Posts Tagged ‘Jimi Hendrix’

Q & A from Premiere, 12/13/2010

December 17, 2010

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. . .


the Jimi Hendrix Experience

September 20, 2010

Sigh—what a day for a 17 year old flower child – got to dance with
the Jimi Hendrix Experience all day in a big old mansion in the
Hollywood Hills. Just spotted myself in the new Hendrix Doc on the Bio

me with Jimi

Golden Groupie Goddesses (Rolling Stone Column # 76)

January 25, 2010

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.

Cynthia Plaster Caster

Pamela and Cynthia Plaster Caster

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.

Michele Overman & Miss P.

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…

Pamela with Tura Satana

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.

‘SCUSE ME WHILE I KISS THE SKY (Rolling Stone Column #76)

December 20, 2009


I was a seventeen year-old flower child learning how to be free when I met a chubby curly-haired photographer at a freaky Los Angeles love-in. He was shooting pictures of all the frolicking half-naked hippies and took a shine to the prancing blonde dolly in the antique blue velvet dress cut dangerously close to her ruffled panties. He soon approached me and asked if I’d like to do some of that flashy frolicking in a ‘short film’ with a new band arriving from the UK the following week. Already madly entranced with several British groups, I asked excitedly who the band was. “The Jimi Hendrix Experience,” he said, “They’re already huge in England, and supposed to be pretty wild. You’ll be dancing to a song called “Foxey Lady.”  Of course I quickly agreed and on the appointed afternoon I climbed a hundred rock steps to a fading Hollywood mansion high in the hills, and entered a huge, round, crumbling room painted with vivid, swirly, psychedelic colors. As I stood nervously at the door, watching folks running around, getting ready to film the trio of frizzy-headed ultra-mod, vibrant rock gods lounging on a hot pink sofa, the obvious star of the show spotted me and beckoned me to him. ‘Come over here little girl…” Suddenly he was in front of me, the man who would change music and guitar playing forever, grinning in a sexy come-hither way, and my insides started quivering. This virgin teenager was literally struck speechless. His hand-painted jacket was emblazoned with a giant glaring eyeball that seemed to be winking at me, he had on a big felt hat with a feather that bobbed as he swayed back and forth, gazing at me like I was a big plate of something juicy and delicious. Just then, I was rescued as my photographer friend, Allen Daviau, introduced me to Jimi, drummer Mitch Mitchell and bassist Noel Redding. Then Allen helped me up to a tall white pedestal were I danced wildly all day long behind Jimi while “Foxey Lady” played over and over again. The rest of the afternoon, Allen filmed the four of us running around the massive overgrown mansion grounds like we were completely insane.
That ‘short film’ turned out to be the very first ‘rock video,’ and as always, Hendrix was ahead of the pack. (Allen went on to be an Oscar winning cinematographer, working with Steven Spielberg). By that evening, Noel Redding had glommed on to me; and even though I began a long, joyous, tumultuous relationship with him that day, one of my only regrets in life is something that I didn’t do – Say YES to that formidable man on fire, Jimi Hendrix.
My first perfect ‘groupie moment’ was spent on stage with the Jimi Hendrix Experience at the Hollywood Bowl as Noel’s L.A. doll. The Bowl is a stunning outdoor venue, and as I gazed up at the shimmering stars, I counted them all as lucky ones. The music Hendrix made was stellar and cosmic; taking me to places I didn’t even know existed. Incredibly sensual and as pure as a baby’s breath, it was spiritually transcendent and sticky wicked all at once.
Being with Noel, I did get to spend quality time in Jimi’s presence, and soon realized that he was probably not from this earth. He seemed to always be reaching for something not quite attainable, full of hope and expectation, creating sounds and even musical notes that haven’t been played before or since. He was rarely without a knowing little smile – as if he had a precious secret he just might share. I was with the band at a party in New York when a mutual friend announced that he was going to call all four of the archangels out of the corners in the opulent room, so they could hang out with us. Jimi was the first to look up at the high gold-gilt ceiling, rapt with anticipation, certain that angels Michael, Raphael, Gabriel and Azriel would join us in our merry-making. I tried to believe the angels had accepted our invitation, but from the way Hendrix laughed out loud, I was sure he could see them perfectly. Of course, he also had a penchant for getting very high on various substances, seemingly unafraid of consequences. I watched in amazement one night, as we all walked through a perilous party – Noel, Mitch and Jimi with their palms upturned, accepting every pill presented to them, swallowing them on the spot.
It was too many of those multi-colored pills that ended Jimi’s brief, brilliant life 40 years ago this year. He took way too many, drank way too much red wine, and didn’t wake up the next day. There was a lot of blame cast. A few years ago, I interviewed the sorrowful sad girl, Monika Danneman who gave Jimi the fatal accidental overdose so long ago. She spent the rest of her life creating hundreds of exquisite celestial paintings of Hendrix, still very much alive in cosmic eternity. A few months later, Monika closed her garage door, got into her Mercedes and let it run until she stopped breathing. But Hendrix never blamed her for his death. He was ready to go.
Jimi appeared to me in a dream a few years back. He played a heart-cleansing chord, unheard by human ears, a universal note, combining all musical notes, that still reverberates within me. That perfect divine sound opened a place within my solar plexus that will always shine like the fiery sun. “This is what I came to do,” he told me assuredly, “With my music I got as deeply inside people as I possibly could, and then it was time for me to go back home.”

“When the power of love overcomes the love of power the world will know peace.”
Jimi Hendrix

‘Almost Famous’ to ‘Rock of Love’: Groupies Then and Now (article from ABC News)

August 16, 2009

Check out this article on groupies!