Like something terrible is going to happen.”

  “Relax, Erlene. Nothing’s going to happen.”

  “That’s what Clovis said. But I have a premonition.”

  “Have you had these dreams before?”

  Erlene was clearly embarrassed. Her voice dropped to a whisper.

  “Uh-huh, I’m psychic. I get ’em all the time.”

  “How many of them come true?”

  Bobby expected a low number, like zero or one. He waited for her answer.

  “All of them.”

  Clovis came home late. He waited for an opportune moment to bring up Brian’s job offer, but it never came. Clovis decided to try another tack.

  “We sure could use some extra money around here with the baby comin’ and all.”

  Erlene hugged Clovis. “As long as we have each other, we’ll be fine, hon.”

  “Well, I’m talkin’ about some real money.”

  Erlene stepped back. “What do you mean?”

  “I had a job offer today for twice the money I’m makin’ now.”

  “Oh, honey, that’s wonderful. Who with? EMI Abbey Road?”

  When Clovis didn’t answer right away, the smile on Erlene’s face dropped.

  “Oh, no … Not him!”

  Clovis nodded. “Brian Jones asked me to be his personal assistant.”

  Erlene’s sarcastic tone couldn’t squelch her Baltimore accent.

  “What do you have to do, score drugs for him and get chicks?”

  “No! Of course not. I’m a professional. I’ll be tuning guitars and changing strings and assisting him in the recording studio.”

  “Goin’ on tour, too?”

  “I guess so.”

  “You’re gonna need that extra money for a psychiatrist.”

  “I told him I had to talk to you first.”

  “At least you did one thing right.”

  Erlene rubbed her belly. “You know what would be nice, hon?”

  Clovis shrugged.

  “A trip to Baltimore after I have the baby.”

  Clovis paused.

  “Yeah?”

  “Do you really want to take this job?”

  A flicker of doubt flashed past Clovis’s eyes, like the shadow of an unseen predator.

  “I do … and I don’t. I mean I love Brian and all, but it’s hard to watch him destroy himself.”

  “Maybe you can make a difference. It’s the Christian thing to do, I guess. I just have a bad feeling about Brian.”

  “Do you have a bad feeling about me?”

  “No, not directly. I just fear that Brian could drag you down. You promise to never sleep with other women or take drugs?”

  “Come on, hon. You know me. I just smoke a little weed now and then. That’s all. I got you. Why would I want any of these skinny stuck-up English groupies?”

  Erlene looked out the window at the streets of London.

  “If you promise to take me back to Baltimore and raise the baby there, I’ll let you work for Brian for one year. We can put the extra money in the bank.”

  Clovis exhaled. “So, you’ll have the baby in London and then we move back.”

  Erlene nodded. “Back to the Big B.”

  Clovis swept Erlene up in his arms. “Honey, you’re the absolute best!”

  “Can you handle this?”

  “If he gets too crazy I can always quit.”

  “Then it’s agreed?”

  John Lennon made himself comfortable in the control room at Olympic Recording Studios. He showed Paul McCartney what he had so far for the song that would later become the flipside of “All You Need Is Love.” They strummed acoustic guitars and composed the song on the spot.

  “It’s great being out of Abbey Road for a session,” John mused. “Gives us a chance to see what else is going on outside.”

  George walked in at that moment, and with incredible deadpan comedic timing, said, “Yeah, but I miss the white lab coats.”

  The Beatles broke up laughing.

  George explained to Clovis, “All the employees of EMI Abbey Road wear coats and ties, and the engineers have to wear white lab coats.”

  Paul bounced around several ideas, finally combining the chorus from another song with John’s verses. “Baby, You’re A Rich Man” came together in the studio in one six-hour session.

  They went from song inception to finished mix in one long pass. Clovis had never seen the Beatles work in the studio. He was amazed at how quickly they moved. It seemed effortless. The Beatles were at the height of their creative powers during this period. They ruled the recording studio like young lords. The band recorded several takes of the basic track before deciding which one to use. They laid down the vocal in two takes.

  Brian was impressed. After the Stones laid-back work ethic, watching the Beatles fly through their session was refreshing.

  Clovis kept out of the way, standing with Brian. During the playbacks, Brian experimented with different instruments lying around from the last orchestral session. Among them was a rare electric instrument known as a Clavioline. It made a spacey keyboard sound and had been used on the Tornados’ classic “Telstar” and Del Shannon’s “Runaway.”

  John wandered into the studio and saw it.

  “Oy, what’s this?”

  “It’s a Clavioline.”

  Engineer Eddie Kramer plugged it into an amp and John began fooling around.

  George Harrison encouraged Brian to try some of the instruments. Brian had originally considered playing sax, and he was an excellent sax player, but somehow it didn’t sound exotic enough. He picked up an oboe and began to play what sounded like an Arabic riff in the intro.

  “That’s it!” John said. “That’s the sound!”

  He began to play the same type of Middle Eastern melody on the Clavioline. John created a weird sound with the Clavioline, and with Brian playing the oboe, it melded and sounded otherworldly. Sometimes dissonant, sometimes strangely in sync, the combined sound was compelling.

  They quickly recorded a track of Brian improvising on the oboe. It was uncanny what Brian could do. The weird Arabic oboe part combined with the Clavioline sounded a little like a backward guitar.

  A few minutes later, John changed his mind and the oboe was dropped. He played all the Arabic parts himself on the Clavioline. It sounded less cluttered that way.

  The Beatles ran through the track while the engineers set up their microphones and got their levels. Ringo was in a soundproof cubicle, smiling and playing his Ludwig drum set. He could see the others and they could see him, but there would be no sound leakage on to the other mics. The Beatles liked to record live with the full band playing on the basic track, then they overdubbed the other parts.

  The vibe was good as the Beatles carried out their magic. Clovis was in awe of them. This is why they are the number-one band in the world, he thought. Nobody else can do it like they do. They were light-years ahead of everyone else.

  Brian pulled John aside. He was disappointed he
couldn’t contribute to the song.

  “Sorry about the oboe, John.”

  “That’s okay. I got the sound I wanted on the Clavioline. We were hoping to get something different like the sax solo you did on ‘You Know My Name (Look Up the Number).’”

  “I brought the sax.”

  “Don’t worry about it, I’m happy with the Clavioline. How is Clovis?”

  “He’s working for me now as my personal assistant.”

  “Good. People don’t understand. We don’t play by the same rules. You need a guy like Clovis.”

  “He just started today.”

  “Let me know if you want anything from me.”

  The Beatles finished recording and mixed “Baby, You’re A Rich Man” by three a.m.

  Clovis drove Brian to Bobby’s apartment. He was afraid to go back to Courtfield Road, thinking the cops had been watching him, tapping his phone, and bugging his rooms. But Clovis brought Brian to Bobby’s place with great trepidation. He knew Bobby would be against it. He warned Brian to be on his best behavior. “Remember, this is Dust Bin Bob’s apartment. Nobody knows you’re here.”

  “Thanks, Clovis. I appreciate it.”

  “I’ll keep you hidden for the time being.”

  “I gotta get out of London. Things are getting worse and worse. Pilcher is out to get me.”

  “Where can you go?”

  Brian thought for a moment, then drew a breath and said, “Monterey. It’s the biggest gig ever. The Stones office has already bought the tickets. We can look up Dust Bin Bob. I want to go to that incredible record store he’s always talking about. You know, the place he took the Beatles to.”

  “The Hi-Dee-Ho Soul Shack?”

  “That’s it! We can invite Dust Bin Bob to go to Monterey with us. I really feel guilty about how I treated him. He fled back to Baltimore to get away from me.”

  “Dust Bin Bob wanted a little time off with his family.”

  Brian said, “Monterey would be perfect. I hear it’s beautiful there on the shores of the Pacific Ocean. We can kick back and hear some great music. Otis Redding, Ravi Shankar, Hugh Masekela, plus all the San Francisco bands like Big Brother with Janis Joplin, Jefferson Airplane, the Grateful Dead, Country Joe, plus the Who and Hendrix. I’ll be introducing Hendrix. It’s going to be huge.”

  “He’ll really love that.”