by Chris Frantz
We rarely opened for anyone else after the Ramones tour of Europe. We continued playing around the Northeast at the Shaboo Inn, in Willimantic, Connecticut, and the tiny Hot Club in Philadelphia. We traveled back up to Maynard, Massachusetts, outside of Boston, where we met Ed Stasium in the afternoon to record a live set with a live audience at Northern Studios. This recording would then be distributed by Warner/Sire to radio stations across the country. When I heard the playback, I thought to myself that not only did we sound better than before, but that there was no other band that sounded like us anywhere. We were still unique.
Later that night we opened a show for the Ramones at the classic Orpheum Theater in Boston. The Ramones had already done their sound check and we set up for our show in front of all their gear. When we asked who the lighting man was, Arturo Vega said that he was. We told him, as usual, that we just wanted white lights. Arturo apologized and said, “Johnny says you can’t use the Ramones’ lights.” Incredulous, I said, “Arturo, what are you talking about, we can’t use the lights? You expect us to play in the dark?” Gary Kurfirst had just arrived from New York and I explained the situation to him. He went over to talk to Johnny. Gary said, “What are you trying to do, give Forest Hills a bad name? You’re from Forest Hills. I’m from Forest Hills and I’m ashamed of you right now! You know what, we don’t need your fucking stupid lights!” Gary walked back to our dressing room and said Johnny was still not going to let us use the lights. This was so silly. We walked onstage with just the theater’s house lights on. The audience couldn’t have cared less and we played a killer show. From my seat on the drum riser, I could see the balcony moving up and down as fans pogoed and danced. Gary made a big impression on the Ramones. A few years later, they asked him to be their manager.
We played the Capitol Theater in Passaic, New Jersey, and The Bayou Club in Washington, D.C. (where, from the balcony, the opening band threw balloons filled with milk at us while we were onstage). On Tina’s birthday, November 22, we played the very beautiful Finney Chapel at Oberlin College in Ohio. I remember Jerry playing their huge, fantastic organ before our show until someone hooted, “Hands off the organ!” We drove to Detroit and played a “New Wave Invasion” concert with the Ramones at the Masonic Auditorium. Detroit Rock City. Motown. Home of the Stooges and the MC5. Well, those days were gone. Detroit had fallen on hard times. Downtown was dead, the perfect lesson in what not to do to a city. The kids came in from the suburbs to see us. They just wanted to have something to do, but once they heard us and saw us, they wanted more.
We had three days over Thanksgiving to get down to the Capri Theater in Atlanta. The show had been booked for weeks when one day Gary got a call from Columbia Records. They wanted to know if we would allow Elvis Costello to open for us. They were offering us two thousand dollars to add him to an already sold-out show. We agreed to do so and it was a fabulous show out in the Buckhead part of town. People had come from far and wide for a taste of live, new music. After the show, both bands were invited to a party at the Fans’ house. The Fans were a band from Atlanta who had shared the stage with us at CBGB and we liked them. They loved Roxy Music and the Velvet Underground and you could hear it in their music: they were not playing country or blues. They had a big old house that was great for parties. We went and so did some of the guys from Elvis’s band. Musical instruments were all around and some people started jamming. I couldn’t help but notice a couple of cute chicks doing a Yoko Ono–style vocal. They were dressed in vintage thrift shop clothes. It was a very bohemian scene, but so much more relaxed than in New York City. Also, the sweetness of a deep Southern accent, particularly from the women, was music to my ears. We couldn’t stay very long (we had to be in Nashville the next day) but we did talk for a good while to a group of kids who’d come up from Athens, Georgia, to see our show. They said they were starting a band and they wanted to come up to New York and play. I gave them our number and asked, “What’s the name of your band?” They replied, in unison: “The B-52s.”
The next afternoon I drove to Nashville on the Interstate in the pouring rain. Incredibly, I did not have a hangover from the party the night before but the rain made me really drowsy. I saw a sign that said NASHVILLE 20 MILES and I decided to tune into the radio station that was supposed to be promoting our show at the famous Exit Inn. The rest of the band was dozing. I tuned in to the station and I heard Tina’s bass line from “Psycho Killer” and turned it up. “Hey, check it out. We’re on the radio!” We were still taken by surprise and thrilled any time we heard one of our songs on the radio. Everyone perked up their ears. Then the DJ drawled, “Well, that was the Talking Heads, folks. Punk is coming to Nashville for the first time and probably the LAST time tonight at the EXIT INN!”
It wasn’t the last time. I can remember a Halloween concert we played a few years later at Vanderbilt that was a complete bacchanal among other great shows in Nashville. The Exit Inn was a good time that night. It was mostly an older crowd who worked in the music business and wanted to see what all the New Wave fuss was about.
The women in the audience were very impressed by Tina’s fashion sense, which was so different from what they were accustomed to seeing a woman in show business wearing. Tina had developed a style of her own that did not scream show business in any way. Usually, her style was as understated as the guys in the band. They also liked the songs and the energy onstage. We found out later that Adrian Belew was in the audience that night.
After the show Tina went into the office, as she always did, to settle up with the promoter. Our accountant had correctly surmised that Tina had the best head for figures and was consistently reliable and organized. It wasn’t the first time she’d seen a loaded pistol on a promoter’s desk as he counted out the money he owed us. Tina could tell they were surprised that she, so pretty and petite, was also the road manager, but they never tried to shortchange her. They probably figured there would be hell to pay if they did. She counted out the money in front of the promoter exactly as Gary had instructed her but then, to the promoter’s astonishment, she returned the extra bills that he had miscounted. Apparently, it was a first for this guy. He would be on the phone about it with Gary the next day to invite the band to return. But by then we would have outgrown the Exit Inn.
Next stop, San Francisco.
36
CALIFORNIA
Tina was born in Coronado, California. David had visited San Francisco in his hitchhiking hippie days. Jerry had lived in LA for a while while making the demos that were eventually released as the first Modern Lovers album. But I had never been out West, and I was really looking forward to being there. In the mid-sixties I became a serious Beach Boys fan and had a poster of a guy surfing a mammoth wave on my dorm room wall. Though I had never surfed, I felt a spiritual connection to those who did. Then there was the psychedelic age in San Francisco that I had read so much about in news magazines. The new radio format called FM in the late sixties played so much psychedelic music that being in Pittsburgh listening to Brother Love on WAMO-FM, I really felt like I was missing out on something. The Jefferson Airplane, the Grateful Dead, the Charlatans, Big Brother and the Holding Company, they all seemed so wild. My time had finally come. We were booked to play two weeks of shows in California.
On December 1, 1977, Gary flew to San Francisco with us and our guitars. The rest of the gear would meet us there with our crew.
I was immediately impressed with the natural golden quality of the afternoon light in San Francisco. We rented cars and drove to the Miyako Hotel on Post Street in Japan Town and checked in. Staying in the Miyako was Gary’s idea and a good idea it was. Lots of bands stayed there. You could get sushi and hot sake from room service. The deep Japanese-style bathtubs were luxurious beyond anything we were accustomed to. We loved the place. We had one night off before our first show. Gary took us to dinner in the Japan Center next door. David, who had brought his girlfriend Mary Clarke with him, was in absentia. We had dinner for the first
time at one of those Japanese places with the little boats that float by as you sit at the counter, each one carrying a serving of sushi or sashimi. We devoured the raw fish with gusto and washed it down with hot sake and Japanese beer. At the end of the meal, you would count up your different colored plates and pay accordingly. Tina and I returned to the hotel for a romantic evening, as we sometimes did, and a hot Japanese-style bath while Gary and Jerry explored the chilly San Francisco night.
Bill Graham was the big rock music promoter in the Bay Area, but because of his history with Graham and the Village Theater, Gary thought we shouldn’t play for him until he begged us to do so. So we worked with smaller club and college promoters until that day arrived. And it did.
One of life’s greatest pleasures is to dance with your little sister.
The Old Waldorf was a club on Battery Street in the financial district that every band played at some point in their careers. You either played it on your way up, or you played it on your way down. If you were Jerry Garcia or Jorma Kaukonen and living in San Francisco, you played it for fun whenever you felt like it. It wasn’t a place the kids went to hang out like CBGB, but it was a good place to hear original music. The capacity was 650, and the room was filled with long tables set up at ninety degrees to the stage. The room was 130 feet long and 50 feet wide. The stage was only twenty inches high. The walls were red brick. I believe they sometimes served food. There was a dance floor off to the side, but you couldn’t see the stage from it. The sound was okay as long as the band kept their stage volume down, which we always tried to do. The room was not really conducive to a lively audience get-down, but we did our best. There was a semi-full house that night but we were nowhere near sold out.
We walked out onto the stage to a smattering of applause. The smell of good weed was in the air. David made his usual announcement saying, “The name of this band is Talking Heads,” and we were off. I quickly spotted our friend Damita the Punk Lolita in the front row. Damita, who was twenty-one but looked much younger, was a friend from CBGB, the Ocean Club, and the whole downtown scene. She did some exotic dancing and traveled between New York, San Francisco, and West Hollywood. We all adored Damita. If Damita was in the house, you knew you were in the right place.
* * *
After the show and three encores, we taped an interview with KFRC-FM in the dressing room, took some photos, and then headed back to the Miyako Hotel bar for a few Mai Tais. A colorful group of fans followed us back to the hotel.
Our second night at the Old Waldorf was recorded for live broadcast by KSAN, aka Jive 95. Tina asked, “Don’t they know that being called ‘Jive’ is not a compliment?” We had visited the station that day and done an interview with Howie Klein. Howie was the resident punk/new wave expert at KSAN and a good guy. Years later he became an executive at Sire Records and Reprise.
It was Saturday night and the word was out that Talking Heads had come to town. Attendance was much better than the night before. Our set built slowly until the crowd was stomping its feet and pounding on the tables with approval. We played three or four encores and after the show we hung out with the fans at the club until we were all feeling no pain.
Sunday, after breakfast, we drove down to U.C. Santa Cruz. We did an on-air interview at KLRB in Carmel. Clint Eastwood was the mayor and I think he also owned the radio station. It was all very upscale. We made an instore appearance at Cymbaline in Santa Cruz, signing copies of our album before sound check time. The venue was a small theater called the Kresge Town Hall. It was nestled among the beautiful, tall redwood trees and was a very dreamy and laid-back place. The students were high on the best herb. They seemed gentle, sweet, and smart. The only thing missing was flowers in their hair. From the stage I could see guys lying on the floor embracing their girlfriends with great tenderness. Other couples were dancing with no self-consciousness whatsoever. I think most of the kids had no idea who we were. They just wanted to have some fun. It was a seriously mellow Sunday evening among the redwoods.
In San Jose we played a place called Bodega, where Neil Young was known to do surprise sets. I could see why he liked it. The room was all wooden beams and planks with a Wild West flavor. We visited KSJO to promote the show and the record.
The Keystone Berkeley was right on the main drag at 2119 University Avenue. Some say it was a biker bar, but most people knew it as a super-funky, occasionally experimental music club. Jerry Garcia played there all the time with various bands. Herbie Hancock and Ray Charles and B.B. King had graced the stage. Gary knew it was a good place that local people loved to go to hear some good music. We visited KTIM in San Rafael for a lunch hour radio show and then rolled across the Bay Bridge to Berkeley. We stopped in at KALX to schmooze and promote the show. They played “Psycho Killer” and “Uh-oh, Love Comes to Town.” The poster someone had made for the Keystone gave the impression that we were a creepy punk group. This would continue to happen for a while. For some it was a surprise to see that we were actually the opposite of punk. We asked Damita to stand at the door with a clicker and take a headcount of how many people came to see us. As usual we were being paid a flat fee against a percentage of the door money. Gary didn’t trust the club to give us an accurate count, so Damita’s presence at the door ensured fairness.
The opening band was called Leila and the Snakes. “Leila” was actually Jane Dornacker, who had performed with The Tubes. She was pretty wild. So was the other singer, Pearl E. Gates. They wore vintage clothes and were totally camp. Pearl later had her own band, Pearl Harbor and the Explosions, and toured the USA with us before she married Paul Simonon from the Clash.
Jane moved to New York City, where she had great success as a weather and traffic reporter until the day her chopper plunged into the Hudson River and she was tragically killed while broadcasting live on the air.
After three nights at the Keystone Berkeley and one night at the Keystone Palo Alto and much wandering around the streets of San Francisco, we flew to Los Angeles, where we had no idea what to expect. While we were in the air, I glanced over at Tina, who was looking sensational. She had been playing exceptionally well, too. She was everything I’d imagined she would be. We were both ready for an airplane nap, but before we dozed off I gave her a kiss and she said, “Oh, mon amour.” I whispered back, “Oui, ma chérie. The next thing you know we’ll be in LA.”
* * *
Los Angeles was very bright and sunny, just like it was supposed to be. Tina remembered that she used to drive a carpool van full of kids to school here in Palos Verdes when she was in high school. We picked up our bags, rented a car, and drove to the Sunset Marquis in Hollywood. Most of the CBGB bands stayed at the Tropicana, but Gary wanted us to be at the Sunset Marquis, which was not the fancy boutique hotel it is now. It was a medium-priced rock and roll hotel. It resembled the set of a sixties TV sitcom, but it was more refined than the Tropicana. There was a courtyard with a swimming pool surrounded by tables with umbrellas. You could mingle with other bands and Hollywood schmoozers by the pool and order room service and drinks. It was a friendly scene, as if it were happy hour all day long. I said a brief hello to Christine McVie and Dennis Wilson, who were hanging out looking a little the worse for wear, but smiling.
That night a driver picked us up and drove us to a Datsun dealership over in Pasadena, where KROQ was doing a live broadcast. This was the first and only time we made an appearance at a car dealership, but it was worth it. We were welcomed by Jed the Fish from KROQ. The guy on the air was none other than Rodney Bingenheimer, aka the “Mayor of the Sunset Strip.” Rodney was a true tastemaker. If Rodney said you were “great,” people would want to check you out. He was a passionate glam rock Anglophile. Rodney’s English Disco had been a real scene where underage girls danced to David Bowie, T. Rex, Mott the Hoople, Slade, Suzi Quatro, and the Bay City Rollers. These same rock stars would then hang out at his club when they were in town, drinking and drugging. As the glam rock days faded away, Rodney discovered Punk and New W
ave. He loved the Ramones and Blondie and he said on the air that night that Talking Heads was great. After that, we were added to the KROQ playlist in almost perpetuity.
In the morning, Tina and I woke refreshed and decided to take a walk down Sunset Boulevard. The thing is that nobody walks in LA, so you feel kind of weird as all the cars whiz by. We only walked a few blocks down to the Old World restaurant, where we had Bloody Marys and a nice lunch under a huge billboard of Diana Ross. After lunch we crossed the street to visit the world-famous Tower Records. There was only one Tower Records then and this was it. We had never been to a record store with shopping carts before. According to what we’d heard, Elton John would come in and fill a big shopping cart with records to buy. We didn’t have the cash to buy anything, but it was exciting to see our album on display with a poster for our three upcoming nights at the Whisky a Go Go, which was just a few blocks away.
Later that afternoon we had our photo taken on the corner of Sunset and Alta Loma with some huge, brightly-colored plush animals that a vendor there was selling. It’s one of my favorite photos from that time. After the photo was taken we all piled into the car and drove down to Huntington Beach, where we had a two-night gig at the Golden Bear. We did our sound check and were hanging out backstage with the Warner’s promotion man, munching on tacos and drinking Coronas, when David decided to take a walk with Mary Clarke. I always felt a little wary when David would wander off at the airport or before a show, but so far he had always returned in the nick of time. Tina, Jerry, and I would breathe a sigh of relief. This time David was really late, so late the promoter was worried they would have to cancel the show. There were no cell phones to call him back then. Finally, the club got a call. David and Mary had been arrested for jaywalking! Mary had said to the arresting officer, “You’ve got to be kidding! We’re from New York!” To prove he wasn’t, he took them to the police station, where they were detained and, finally, ordered to pay a fine before being released. David, who was strangely elated by the mishap, joined us onstage to start the show over an hour late, and we pulled out all the stops to play an edgy set for the surfers, college kids, and fellow music lovers. I guess we were worth waiting for. We got three encores that night.