by Chris Frantz
When my love
Stands next to your love
I can’t compare love
When it’s not love
It’s not love
It’s not love
Which is my face
Which is a building
Which is on fire
On fire
When the band kicked in full force on the word “fire,” the crowd surged forward with a gigantic wiggle and shimmy and I knew then that everything was going to be all right. We got ’em going on the first number. The sound was fantastic and huge and the band was playing with a new power that we had developed over the past six weeks of nightly shows with the Ramones. There is no better way to improve your performance than by playing repeated shows in front of a live audience. At the end of our set, we received two very solid encores. We had made our mark and we turned the stage over to the Ramones.
The gobbing had not been too bad for our set, but when the Ramones came on and Dee Dee shouted “One, two, three, four!” the gobbing was relentless. In the bright lights it appeared to be a monsoon, but the Ramones soldiered on regardless. The audience adored them and couldn’t get enough. They went from song to song without a word or a pause, until about halfway through the set when Joey said, “We’ve got a new single out. It’s called ‘Sheena Is a Punk Rocker’!” Everyone in the Roundhouse, myself included, thrilled to the undeniable supremacy of the Ramones. Damn, they were good!
The second night at the Roundhouse was every bit as great as the first. The Ramones were the stars, but we were the artistic upstarts who nearly stole the show, not that any band could really steal the show from the Ramones. Linda Stein had arranged an after-party at a restaurant called Country Cousins with hot dogs and drinks. I still have the image burned in my memory of Tina surrounded by the bass players Dee Dee Ramone, Captain Sensible, and Sid Vicious. Tina is showing them her bloody fingers and they are all grimacing and Sid says, “But, Tina, have you ever tried using a plectrum?”
The next morning we were off to Heathrow Airport and then back to New York City. We said goodbye to all of our wonderful crew. They had been such troupers and really a great help to all of us. Tina and I gave each of them a Swiss Army knife with TALKING HEADS engraved on it. There were bear hugs all around and, for Tina, kisses. We knew we would be back as soon as we could and that these guys would be there for us. But first, Tina and I had a wedding to attend in Kentucky.
30
OUR WEDDING IN WASHINGTON, KENTUCKY
When we returned to New York from London, we had a lot of things to do. We had booked four days at the ODO recording studio located under the newly opened Studio 54 with our engineer, Ed Stasium, to finish recording David’s vocals and make a few fixes and final overdubs on our new album. Tina carried her bass on a very hot day in its extremely heavy case on the subway from our loft in Long Island City. When she paused to rest for a moment on the steps of the CBS “Black Rock” building on the corner of Fifty-second Street and the Avenue of the Americas, a car full of kids hung out the window and screamed, “Tina! You rock!” This made her feel good despite the heat and the jet lag. She felt even better when Ed told her that her parts had been played perfectly with no fixes required. If only she had known before schlepping her bass all the way across town! Bobby Grossman, one of our RISD friends, took a studio shot of the band by the recording console and also a photo of Jerry’s torso to be used for the single sleeve of “Psycho Killer.”
* * *
There were ten days until we would be married in Washington, Kentucky, a village of five hundred people where my grandfather was born. My grandmother still lived there in the stately Georgian-style home my grandfather had grown up in. My grandparents bought it and carefully restored it after they retired. Tina had visited Washington with me a few years before to meet my grandmother, who we called Mammy, and they hit it off very well. When it came time to decide where our wedding would be, Washington seemed like a winning choice. We wanted a smallish, low-key wedding to be attended by family and a few good friends.
We were fortunate that my mother, Suzanne, and Tina’s sister, Nanu, took care of all the arrangements while we were off on tour. Together they handled everything perfectly. When we arrived in Kentucky, there were three days of parties for us and our guests that were hosted by my grandmother’s very generous friends in their beautiful homes. Our friends from New York City were charmed to find out that Southern hospitality was a real thing and the Kentuckians were thrilled to meet all the stylish, young New Yorkers. To be welcomed with such great warmth made Tina and me feel very happy and relaxed, indeed.
Tina and I had to get our marriage license at the courthouse five miles down the road in Maysville, Kentucky. Before we could do that we had to be examined by my mother’s cousin, Dr. William Cartmell, who had been practicing medicine in Maysville for fifty years. He looked at Tina and said she was going to make a very pretty bride. Saying it was a formality, he asked us if we were any kin to each other. We said no. He looked us up and down and said, “Well, you look okay to me. You all have a happy marriage and take good care of each other.”
The rehearsal dinner that night was held across the river in Ohio at a charming new place called The Winery, where they made their own wine. The guests sat outside at tables on the deck overlooking the great Ohio River. It was a gorgeous, sunny evening and not too hot. All of a sudden we were serenaded by a brass band that had appeared out of nowhere, led by my mother’s good friend Harriet Cartmell, Dr. Cartmell’s wife, who happened to be the mayor of Maysville. The band played “Strangers in Paradise” and “My Old Kentucky Home.” Then, as mayor, Harriet presented Tina and me with the keys to the city.
After a lovely dinner and many happy toasts, my brother, Roddy, drove me back to my motel in a Lincoln Continental Mark IV that our father’s friend loaned Tina and me. Quel luxe! Tina was sleeping with her family at the farm of my grandmother’s friends, Andy and Mary Louise “Hula” Duke. I was told she got the nickname Hula because once, as a student at the University of Kentucky, she was observed by some boys through her dormitory window dancing the Hula in the nude in front of a mirror. The nickname stuck. She was a grand dame now and a pillar of the community, but still loads of fun.
The next morning was our wedding day. Tina’s sister Nanu and her husband, Fred, hosted a fine, big breakfast for everyone at Caproni’s Restaurant by the river. My grandmother, Mammy, gave a beautiful toast about how a marriage can have many challenges, ups and downs and twists and turns. Then she showed Tina and me a big knotted white cord, asked us each to hold to one end, and said, “When things get really bumpy, and they will, Chris and Tina, you all just hang onto this!”
Tina’s ivory silk gown consisted of a long-sleeved blouse tucked into a long straight sheath, over which were buttoned two panels of tiny pleats. It was designed and sewn by Virginia Hatley, Tina’s dear friend who had worked with her at Henri Bendel. Virginia had recently married Tina’s former boyfriend from RISD, Peter Coan, who now practiced architecture with Tina’s brother, Yann, at their new company Red Roof Design. The gown would have a second life thirty-seven years later when our son, Egan, married the exquisite artist Elizabeth Wendelbo, of the Xeno & Oaklander electronic duo.
June 18, 1977.
Tina’s sister Danielle was the matron of honor. The bridesmaids were Tina’s sisters, Lani, Letitia, and Laura, and my little sister, Ruthie. They were the prettiest bridesmaids I have ever seen before or since, dressed in white gowns, sewn by Tina’s sister Nanu, with crowns of silk wildflowers in their hair. Tina’s nieces, Laura and Erica Dorwart, were the flower girls and their little brother, Marc, was the ring bearer. The ushers were my brother and best man, Roddy; Tina’s brother, Yann, and my cousins Tommy Fryman, Holton Cartmell, and Jeff Allen. Like me, the men were dressed in khaki summer suits and identical striped blue, silver, and red rep ties from Brooks Brothers.
My mother’s roommate from college and close family friend, Jean Marie Edwards, arran
ged the flowers with the utmost simplicity and elegance.
We were to be married in the little white clapboard Washington Presbyterian Church next door to my grandparents’ home. Because Tina’s parents were Catholic and mine were Episcopalian, the service was performed ecumenically by Catholic and Episcopal priests as well as the presiding Presbyterian minister. The service was brief but very traditional. Tina and I were fine with tried and true wedding traditions. Our lives were creative enough as it was, and we didn’t want an alternative wedding. For the moment, we chose to be relaxed and informal, but, at the same time, completely committed. We wanted people to know that we were serious about our union.
Tina’s father walked her proudly down the aisle as I waited at the altar in the hot little church. Tina arrived at the altar looking absolutely adorable. No veil. She really was a vision of loveliness with a crown of silk wild- flowers and a bouquet of Lily of the Valley. I was a very happy young man. We exchanged our vows with confidence, but when Tina got to “lawfully wedded hu-hu-husband,” she dissolved into a laughing fit! I could feel a large drop of sweat fall from my forehead and land with a splash on my lapel in exaggerated slow motion. Evidently, the word “husband” was just too much to take seriously, and who could blame her? I laughed heartily, too. But then I said, “Tina,” and she kissed me on the mouth.
Everything else went according to plan and, after we were pronounced man and wife, we walked back down the aisle to the lawn outside the church. It was cooler outside and Tina and I were in a state of bliss as we kissed and held hands and mingled with all the guests. Seymour and Linda Stein were both dressed in white and clearly enjoying themselves, along with Ken Kushnick, who was our main man at Sire Records. My high school friend Pat Hannah took a beautiful photo of this gathering on the lawn, a moment I often recall with a feeling of great tenderness.
Everyone was relieved to get outside into the cooler air. We walked a short distance down the road to the Broderick Tavern, where we celebrated with champagne and a classic white wedding cake. I cut the cake with Tina’s father’s dress sword from the Naval Academy—the same one, I’d been told, he had threatened to run through some of his daughters’ boyfriends (but fortunately not me). Music was provided by a portable record player playing the new Rumors album by Fleetwood Mac, chosen because it was popular and inoffensive. We didn’t have an official wedding photographer, but Tina’s mother, Laure, took some great photos of the wedding party—except for my grandmother, Mammy, who was off flirting and showing the sights to an old college beau, James Cogar, who shared her interest in historic preservation. James had been the president and curator of the restoration of Colonial Williamsburg in Virginia and was currently planning the restoration of Shakertown in Kentucky.
After a little while, the party moved over to Maysville to Harriet Cartmell’s mother’s place. Her name was Rebecca “Beck” Hord and she, too, had been the mayor for many years. She and Harriet hosted a buffet supper for all of us in the wedding party and our guests in her stately home filled with art and antiques. Seymour Stein, an avid collector himself, just stared with his eyes bugging out and said, “Look at this!” As we dined on country ham, corn pudding, tomato aspic, transparent puddings, and other Kentucky fare, everybody loosened up and got to know one another. My parents and Tina’s parents were clearly happy and relieved. They really liked each other. My parents were crazy about Tina and I think Tina’s parents were fond of me, too, although Tina said on the drive to the wedding they had told her, “You know, you don’t have to go through with this. We always say this before a wedding.” It seems they weren’t sure that I would be emotionally strong enough for Tina. Fortunately, forty-two years later, I’m still strong and so is she, in fact, now more than ever.
Not wanting the party to end, we Talking Heads and some of our friends changed our clothes and drove a few miles down the river to a roadhouse where the Boxtops were playing. The band sounded great from outside, but the place was packed to bursting and this was not the type of joint to give us VIP treatment. We were pretty tired and tipsy by this point anyway, so Tina and I went back to the Dukes’ farm. They had given us their luxurious master bedroom for our wedding night, and we slept together for the first time as hu-hu-husband and wife in a big brass bed. Our mothers were greatly pleased that we were no longer “living in sin.”
31
HONEYMOON INTERRUPTED
On June 19, I awoke beside a sweet and sexy, sleeping Tina Weymouth Frantz. I won’t lie, the hangover I had was a dreadful one and I was parched with thirst, but to see Tina sleeping so peacefully in her supercute wedding trousseau nightie did wonders to ameliorate the pain in my head. In fact, in spite of being hungover, jet-lagged, and generally exhausted, I felt really good.
Downstairs, our parents and the Dukes were already enjoying a fine country breakfast of bacon and eggs with grits and fresh fruit. After brushing my teeth and drinking a few big glasses of cold water, I woke Tina as gently as possible with a long, sweet kiss. In spite of not really being a morning person, she was beaming. We took a shower together and, feeling greatly refreshed, joined our family for breakfast. We were offered Mimosas to drink and, boy, they tasted divine. We lingered over breakfast, basking in the love and affection our parents were giving us. All was right with the world.
As a wedding present, my parents had given us a weeklong honeymoon at the Cloister at Sea Island, Georgia. Tina and I would be driving those 750 miles in the Country Squire and it was time to go.
Both of us were wistful to leave little Washington, Kentucky, and our parents. Tina was especially wistful, but Sea Island was paid for and waiting! So we had a look at the map and off we went, like the bride’s nightie.
Newlyweds at Hurrah.
It was hot—unreasonably hot and humid—and the Country Squire had a slow oil leak, so I had to stop every fifty miles or so to open the hood and add a quart of oil. It was a beautiful drive south through the Appalachian Mountains and then over to the coast. After about twelve hours or so we arrived at the Cloister. It was 2:00 in the morning. I had warned them we’d be running late and the night man took us to our beachside bungalow. We were really excited and feeling frisky until we got inside and Tina cried, “Oh, no! Twin beds!” Sure enough, there were neatly made up twin beds with a table and lamp between them. I tried to calm her down, but she was so disappointed and tired that I promised her we would take care of it in the morning. We both crawled into one bed and went straight to sleep.
Early the next morning, I found our housekeeper, a charming, plump Sea Island lady by the name of Sassy. I told her about our problem and took her into our bungalow and she said, “Oh! What you all want is the Honeybed!” She simply removed the table between the two beds and pushed them together. She pulled off the twin white sheets on each bed and replaced them with pink pillowcases and king-sized pink sheets over both beds and—voila! The Honeybed! Why hadn’t I thought of that? Tina was very happy now and when Tina is happy, I am happy. When Sassy left, we thanked her and christened the Honeybed with newlywed passion.
Tina and I enjoyed the food and the beach at The Cloister. The atmosphere was that sort of Deep South luxe that is undeniably wonderful. Every detail was perfect in traditional southern, colonial style. There were many other newlywed couples there and you had to dress for dinner, meaning a jacket and tie for men, summer dresses for the ladies. We came prepared, as we always do. It was a far cry from the Bowery. The other guests seemed kind of square to us, but they were nice and friendly. There was a big buzz that President Jimmy Carter was arriving soon, which we thought was a hoot. We were fans.
After two more days of sun and swimming in the sea and much Honeybedding, Tina and I had to interrupt our honeymoon to fly up to New York to be the opening act for Roxy Music’s Bryan Ferry’s solo show at the Bottom Line. We did not know Bryan personally and we wouldn’t have agreed to this for just any band, but we were big fans of Bryan and Roxy Music. We knew that his audience would be very receptive to Ta
lking Heads. Also, to play at the Bottom Line put us in a bigger league with Lou Reed, Patti Smith, and Bruce Springsteen. It was still a nightclub, but it was the big time. To play there meant that we had truly arrived in New York City. The band was only offered $200, but knowing a good opportunity when he saw one, Seymour offered to pay for our round-trip airfare. We agreed.
Tina and I drove to the Brunswick, Georgia, airport and caught a flight to LaGuardia Airport the day before the show. We met David and Jerry at our loft for a rehearsal in order to sound our best. Our last show had been two weeks before at the Roundhouse in London. We got our thing together, the band sounded good, and we stuck to the same set list we had played on the Ramones tour. We knew it was a crowd-pleaser.
They say that New Yorkers are a tough crowd, but they never intimidated us more than fans in any other city. New Yorkers were among our best and most responsive audiences. So, Tina and I met David and Jerry at the Bottom Line on Mercer Street at the appointed hour for sound check with all of our gear. As often happens when you’re in the supporting slot, the headliner was running overtime and there was nothing we could do about it. It was their show, but this time was worse than usual. Bryan Ferry had apparently told his road manager to make us wait outside. No explanation, just: “You’ll have to wait outside until we’re finished.” So we went outside on the sidewalk on Mercer Street to wait. People were in line for the show already, some of them fans of ours who said, “Hey, Chris and Tina! What are you doing out here? You’re supposed to be inside!” Sounds funny now, but at the time it felt ludicrously disrespectful and inconsiderate of Bryan Ferry. We thought, No wonder Eno quit working with him.