Book Excerpts

Jimi fuckin’ Hendrix stood in the doorway — a freshly lit cigarette in the corner of his mouth – a trail of smoke spiraling upward.  He wore a pink and red paisley shirt open to his navel that presented us with a preview of the countless strands of red, turquoise, and black beads that encircled beneath.   His wrists and fingers were adorned with silver bracelets and turquoise rings.  I recognized the dark blue bellbottoms, the purple scarf across his forehead, and the trademark brown fringe jacket from his performance earlier that night.  His neatly trimmed “fro” was backlit, illuminated by a lamp in the suite.  I gave out a gasp at the sight of this album cover come to life and hoped he didn’t notice.

* * * *

“So, David tells me you’re the man who discovered and managed Prince,” came an East Coast accent that I didn’t quite recognize.  And then he reached behind his desk and produced a large jar from a cabinet.  Placing the jar on his desk he said, “This is what happens when people fuck with me.”  The jar was filled with a cloudy liquid and I strained to see what was inside.   I made out what looked like a few strands of hair floating in the substance and then – a nose and eyes; holy shit it was a human head!

* * * *

When the driver dropped Sly Stone at his dressing room I read him the riot act.  “You almost got me killed.  Get your ass on stage!”  My idol only smirked at me as his band members climbed on stage to a huge cheer from the audience.  Sly sauntered on to the stage and took his place as the crowd went wild.  His first song was the hit, “Thank You (Falettinme Be Mice Elf Agin).”  But this time, as I stood on the side of the stage, Sly stared directly at me and started singing, “Fuck You (Falettinme Be Mice Elf Agin).”

* * * *

  “You guys fucking kill me.  I signed 17-year-old Ritchie Valens and gave him a #1 hit record with La Bamba.  I signed and discovered Sam Cooke, Barry White and Frank Zappa.  I invented the Los Angeles surf sound but all anyone wants to know about is the Bobby Fuller Four.  How did Bobby die?  Who killed him?  It’s all a bunch of B.S.”  Bob said, as his right hand nervously pushed through a thick head of perfectly white hair.