Wow! I cannot even remember this event, but I AM wearing a Dylan shirt!
Archive for the ‘Groupies’ Category
Wow! I cannot even remember this event, but I AM wearing a Dylan shirt!
Having a blast here in my home away from home, Austin Texas! Highlight? Can’t help myself, MIke Stinson! Sigh. Second – James Intveld, 3rd – Dale Watson, 4th – The Wagoneers. I hear Jack White is setting up on the street all over town and playing guitar, haven’t caught that yet!!!
Here is the video of the Q & A that followed the premiere screening of Pamela’s new VH1 Rock Doc, Let’s Spend the Night Together!
PLEASE NOTE: Web mistress apologizes for the shaky, Blair Witch quality of the video. It was her first time with the flip camera, and she really needs a tripod! It does get a little better as it goes along, but at least the sound quality is good! If the shaking gets to you, maybe you can just listen in. . .
12/13 @ 8:00pm
Let’s Spend The Night Together:
Confessions of Rock’s Greatest Groupies
(premiere party, w/ live panel of special guests!)
Co-presented by VH1 and Don’t Knock The Rock
Take an emotional journey back to the early Seventies, the Golden Age of Groupies! Some were in it for love, some for the music, and some for their art — and four decades later, these passionate women share their stories of sexual conquest and bitter heartbreak, and finally reveal whether it was all worth it. Told through the eyes of rock and roll historian and super groupie Pamela Des Barres (author of the famous 1987 tell-all “I’m With The Band”, and the brand-new book “Let’s Spend The Night Together”) this ninety-minute documentary offers memories of her sexual exploits and longtime escapades with such notorious rockers as Mick Jagger, Jim Morrison and Jimmy Page — and chronicles her cross-country journey to reconnect with the iconic women who loved and inspired the great rock stars of our time. Join moderator Michael Des Barres as he Q&As (schedule permitting) with Pamela Des Barres, Lori Mattix, Cassandra Peterson (“Elvira”!), Michele Overman, Catherine James and the film’s director Jenna Rosher on the Cinefamily stage after the film — and stick around for a reception on our Spanish patio after the show!
cannot believe the end of Summer is nigh . . . sigh. Almost my birthday again . . . sheesh! Have been so bloody busy lately; loads of travel. When your boyfriend lives 1500 miles away, what’s a girl gonna do? I can’t bear to miss him play (in every way) for too long! Just visited him for a few days, saw several gigs which make my heart sing. . . his version of Dion’s “Love Came To Me” takes me to a place I didn’t even know existed-pure musical bliss, coupled with my early teen obsession, buying his 45s at the Reseda Record Rack. . . the glory of it is beyond words…and I like Houston, and Houston likes Mike Stinson. He is nominated for 4 Houston Music Awards and you can vote here: http://polls.houstonpress.com/polls/hou/mas2010/
I also taught another writing workshop in New York with my fantabulous Manhattan dolls, 18 of them! We had a blast! I plan to be back there in November for another round. I stay with sweet Sharon Ackerman, the hostess with it all!
I am now in Novato, Ca visiting my James Dean pal, Toni Lee Scott. . . she and Jimmy were very close. Can you imagine? What a story! I wrote a script about them which is still AVAILABLE!
Last weekend I took 10 people on my 8th (9th?) Rock Tour of Hollywood & Laurel Canyon. . .and it was a first for even me! Our screenwriter for HBO’s upcoming “I’m WIth the Band,” the crazily gifted Jill Soloway came along and wanted to peruse my actual diaries, and as I thumbed through those Very Important Tomes, I came across a map that Gram Parsons drew for me back in 1969, directions to their new pad off Woodrow Wilson Drive, “Burrito Manor.” He wrote “Look for the Brick Pillars,” and lo and be-be-behold, they were still there! I even wrote a song/poem called “Brick Pillars” about my love for Mr. Hillman.
That’s where I met my goddaughter, Polly Parsons when GP asked me to babysit her. She was almost a year and a half, an exquisite, serious little toddler. I hadn’t been there since they moved out n 1970. My soul thrummed dolls and sprouted wings- as you can see!
My darling girl, I wish there was enough time in my life to truly describe her beauty, to be close enough to her to count every beautiful red hair on her head. She is a cherub, small and fey, with barely enough room on her back for her little wings. She has a true rosebud mouth that she makes more perfect with vermillion rouge a levres that always matches her hair perfectly. Her eyes are a soft powder blue, but crisp and sharp when they flash smiles which are many and radiant. Her long fingers look as if they should be tickling piano keys and are festooned with tiny gold rings, each one a memory and one a 14 carat gold tribute to the king. Every once in a while, when we’re out to lunch, or just waiting for a tram to somewhere, she’ll reach one of her cool beautiful porcelain hands over to me and grasp my usually hot little one, squeezing a quiet, “I’m here and I love you” that only we understand. The days pass too quickly when we’re together . . . I want to stay and be able to laugh that laugh that I had only had with my mother before now, before I met her, my flame haired best friend, my angel.
I usually woke up with my nose nestled into his right armpit, snug as a kitten, smelling his man scent, stretching into awake as we disentangled from wet dreams that were mostly real. Morning slitted through the blinds this morning though and I found myself alone, my nose nestled into nothing more than the sweet sea smelling wrinkled with love pillowcase that had at one point late last night been under my fanny making my tiny body easier for his big one to get at and into . . . wet dream indeed. Yum.
This morning, already different, I did smell a familiar odor, toast toasting on the other side of the big red room. He brought the crispy browned pieces of toast over to me, dripping butter, reeking of strawberry heaven jam just like his mama used to make and still did. He went back for my tea and brought that over to me in bed as well . . . this was special, this normal morning was already tingling with something that we hadn’t had before. He said I want you well fed and all tead up . . . I have a surprise I want your ears for. I sat up in bed and crunched at my toast and sleepy eyed him over the rim of the hot mug of tea, he looked like he was steamimg from where I sat. My legs stretched out to meet the floor, it was cold and I thought maybe we should just snuggle back in and pick up from where we left off last night all warmed to hot in that soft cuddly bed with the perpetual wrinkled shhets, never made and always ready to jump back into. Come on, you! Up now, come listen. I wrapped the top sheet around me toga-esque and followed him up the stairs.
The big white room had a slick and regal baby grand piano in it, a big cushy armchair that you can sink into and a bench behind the piano . . . the light filtered through the curtains, shafts of light on Shaftesbury Avenue, he looked at me his big brown eyes melting into mine, his mouth curled into a smile and said listen, this is for you, my love and he started to sing in his strong sugar voice . . . ”Now that I’ve lost everything to you, you say you want to start something new, and it’s breaking my heart your leaving, baby, I’m grieving, but if you want to leave take good care, hope you make a lot of nice friends out there , but just remember there’s a lot of bad And beware. . . Oh baby baby it’s a wild world.
Baby, I love you, he lied.
February 14-a sad Valentine’s day for me, dolls. I lost a very close, beloved friend, Doug Feiger, to cancer today. He fought that bugger so valiantly and gracefully for over five years, and became a better man in the process. Doug inspired so many of us by sharing his courage and optimism and ultimate acceptance of his plight. His determination staved off that beast way longer than his doctors predicted. He was the snappiest dresser, the poppiest singer, the most self-possessed conversationalist. . . I miss his presence acutely already, although I felt him near me today. He told me to take care of myself. I loved/love him dearly . . . I will be reading for him nightly from The American Book of the Dead, and hopefully assist him on his journey . . .
I have been laid low with 2 versions of icky chest ailments that have had me on 2 different antibiotics for the last 3 weeks. That incredibly fast-track mini tour I did interviewing groupie goddesses in the snow took its toll on me bigtime. The pace, planes, eating on the run, freezing my tits off, being ON every day and night wreaked havoc with my usually sunny immunity. But, hey, I’ll recover any minute now, right?
I did start 2 new writing workshops last week however, and all the dolls are, as usual, groovy and gifted sweethearts, every one. I am always amazed at the level of talent they
arrive with, and so many of the girls become fast friends from the outset. Like minded music loving females bonding with words!
I never even wrote about my New Year’s Eve, spent with my dear pal Iva Turner, watching our fave hot tamale rockabilly lord, James Intveld shred what was left of 2009. That year already sounds like so long ago, doesn’t it? We danced in 2010 and enjoyed it immensely. I did miss my boyfriend, Mike, having spent the last 6 New Year’s Eves with him . . . but, alas, he now resides in Houston.
I visited him last month and got to see him play a few stellar shows- one at his local home away from home, the Volcano Bar. His new song, “Late For My Funeral” bowled me over, he is so bloody talented. His 3rd album, “Jukebox In Your Heart” is being pressed as I write this! Yay! We cuddled and wooed and he took me to all the local thrift stores and vintage clothing joints. He had even stocked his kitchen with an array of gluten-free treats. Sigh. I actually took a Greyhound bus from Austin to Houston, after teaching my glorious students there, and is was quite a serene little jaunt. It was over all too fast and I am now counting the days until my next trip to Texas mid- March.
We’ve almost finished the VH1 rock doc “Let’s Spend the Night Together,” which should be airing in May. In L.A. I spent quality time in front of the cameras with Miss Mercy, Catherine James, Cassandra “Elvira” Peterson and Lori “Lightning” Mattix discussing the glory and heartbreak of groupiedom. I can’t wait for you all to hear their candid outrageous tales!
February started off with a dynamite explosion when some unknown somebody decided to report that Zooey Deschanel was going to play me in the upcoming HBO “I’m With the Band” pilot. I have been keeping kinda mum on the subject, waiting for the perfectly exquisite moment to announce the momentous news, but that particular somebody beat me to it. Oh well, it’s certainly good news, isn’t it dolls? I couldn’t be happier about Zooey – a rock loving dollface, vintage fashionplate, a stellar actress and kindred spirit. And HBO? My fave shows, “Big Love” and “In Treatment” say it all. We are in the midst of meeting with writers, and I will keep you updated as we move the project along!!!
I saw my pal Paul Reuben’s supercool Pee Wee Herman show at L.A.’s Nokia Theater last week (with James Intveld) and jaw-dropped in awe, I rollicked with laughter and had a blast. Paul said he will probably take it to Vegas or Broadway..eeny meeny miney moe???
I have to go put on my flannel jammies, dolls and rub my chest with Vick’s Vapor Rub and think of my sweet mommy who used to comfort me in that oh so familiar way…
Will write sooner than soon, promise…
I am writing to you on the fly this month, dolls…literally! I am 30,000 feet up in the air, winging my way from Portland Oregon to Las Vegas, then driving two hours to a tiny town in Utah to meet up with a very special lady. Happily, I am finally in the midst of filming my groupie/muse documentary for VH1, “Let’s Spend the Night Together,” based on my most recent book. Hooray! I have long wanted to give these very important women their due. Unfortunately the term “groupie” has been maligned, distorted and completely misunderstood. Originally coined by a Brit journalist meaning ‘a follower of groups,’ it quickly became a negative jeer by envious people who couldn’t get backstage. By those NOT in the know, groupies are perceived as loose women, star fuckers, and to use an old-fashioned term, gold diggers. Wrong. A true blue groupie is someone who loves the music so damn much that they feel the need to get close to the person who makes it. “How do they touch me in that way?” They wonder, “Where does that divine sound come from?”
We are focusing on the ‘classic’ groupies, those fortunate few who were around during the golden heyday, the earth-shattering rock renaissance. These girls spent many intimate moments with the Rolling Stones, Led Zeppelin, Jimi Hendrix, Elvis Presley. Can we talk? Oh yeah.
Our first stop is Little Rock, Arkansas, hometown of one of rock’s most notorious, unapologetic groupie gals of all time – Sweet Connie. Very few dolls get name-called in an eternal rock classic, but during her very first year of groupiedom, as a teenager, Grand Funk Railroad immortalized her in “We’re an American Band.” “Sweet, sweet Connie/Doing her act/She’s had the whole show/And that’s a natural fact.” Connie so wanted to be around the musical madness, that she was more than happy to ‘service’ group members and the entire show surrounding the bands, including roadies, managers and soundmen, becoming world-famous for her fabulous blow jobs. Now in her mid-fifties, Connie still cavorts with the likes of Eddie Van Halen and Bob Dylan’s guitar tech, generously showing her love and appreciation for their continuing contribution to rock.
Next up on our rockin’ road trip is probably THE most famous groupie of all-time, Ms. Cynthia Plaster Caster of Chicago.
Her art will be around long after all the rock gods and their muses have passed into dust. Since 1968, Cynthia has been proudly making plaster casts of rock stars’ erect penises and putting them up on pedestals. Surprisingly shy, she needed a gimmick to get herself into hotel rooms and through back stage doors, and this ingenious gimmick did the trick. During our filming at her fave club, the Hideout, Cynthia ‘proposed’ to hot little hometown cutie, Ezra Furman, and I do believe he will soon be added to her copious collection of plaster hard-ons. The lucky singer-songwriter will be joining the substantial glory of Jimi Hendrix, the pride and joy of Cynthia’s stiff display of sublime artistry.
The last two days have been joyously spent in rainy Portland with one of the original flower children, Michele Overman, who still basks in the long ago afterglow of her love affair with Robert Plant.
We met on the dance floor at the Palomino Club, during a swoony late 60s Flying Burrito Brothers’ gig. She had just dallied with Gram Parsons, and I was crazy about Chris Hillman, but we soon found ourselves swept into the monstrous all-consuming majesty that was Led Zeppelin. I was hand-in-hand with Jimmy Page and Michele’s sweet blond beauty had captivated the Golden God himself, Sir Robert Plant. By this time, Michele’s hippie heart and flowing locks had entranced several rock lords, one of whom, a young androgynous singer with a big yummy mouth that would eventually charm the entire world – Aerosmith’s Steven Tyler. Michele is still the consummate romantic.
This evening in the small, snowy, quaint town of Enoch, Utah, I am meeting with the incredible Tura Satana, actress, (she starred as “Varla” in Russ Meyer’s legendary “Faster Pussycat Kill Kill!”) diva, former stripper – “Miss Japan America,” the babe who would share her bed, smooching techniques, dance moves and sex tips with The King! To be continued…
Back on a plane to L.A. I am still reeling from the titillating confessions of the ballsy and unrepentant Tura Satana. Now 71 years old, this magnificent dame has incredible recall about her long, passionate romance with a young Elvis Presley. She was 18 and he in his early twenties when they met on the beach after their respective shows in a small Southern town. She swears that after watching her burlesque bump and grind, moves that drove sailors crazy, Elvis asked Tura to show him how she jiggled her leg like that, and swiveled her hips just so. And after a few dates, she had the nerve to tell the Man Who Would Be King that his kissing style needed improvement! “Oh he got better, all right,” she purred, “and THEN I taught him how to really please a woman with that beautiful mouth of his.” Be still my eternal groupie heart! Tura insists that Elvis proposed marriage to her one sultry long ago night, and that 3 carat diamond ring is still twinkling on her finger, creating dazzling rainbows in the pure white snows of Utah.
2 days in Little Rock with Sweet Sweet Connie doin’ her act. . . zowie!