Jan 26th – There are, in certain circumstances, levels of
excess, violence and shock-tactics on display in the rock ‘n’ roll arena that
sometimes beggar belief. Drive-by shootings of fellow but competing musicians, band
management dumped for someone better, spike-speak for “the girl the lead
guitarist is shaggin’”…(didn’t McCartney want Lee Eastman–father-in-law track
record rather than Alan Klein–rock band management
track record to manage the Beatles…and wasn't he Linda’s dad…and didn't this
lead ultimately to the break-up of the Beatles? Discuss)…band members with a
weak personality and low-ego problems (or L’ego as it’s known) egged on (or
L’eggo-ed on?) by fellow musicians and ‘friends’ to o.d. on whatever the drug
of choice is at that particular moment in time…? As an aside, I don’t think
band-folk would be so keen to take a drug to such an extent that it kills them
if that drug was Exlax, do you? Sorry, I digress…
What intrigued was that, with all the
possible routes one could take to reach brain-scrambled oblivion, meet one’s
maker or get a season ticket to the seat-belt farm, refusing a royalty cheque definitely
didn't figure on my horizon. Yours? Well, that’s what Peter Green did back in
‘77’.
Now, OK, so, he had an air rifle with
which he threatened the accountant trying to deliver the royalty cheque and, I
guess, the accountant didn't know what type of gun it was and could probably
have felt threatened by it – explosive-haired, sartorially challenged man with
six-inch long finger nails brandishing a gun and approaching you at a trot
yelling, “GET AWAY FROM ME!”… OK, I’ll give you that, but you have to say,
given Peter Green’s declared social stance and his gentle, shy nature, anyone
with even a slight understanding of the rock world (and, I mean, he was the
accountant for Mr. Green) would have known there was nothing to fear from the
writer of ‘Man of the World’, but then, accountants…huh?
I guess the massive dose of LSD he
took in Munich (Mr. Green not the accountant) given to him, by “a very suspect
group of people” but who referred to themselves as ‘fans’, didn't help to
smooth out his mood-swings, and that begs the question; where were all those
people who were supposed to be looking after him? Those people who had clung
around him when he was famous? Where were his support team, his management
team, publicist, personal trainer, tour-booker, minder and myriad friends?
Funny how many of those people are around when the groupies, drugs and booze are
on tap for free but never seem to be about when the really bad shit starts to
happen…?
Like leeches to the touch of a
lighted cigarette end, I figure by far the larger number shrivelled away as
soon as Mr. Green became inconvenient. Always seems to be a troupe of folk
ready to supply the talent with wide-awakes and sycophantic applause whilst
he/she is a money maker and shakin’ it; different story when the coke-cloud
drifts away under the glare of sunshine from the next best thing.
This air-rifle incident led to Green
being sectioned and, although come-backs have ensued, I still feel he never had
the chance to fulfil his promise; not the promise of further fame and fortune,
just the promise that so many deserve and never get; the promise of being at
peace with oneself and of living a contented life of their own choosing.
It never ceases to amaze me, in almost
every case of a famous musician succumbing to the demon drug, how those around
his/her constellation never work as hard at putting a brake on their supposed
idol's habit as they do in getting the next fix organised. Why is that? Bitter?
Me? No, not at all…
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