In both my careers, the one as a rock critic and the one in advertising, I’ve rubbed shoulders with famous people more than most have (unless you live in NYC where it comes with the territory and unless yr a teenage girl and the famous persons name is Justin Birber you just plain don’t give a shit show).
And what I know for sure is there is zero connection between your heroes and the people you like. Lou Reed may be very nice to you if you’re first name is Vaclav, if your first name is Iman somewhat less so. And meeting him in arrogance and bad manners is one David Bowie who I met on the Glass Spiders tour and gave surreally fucked up whole new vistas of meaning.
On the flip side I have eaten out on my Joan Jett story many times: I smoked in those days, she took my ciggie outa my mouth, stubbed it out, and gave me a joint. Joan Jett had a reason to like me, long before “I Love Rock ‘N’ Roll” I wrote about her often and positively. Another Runaway, Lita Ford, had every reason to dislike me but sat for me telling her how bad her new album was for fifteen minutes and then split her turkey sandwich with me.
I did my Paul Simonon interview with a girl I was dating and she slipped Paul her phone number and ended up having carnal knowledge of the man. Still, he was a real nice guy. John Entlewistle had a very cute, very young girl running about his suite naked and he was married at the time, still he was a cool bloke and a self-aware bloke. He claimed he had stopped coke completely but apparently he lied.
Away from rock, Regis Philbin tried to pick up my ex-boss (a woman) in an elevator at the Plaza Hotel, Michael J. Fox was the blankest human being I’ve ever met, Donald Trump beyond belief, Mayor Koch as a gay as… well just very gay, Rupert Murdoch looked like a reptile and had a sweaty and limp handshake, Guilliani a terrible comb over, Andrew Cuomo was despicable, rude and couldn’t answer a social question without checking with his press manager…
Lester Bangs was drunk.
Cameron Crowe was sucking up to Robert Christgau
Elvis Costello had me thrown out of his dressing room.
Madelain Kahn poured me tea.
Barbara Walters was a ditz.
Garry Trudea ran away.
Katie Couric was very sweet.
Mike Nichols signed my playbill
Mena Suvari discussed Hairspray with me at a preview
Arnold Schwarzanegger didn’t notice me.
David Letterman put the phone down on me.
I helped Freedy Johnston load his van.
I missed seeing Bob Dylan at my local on west 33rd by one day and his mommy was good friends with my friend Dede Smith and got me his autograph which hangs on my wall at home.
Phoebe Legere chased me out of a nightclub because I mentioned we smoked a joint together in an interview.
I nearly got arrested with Billy Idol and Richard Fantina
My dad knew Stan Laurel.
I once called Banarama overrated groupies to their faces and got thrown out of the interview (I left it for the end so it wasn’t a total disaster), got Stevie brother Jimmie Ray Vaughn so drunk the Fabulous Thunderbirds had to cancel all interviews for the afternoon and Richard Barone so pissed after saying the Bongos sucked at their Bottom Line gig he still won’t speak to me.
I asked Peter Holsapple if the size difference between him and Chris Stamey was a problem.
I asked Chris Stamey who he thought would buy music as uncommercial as his album It’s A Wonderful Life, I got the Raincoats drunk out of their mind before their famous gig at the Kitchen but they got their revenge at the afterparty where they stuffed me with hash brownies till I passed out with the drummer from Public Image, Ltd who was playing for em (we were the only two guys there -I’ll leave you to draw your own conclusions).
I’ll tell you my Derek Jeter story another day.
And: my pal Bill Holdship once stayed up all night talking with David Lee Roth at the height of Roth’s fame.
And the one constant: no connection between the people and the music!! So if hotshot punk up and comers Screaming Females or Titus Andronicus don’t wanna talk to me, so be it. It don’t effect the music none.