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Upstairs at the Roxy |
Jay and the Americans. is a fictional memoir. Most of it's true, like 90%, though I've stretched things a bit here and there. It's what storytellers do. Jay and the Americans is available on Amazon and CreateSpace, just click on the links in the sidebar.
I met Andy Warhol at Famous Amos
on Sunset, maybe I mentioned this. He had on the biggest wig I'd
ever seen. He said, "Nice to meet you." I met
Bud Cort at a mixer. He was very quiet. I said, "I
enjoy your work." He said, "Thank
you." That's what I mean by the fringe. I met
people. They said, "Nice to meet you" and "Thank
you."
I saw Rickie Lee Jones at the
Roxy and wrote a review for the L.A. Weekly. Tom Waits was in
the audience, shitfaced. So was Chuck E. Weiss. Rickie
too, was drunk as a skunk, but the funky songs were funky and the beautiful
ones were beautiful. The show was over, the crowd dispersed; the
curtain was drawn when she pushed her way through. She said,
"Where’s my hat? Where's my fucking beret?" I
was sitting at a table taking notes. She looked at me. "Jou
take my hat? Hey, hey, where's my fucking hat?"
Tom Waits came out from behind
the curtain. In his gruff voice he said, "Hey, you seen the
lady's hat?"
I looked around. A
beret was on the table next to mine. I handed it to
her. She said, "Well, thanks, then. I though' you
stole my hat."
I said, "'Company' was
beautiful." It was. So melancholy and so sad.
I used that story in my review,
the gist of it. It colored it; it said in words what I heard, the
beauty of her melodies; the discord of the lyrics.
I saw Tom Waits at the
Troubadour. Rickie Lee was in the audience. She said,
"I know you." Lots of people knew me; not about me; not my name, just
my face. I was familiar, like a little brother: I was there but it
didn't matter. It was as if, at any moment, someone would send me
off to bed, and yet, I was writing about them, I wasn't benign in their lives;
they just didn't know it. It was kind of funny.
I said, "I love your
work."
She said, "Thank you,"
and asked if I had change for a dollar.