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Provostian Moments Vol. VI: The Droogs

18 Apr

What did DAVIE ALLAN & THE ARROWS, THE DWIGHT TWILLEY BAND and THE DREAM SYNDICATE and all have in common? Bassist Dave Provost, that’s who. Who has played in musical aggregations with the likes of AL GREEN, SKY SAXON, and KATHY VALENTINE? Dave Provost has.

Dave is a kind of rock n roll Zelig, somehow popping up at all the crucial turns and twists in LA rock history during the past 4+ decades. Over the years his formidable musical & rhythmic chops got him seats next to some seriously world-class musicians, while his gregarious, outgoing nature had all the rest inviting him to their after-gig parties. And now, he’s now spilling the beans about it all, starting with this post.

This is really, really good news to those of us who appreciate just where this man’s walked and rocked in his lifetime. So please: do take a seat at the feet of Mr Dave Provost for a spell, and follow him in his search for lost rock n roll time.

_____________________________________________________

The Droogs In Union Station

ichard and Roger Zumwalt spent their early years in Heidelberg, Germany, where Roger was born. They were the sons of an American military father and a French mother. The boys spoke English and French. Living in post-war Europe would have a lasting effect on the songs and music that The Droogs would make for the rest of the 20th century.
                                                   
The Zumwalts moved to California, and eventually settled in the San Fernando Valley. Younger brother Roger learned to play the guitar, and the two started a garage band named Savage Rose. They also went back and forth with the name Mother’s Milk. They played mostly covers, and a few originals. They worked the teen fairs and sock hops.

In the early 70s they changed the name of the band to the Droogs, after the street gang from A Clockwork Orange. To them, the name was a double entendre: droogeries are pharmacies in parts of Europe. The brothers also dropped their last name, and using just their middle names, became Rich Albin and Roger Clay. The two are very protective of their past. They are very nice, warm people that maintain a dark, almost gothic undercurrent. These are guys that cite Leonard Cohen as a major influence.

Punk music of the 60s had ended much to soon for the Droogs, and they set out on a mission to keep it alive. Since they didn’t have a snowball’s chance of getting signed, they decided to start their own label. A lot of the obscure groups that they had loved in ‘66 were on small labels, but the labels were not owned by the band.

The boys filed all of the legal papers required to copyright a record label, contracted the pressing plant, procured a studio, and hired a producer. The brothers did their own mailing too. This was 1972, long before it became de rigueur for Punk bands to release their own product.

Knowing that having the representation of a manager was important, but not wanting to relinquish any control, Rich invented an alter ego named “Wayne Davies” that only existed on the telephone, on contracts, and in Rich’s mind. Over the next 30 years, Wayne would be the group’s only manager. It’s hard to fire an imaginary friend. Wayne could never come to any shows, or travel with the band due to his acute agoraphobia.

At the time, Roger was the recording engineer for Wolfman Jack’s radio show. He ran the board on the Droogs first session, and almost everything else that the band ever cut. They had plenty of moral support from from rock critics like Mark Shipper, Ken Barnes, and Don Waller, but none from fellow musicians. To Rich and Roger, bass players were just frustrated guitarists, and drummers were Philistines. I can’t disprove of the drummer accusation.

The first record was produced by Rockin’ Ronny Weiser at “Casa de Elvis” studios. Weiser was well known for producing artists such as The Rockabilly Rebels and Gene Vincent. Two songs were selected from their live set, “He’s Waitin” by The Sonics and “Lightbulb Blues” by The Shadows Of Knight. The 45 was a limited pressing, and became a very collectable Pre-Punk single years later. Paul Motter played bass, and Kyle Raven played drums. They were the first of what was to become a revolving door of rhythm sections.

Over the next decade the Droogs continued making homemade records and being an unpopular band in Los Angeles. Don Waller’s Imperial Dogs were the only local band that understood the Droogs. The former Zumwalt Brothers were in danger of becoming an anachronism.

—–

I’ve always made it a point to catch the opening act. Somewhat out of respect, but also because I never like to tell the backstage lie “you guys were great!” knowing that I was really in a Mexican restaurant at the time. Having been a perennial opener myself, I was used to hearing it from the headliners.

I had seen the Droogs’ homemade records at stores like Bomp for a long time, and when they were on the bottom of the bill I decided to check them out. I stood in front of the stage with ten of their friends. The first thing that hit me was how much their guitarist looked like a young Jeff Beck, and that the singer looked like David Cassidy. The guitar was run in stereo with two amps placed on opposite sides of the stage. It was possibly the coolest tone that I’d ever heard. The singer sounded like a cross between Scott Walker and Keith Relf, a snotty baritone. Their rhythm section, however, was just sonic wallpaper.

Their set consisted of overdone cover songs, and some great originals. One song in particular caught my soul, “Only Game In Town,” which contained the most heartfelt lyrics about being in an opening band that I’d ever heard. True underdog greatness that could have been a Kinks song.              

I’m not an aggressive guy, but after the set I burst into their dressing room, and informed the Droogs that I am now in the band. This worked out fine because the bassist and drummer had just quit. The hierarchy seemed to accept the defection as a given. They had been through this many times before.

After the show I went out for coffee with Rich and Roger. We spoke of Salvador Dali, Lenny Bruce, and Son House. They weren’t typical rock musicians. They were culture vultures like myself, but they were far more worldly and sophisticated then I could ever be. They were also not forthcoming about the fact that they were brothers.

After a call from their manager – the illusive Wayne Davies – we started working on their first 12 inch EP, Heads Examined, which featured a cover of the Lollipop Shoppe’s “You Must Be A Witch”. Because of the group’s autonomous nature, the record date was fun and very low pressure. The Droogs had gotten recording down to a cost efficient art form.

I had however noticed a flaw that ran through most of their early singles. The arrangements were quirky, fragmented bits and pieces borrowed from rejected songs that they had written in the past. What garage punk aficionados saw as naive charm, I saw as unprofessional. From that point on, the Droogs allowed me to be the arranger.

The Droogs Live In Europe

With the enlistment of drummer Jon Gerlach we played four shows in three days on the East Coast. The first show was at the NY disco Danceteria. At the second show we preformed to a packed house at the Rat in Boston where we shared a bill with the Lyres who were an amazing band, and lovely people. Ira Kaplan from Yo Lo Tengo mixed our third date at Maxwells in Hoboken, and that same evening famed music historian James Marshall set us up on a 4 am show at an Alphabet City speakeasy called No Sey No, which to this day is still the best gig of my life. These three days would become the turning point for the Droogs, and the shape of things to come.

After our successful New York trip, the Droogs went back into the recording studio. We really liked what producer Earle Mankey had done for groups like the Long Ryders and the Three O’ Clock. He had also been the guitarist for Sparks, and having another musician in the fold was a great asset. Earle was truly a fifth member.

We liked his idea of only recording music that could be recreated live. Earle records one song at a time from start to final mix down. Mankey was also open to letting Roger co-engineer the sessions. I think that The Droogs’ Stone Cold World and Kingdom Day are both very great records. The cost of making the two LPs was under nine thousand dollars, and that included food runs to McDonalds.

Between 1983 and 1997 the Droogs released five studio LPs, two live LPs, an anthology of the early singles, and an EP. On our third album we broke loose from our self contained ways, inviting friends from other bands to write songs and sit in. Paul B. Cutler was the producer. Brian Hudson formerly with the astounding Cleveland punk band the Pagans became our drummer, and added a harder attack.

We’d struck a ten year deal with the German Psych label Music Maniac – our fictitious manager Wayne Davies handled all of the telephone negotiations with label owner Hans Kesteloo. All five of our European tours were stellar experiences. We were really in our element, with pubs, fine dining, and art museums. The venues kept getting bigger, and bigger. We no longer considered ourselves an LA band. The Droogs had no use for the Paisley Underground. Why the hell would we want to play to 50 people in Hollywood when we could sell out shows in Berlin or Madrid?

The British Heavy Metal magazine Kerrang had named Kingdom Day as one of the best albums of the year, and in 1988 our US label PVC booked us on a tour with British guitar god Robin Trower. The pairing of our groups was a perfect fit: a guitar lover’s dream. The Droogs became a harder act to follow. I don’t recall ever seeing a female face in the crowd between Chicago and Detroit. After the Trower dates we continued on our own tour of the South, and ended our jaunt with a victory lap around a sold out CBGB show in New York.

Much later in July 1997 we played our two final shows. Denmark’s Roskillde festival was extremely oversold, and had an audience of 90,000 drunken Vikings. The Droogs already had a Sunday opening slot for Supergrass and Isaac Hayes, when our road manager informed us that we had to be on stage to fill in for the Saturday night headliners the Wu Tang Clan. We followed Radiohead and the Smashing Pumpkins.

The anger caused by the Hip Hopers cancelation grew to a fever pitch. When Rich referred to the Wu Tang Clan as Wang Chung as a joke, the bottles started flying; our lighting director was knocked unconscious by a bottle that missed our drummer. No joke, it was a fucking bloodbath. We played our set, and got two encores. The Copenhagen newspaper stated that any European band would have left the stage at the first signs of violence, but because we were American we shrugged it off as just another night.

On the flight home we drank champagne and talked about Man Ray and Kienholz, but not a word was ever spoken about the band again. The Droogs went out On Top.

– Dave Provost

Provostian Moments Vol. V: Wednesday Week

14 Apr

What did DAVIE ALLAN & THE ARROWS, THE DWIGHT TWILLEY BAND and THE DREAM SYNDICATE and all have in common? Bassist Dave Provost, that’s who. Who has played in musical aggregations with the likes of AL GREEN, SKY SAXON, and KATHY VALENTINE? Dave Provost has.

Dave is a kind of rock n roll Zelig, somehow popping up at all the crucial turns and twists in LA rock history during the past 4+ decades. Over the years his formidable musical & rhythmic chops got him seats next to some seriously world-class musicians, while his gregarious, outgoing nature had all the rest inviting him to their after-gig parties. And now, he’s now spilling the beans about it all, starting with this post.

This is really, really good news to those of us who appreciate just where this man’s walked and rocked in his lifetime. So please: do take a seat at the feet of Mr Dave Provost for a spell, and follow him in his search for lost rock n roll time.

_____________________________________________________

Wednesday Week

teve Wynn was the college kid that worked behind the counter at my favorite record store. We shared a love of the same music: Television, The Fall, John Cale, Stockhausen, and Johnny Cash. He had a lot of chutzpah asking me to jam with his band Goat Diety.

When I arrived at the suburban tract home where they rehearsed, I was welcomed by chocolate chip cookies fresh out of the oven and a dog that I think played Lassie in the later films. It was the family residence of Kristi and Kelly Callan. I had met the sisters at a Textones show in San Francisco, and had seen them at LA shows hanging out with The Plugz and The Last. Their home-spun good looks set them apart from all the leather jacket punk chicks.

I had never experienced a functional family before. Their mother K. was a familiar face that I’d seen on TV playing the role of a supportive, nurturing mom. However I had never met one in real life, until now. She was a California casual version of Loretta Young. This might not seem important in a pop band story, but it’s a critical element of everything Wednesday Week.

The rehearsal was ragged at best. Steve was a commanding singer/guitarist, but the girls were just learning to play. There was a certain inexplicable charm in their songs however, and I saw potential. It would be a year before my next session with Kristi and Kelly. During that time the Callan sisters recorded a song under the name Narrow Adventure, with Kjehl Johansen of The Urinals on bass.

Goat Diety had auditioned a young guitarist named Karl Precoda. Steve and Karl hit it off and started their own band, The Dream Syndicate, with ex-Human Hands drummer Dennis Duck and bassist Kendra Smith from Steve’s childhood band The Suspects.  But the name Goat Diety was often mistaken for Go Dee Dee, very much the same way that Australians misunderstood James Brown as singing “get down with your bat’s elf.” So Wednesday Week was now the name of the group, taken from an Undertones song title.

The Callan girls would stare at me blankly as I spoke of diminished 7th chords, roadies, and backstage deli platters. I lived vicariously through their innocence. Song like “I Hate Lying To Mom” and “Sad Little Dog” could have been outtakes from the Wiggin family girl group from New Hampshire that I’ve vowed never to mention.  I rehearsed with them every day for a while, and they got really good. My analysis of Kelly’s drum parts made me rethink my whole approach to playing the bass. Kristi played guitar, and sang like a sexy city cousin of the Von Trapp family. They were a good kind of different.

I was used to playing venues with electricity and running water, but the sisters were fearless. We played Valley dives with heavy metal bands, and a few showcase clubs with The Last and Sylvia Juncosa. Every show was better attended than the show before. We recorded an EP entitled Betsy’s House at Radio Tokyo studios, with former Blue Cheer bassist Ethan James at the board.

I really had fun witnessing the birth of an indie band. Other commitments were requiring more of my time, and I stepped down. Soon afterwards, Wednesday Week had a popular video on MTV and major label distribution. But we are still friends to this day. Kristi and Kelly are beautiful women. Their mom is still acting, and still making cookies.

– Dave Provost

Provostian Moments Vol. III: The Textones

7 Apr

What did DAVIE ALLAN & THE ARROWS, THE DWIGHT TWILLEY BAND and THE DREAM SYNDICATE and all have in common? Bassist Dave Provost, that’s who. Who has played in musical aggregations with the likes of AL GREEN, SKY SAXON, and KATHY VALENTINE? Dave Provost has.

Dave is a kind of rock n roll Zelig, somehow popping up at all the crucial turns and twists in LA rock history during the past 4+ decades. Over the years his formidable musical & rhythmic chops got him seats next to some seriously world-class musicians, while his gregarious, outgoing nature had all the rest inviting him to their after-gig parties. And now, he’s now spilling the beans about it all, starting with this post.

This is really, really good news to those of us who appreciate just where this man’s walked and rocked in his lifetime. So please: do take a seat at the feet of Mr Dave Provost for a spell, and follow him in his search for lost rock n roll time.

_____________________________________________________

ever name your band after a city, or for that matter a drug. In 1976, I joined a band that was signed to ABC Dunhill. They had an album out, a lifetime supply of Lone Star beer, and I needed a road trip. They were from a small town near Houston called Navasota. Which was ironic, because their name was Navasota. It was as close to being in the Hells Angels as you can get. A Southern boogie band that could rock with the best of them, Navasota were a hugh regional draw. We played legendary rooms like the Armadillo World Headquarters in Austin.              

Texas treats it’s musicians like royalty. Unlike the rest of the world, Texas parents would rather have their daughter marry a bass player then a doctor or lawyer (Waylon must be smiling).  Navasota had a hard and fast rule: women must be shared with the whole band. After a show in Austin, I met a charming young lady named Kathy Valentine. I was just enjoying hanging out with her, but my band had other ideas. Now, I do have some scruples. Sitting with her in a coffee shop, talking music all night, was alright with me. Navasota shipped me back to California the next day.                                                                                                                                                              
Three years later, I was playing with Kathy and her friend Carla Olson in The Textones out in Los Angeles. They had played together in an Austin band named The Violators, often considered the first late 70’s Texas punk band. Both had lived in England. Kathy had played with Girlschool, while Carla had worked with Nick Lowe.

LA was hopping again. Great indy labels sprang up: Dangerhouse, Slash, and later SST. The scene was a mix of music, art, and fashion. The better bands found their own unique niche: X, The Screamers, The Alley Cats, and The Weirdos were my favorites. I also liked pop groups like The Know and The Zippers.  My band The Textones were carpetbaggers, like our fellow Texans The Plugz. The notion of being an import weighs heavier in LA than in more sophisticated cities like New York.

As much as I hate to admit it, The Runaways had broken the novelty of being a female musician. Girls no longer felt compelled to overplay just to prove that they could hold their own with the boys. We befriended a lot of bands of various styles, and painted ourselves into a corner. We became The Official Opening Act of Los Angeles, opening for Teenage Jesus & The Jerks one night, and The Cowsills the next. Los Angelenos have always been Anglophiles, and our Southern drawl was no match to the British accents that were invading our town.

Ted Caroll of Chiswick records liked our “Texas beat”, and as The Violators had opened for The Damned in San Antonio, he signed us to a one off deal. An unreleased Tom Petty song on one side, and Kathy’s tune “Vacation” on the flip. This would be the last record ever recorded at Shelter studios. During playbacks we could hear loud popping sounds, which on closer inspection we discovered were just some hillbillies shooting at beer bottles on the roof. Those hillbillies were The Dwight Twilley Band, and it was the beginning of a long friendship.

Other LA bands signed with UK labels. The Go-Go’s went with Stiff, and Holly & The Italians signed with Oval and moved to London. We also cut a 7-inch for IRS that received the lowest score in the history of American Bandstand’s Rate A Record. This is because they had played the wrong side – a ballad about wife beating that the kids couldn’t dance to. But having a record out gave us the cache that we needed. We were no long playing at Chino Prison with The Plimsouls, we were opening tour dates for Gang Of Four and The Ramones, and were still able to play honkytonks in Austin with groups like The Big Boys, Joe King Carrasco, Double Trouble, and Doug Sahm.

When we appeared at a club called Zeros in Fort Worth, the taxidermist next door hadn’t payed his electric bill in over a week – the stench of rotting animals permeated the wall behind the stage. The cowboy that owned the club had no sense of smell due to cocaine abuse, and demanded that we play three sets to an empty house. Kathy Valentine quit The Textones the following night, only to join The Go-Go’s soon after.

Our drummer Markus Cuff and I stayed on with Carla as a trio. We no longer had Kathy’s insight or song catalog, however we were still well known enough to procure a 6-month weekend residency at The Whisky back in LA. Being the house band at the Whisky a Go Go had been a flossy gig at one time, first held by Johnny Rivers back in 1964. But our opening status put us more on the level of The Leaves.

Carla Olson had a vision of us being a country music crossover. No one liked this change, including our fans. After a disastrous gig with Echo & The Bunnymen, I left the group and joined Twilley alum Phil Seymour to promote his album on Boardwalk Records. Richard d’Andrea of The Know replaced me in the new Carla Olson and The Textones.

– Dave Provost

Provostian Moments Vol. II: Rodney’s English Disco

2 Apr

What did DAVIE ALLAN & THE ARROWS, THE DWIGHT TWILLEY BAND and THE DREAM SYNDICATE and all have in common? Bassist Dave Provost, that’s who. Who has played in musical aggregations with the likes of AL GREEN, SKY SAXON, and KATHY VALENTINE? Dave Provost has.

Dave is a kind of rock n roll Zelig, somehow popping up at all the crucial turns and twists in LA rock history during the past 4+ decades. Over the years his formidable musical & rhythmic chops got him seats next to some seriously world-class musicians, while his gregarious, outgoing nature had all the rest inviting him to their after-gig parties. And now, he’s now spilling the beans about it all, starting with this post.

This is really, really good news to those of us who appreciate just where this man’s walked and rocked in his lifetime. So please: do take a seat at the feet of Mr Dave Provost for a spell, and follow him in his search for lost rock n roll time.

_____________________________________________________

Rodney's English Disco

was a teenybopper when I had first met Kim Fowley, at an afternoon Doors show at Devonshire Downs on July 15, 1967. Kim was standing behind me, when he overheard me tell a friend that I’d ditched my paper route to be there. He grabbed me, and yelled: “That’s the spirit of Rock n Roll! Don’t ever lose that.” I never have.

The opposite reaction to the 70‘s singer/songwriter scene happening at the Troubadour was Rodney Bingenheimer’s English Disco on Sunset. A small room with a large dance floor, mirrored walls, jailbait, and quaaludes. Kids from the Valley spoke with fake British accents, and dressed like bisexual Disney characters. The music was great: Roxy, Bowie, Dolls, Quatro. My head’s about to explode just thinking about it.

Rodney would showcase live bands from time to time, including Zolar X and The Hollies. He really took a risk one night with former Seeds frontman Sky Saxon though. Kim Fowley had introduced me to a very overweight Iggy Pop earlier that evening. Iggy was my hero. He was more excited to see Sky than a kid waiting for Santa. He was also fucked up on drugs that they still don’t have names for today.

The thin white crowd didn’t know what to expect as a bevy of hippie girls walked in the room with their dogs and incense. Walking behind them was the most healthy suntanned version of Jesus I’d ever seen. Sky was at the top of his game; his backup band featured young guitarist Randy Rhoads. At one point Iggy grabbed the mike, screamed something about Hitler, sang “Pushin’ Too Hard” and then crawled under a table.  Sky’s response was “that’s really beautiful, man.”

A good time was had by all. Sky left with his seven wives, and Iggy left with two chubby lesbians.

– Dave Provost

Provostian Moments Vol. I: Remembrance Of Gigs Past

30 Mar

What did DAVIE ALLAN & THE ARROWS, THE DWIGHT TWILLEY BAND and THE DREAM SYNDICATE and all have in common? Bassist Dave Provost, that’s who. Who has played in musical aggregations with the likes of AL GREEN, SKY SAXON, and KATHY VALENTINE? Dave Provost has. And who’s gonna take the reins of this blog for the next dozen or so serialised posts? That’s right, Dave Provost is.

Dave is a kind of rock n roll Zelig, somehow popping up at all the crucial turns and twists in LA rock history during the past 4+ decades. Over the years his formidable musical & rhythmic chops got him seats next to some seriously world-class musicians, while his gregarious, outgoing nature had all the rest inviting him to their after-gig parties. And now, he’s now spilling the beans about it all.

This is really, really good news to those of us who appreciate just where this man’s walked and rocked in his lifetime. So please: do take a seat at the feet of Mr Dave Provost for a spell, and follow him in his search for lost rock n roll time.

_____________________________________________________

proclaiming "I'm four your older than rock n roll" never works as a pick-up line

he San Fernando Valley of Los Angeles was quite the destination in the early 1950s. Small ranch style houses, orange trees, movie stuntmen, and well stocked bomb shelters, all built by cold war paranoids. My parents moved there from Nashville in 1949.  My father had played piano with the Big Bands, and had written some hits. Session work was plentiful for my dad as Hollywood opened top flight recording studios.

A lot of great musicians would rehearse in our living room: Barney Kessel, Howard Roberts, Johnny Ray, Dorsey Burnette, and Art Pepper. There were songwriters Wayne Shanklin, Johnny Mercer, Cindy Walker, and comedians Milton Berle and Mort Saul. After I expressed interest in learning the guitar, my dad set me up with Carol Kaye, who loved to teach.  I would spend all of the money that I made from my paper route on records, lots of records. The first record I bought was “Raindrops” by Dee Clark, others were “Hippy Hippy Shake” by Chan Romero, and “Work With Me Annie” by Hank Ballard. We spoke rockabilly in our family, and we worshiped Phil Spector.

In the Valley every house had a garage, and after Hard Day’s Night every garage had a band. I was not a Beatles fan; I went for The Kinks, Yardbirds, and The Walker Bros. I would have played music even if The Beatles had never existed, but I’d be doing it in a different world.

(NOTE: I’m sick of the typical romanticism spewed by middle aged men about being in 60s bands. So let me set the record straight. The barometer of how good you were was not how many times the police asked you to keep it down. You didn’t run the whole band through one Vox amp. You couldn’t have been as big as The Turtles. You didn’t quit music to pursue a higher education, they sent your sorry ass to Vietnam. Your girlfriend never loved you, or your band. And the only reason that you have these glorious memories is that your folks owned a station wagon. Thanks, I needed that . . .)

My first gig was in the parking lot of a supermarket grand opening. We were doing great until the Oscar Meyer Wiener Mobile pulled up, and all the kids ran over to greet a “real” star: Little Oscar, the foul mouthed dwarf who drove the vehicle.  On the weekends, we played at a club called The Image in Van Nuys. We then moved to Gazzarri’s on the Strip. I had been going to clubs for years, however I was a babe in the woods when it came to the Strip. It was so far beyond anything depicted on film.

The Whisky A Go Go became the center of my universe. Most of the 60s clubs were all ages, but within days of the riot on Sunset, The Whisky changed it’s policy to 21 and over, and exclusively booked Motown acts.  What had been the primo venue for bands like The Byrds, Love, and The Doors was now driving the scene up north to San Francisco.

Overnight, garage punk bands starting switching to soul music, and added horn sections. Farfisas were replaced by Hammond organs. It was an easy transition for me to make. I had been recording radio jingles out at Gold Star Studios. My ability to read music made me a shoe in for the soul players to exploit for cheap labor; I had to learn “steps” that we would dance, as we read the sheet music that was placed on the floor. I was now playing with older black gentlemen who carried snakeskin sax cases and knives in their Italian shoes.  Al Green did a stint in that band. There were plenty of soul clubs and Key Parties to play. During that time Booker T & The MGs became my biggest influence, and still are today.
But after almost being grazed by a bullet while playing at the downtown RnB club called The Apartment, I decided it was easier to play with guys who picked on me in Jr High School.

——

In the early 70s, everyone wanted to be The Rolling Stones. I started a band that we unfortunately named TWANG, with lead singer David Leon, who later played the role of John Lennon in Broadway’s Beatlemania, and bassist Richard Grossman, later with Rick Springfield (circa “Jessie’s Girl”). The Sunset Strip was no longer a hot spot, it was now inhabited by tourists. The teen clubs were gone. The Whisky was now a major label showcase. So, we played the only game in town: Gazzarri’s.

Gazzarri’s was completely different now. Three stages with alternating sets. Pacific Ocean (w/ Edward James Olmos) and The Bantams were always on the bill, and sometimes Tony & The Tigers featuring Hunt and Tony Sales. Mammoth, who later became Van Halen, replaced us when we were fired for playing a ballad. Sparks became the brightest light to emerge from LA during this dark, dark period.

The so called Singer Songwriter epidemic reared it’s ugly head. Need I say more? I loved the Bleeker/McDougal Folk singers like Tim Hardin, Fred Neil, Dave Van Ronk, and Brits like Fairport and Pentangle. I also loved The Jefferson Airplane. But this new crop was painful. So I left Rock behind and joined the LA production of Jaques Brel Is Alive And Well.

– Dave Provost