Tales of Rock – Kurt Cobain Kills Himself Twice

“Like Robert Johnson, Brian Jones, Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin and Jim Morrison, he was 27 years old when he died.

And let us not forget Amy Winehouse who also died at age 27.”

Few musicians’ experiences with drug abuse have been as complex and intense as Kurt Cobain’s. For proof of this, see the index of Charles Cross’ 2001 Cobain biography Heavier Than Heaven. If you check, “Cobain, Kurt Donald; drug use of…” you’ll basically be instructed to read the entire book. He started off heavily averse to heroin; during his formative years, a friend suggested they try it and he stopped hanging out with him in response. He eventually tried the drug; when asked how it was by Nirvana bassist Krist Novoselic, he shrugged, “Oh, it was all right.” But his habit escalated.

By the time Nirvana appeared on Saturday Night Live in 1992, Cobain was so deep in heroin addiction that he was vomiting and barely able to stand right until the time came to perform. He somehow pulled it together long enough to play “Smells Like Teen Spirit” and “Territorial Pissings” on live television. In March 1994, Cobain attempted suicide for the first time by washing down a large dose of flunitrazepam with champagne while in Rome. He nearly died and ended up in a coma for a day (Novoselic claimed that, mentally, he was never the same after this).

Within weeks he was back in Seattle, crashing on his daughter’s junkie nanny’s girlfriend’s couch and popping out occasionally to purchase speedballs and burritos. Cross quotes the girlfriend as saying, “He’d sit in my living room with the hat with the ear coverings, and read magazines. People came and went; there was always a lot of activity going on. Nobody knew he was there or recognized him.” By the end of the month, Cobain was given an intervention and packed off to rehab in California. But he soon escaped the facility by scaling a six-foot wall and, improbably, found a seat on a flight back to Seattle next to Guns N’ Roses bassist Duff McKagan.

Despite beef between Nirvana and Guns N’ Roses, the two bonded, finding a great deal of common ground as famous musicians from the Pacific Northwest with heroin problems. Once back at his house, Cobain reattempted suicide and this time he meant business. He injected a lethal dose of heroin and then blasted himself in the head with a shotgun, effectively killing himself twice. Like Robert Johnson, Brian Jones, Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin and Jim Morrison, he was 27 years old when he died.

And let us not forget Amy Winehouse who also died at age 27.

Another sad rock and roll tragedy. Showbiz is the only industry that eats it’s young.

Check this out:  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/27_Club

A footnote from phicklephilly: “I never understood suicide. You get one chance to be here, why leave early if you don’t have to? Suicide’s for quitters. I’ve suffered with anxiety and depression my whole life. I’ve beaten the shit out of them both (without drugs) and now we’re all on the same side. Suicide is always a long term solution to usually a temporary problem. I just don’t get it, Kurt. I was in a band when I was younger. It was an amazing experience. Kurt, you play music for a living. You’re in a famous genre inspiring band. You’re surrounded by a gaggle of moist women. Your bank account is full and your nuts are empty. WTF?”

 

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The Beach House – Chapter 2

It was about four o’clock when I finished the final load a laundry. It being summer, I still had a good four hours of good beach time left. I grabbed a book, donned my swimming trunks, and headed to my lounger. I mentally kicked myself for forgetting to research a self-adjusting umbrella. I began to adjust the umbrella and felt a sharp pain in my ankle as my foot dug into the sand. Something jabbed me hard right below where the ankle bone stuck out. I whipped my foot up and saw two small welts just above the heel. It didn’t look that serious although it was a bit sore. It must have been some glass or something in the sand. Just another thing trying to ruin my day.

I lay on the lounger and opened my book at the marker. It wasn’t a great book, but I had a rule about finishing every book I start. It even paid off one time with a fantastic ending that made the slog through the rest more than worthwhile. I flexed my leg and ankle a bit trying to shake off the noticeable discomfort from the sand bite. I figured I would be stuck with the pain till I was able to sleep it off tonight. I went back to my book.

An incessant uneven humming began to disturb my world. I looked up from the book and saw a boat breaking the waves not far off shore. It seemed too small for the ocean. Every time a wave went by, it pulled the small engine out of the water and it emitted a high pitched scream. Fucking idiots. They had a whole ocean to play in, and they picked my back yard. I went back to my book figuring they would pass in a moment. The engine got louder as I read.

I looked back up and saw the small craft heading toward my beach. It sounded like the throttle was opened all the way. I lost the grip on my book and it dropped closed. “Son of a bitch!” I said as I realized I would have to spend the next five minutes trying to find my place again. I was really beginning to dislike the captain of the annoying vessel. The boat wasn’t slowing and was still heading to my beach. If they thought they were landing here, they had better think again. I grabbed my phone in case I had to call the police.

The boat began veering off to the left toward the breakwater. The idiots should be able to see the rocks. That’s all I need is a smashed up boat to ruin my pristine view. “Hey, wake up!” I shouted and waived my arm. The boat kept coming and didn’t slow a bit. I screamed again, signaling with both arms, but the boat stayed to its course and slammed into the rocks. I heard wood give way when it hit and saw what looked like a naked body fly out toward the rocks.

I stood quickly from my chair. A little too quickly as my leg had seemed to go numb a bit. I moved toward the shore trying to work the sleep out of it yelling for whoever would listen. “Hey asshole! This is a private beach.” I received no response, but saw something bobbing close to shore. It looked like a body. Fuck, that’s all I need. Someone came all the way to my house to die. I moved quickly to water in hopes of forestalling a visit from the coroner. My arm didn’t really want to cooperate as numbness ran up my side and toward my neck. I moved quickly into the shallows and rolled what I now realized was a naked woman onto her back.

She sputtered a little water out of her mouth and looked up to me with hugely dilated eyes. “Should have just left me,” she said with a Spanish accent before she broke into laughter. Pissed, I grabbed her wrist and began pulling her lethargic body toward the sand with my good arm. Her head was oozing a bit of blood although it didn’t look too serious. Suddenly, pain forced me to my knees. Something was really wrong. I didn’t have any energy to stand back up. My whole chest felt like it was collapsing in on itself. I dropped her arm and remembered my phone. I picked the first number in my recent list and dialed Monica.

“Monica… Monica.” I couldn’t finish the sentence. I didn’t have enough air in my lungs. I realized I might be dying. A wave a fear ran through me. I wasn’t ready to go yet. I haven’t even finished the book.

“Fuck! You’re having a heart attack!” The woman sat up, and two rather attractive breasts bounced on her chest. She was failing miserably at trying to hold back laughter. My vision was drifting in and out which made the whole situation surreal. I fell backward, half in and half out of the water. She grabbed my phone before it got wet. “Mr. Private Beach needs a doctor.” She laughed into the phone and threw it over her shoulder into the water. The last thing I remember was her Spanish laughter as she straddled my stomach.

 

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Tales of Rock – Nothing Seems as Pretty as the Past

Top Groupies Of All Time: Sable Starr and Lori Maddox

I love writing Tales of Rock, but this is the most lurid and heartbreaking part of this series.
The musicians I loved have done some deplorable things.
But when I think back to my time in L.A. I kind of get it.
I’m not saying it’s right but a lot of artists and musicians did stuff.
Top Groupies Of All Time: Sable Starr and Lori Maddox

 

Hanging out with musicians is any girl’s dream come true. Well, these girls did just that. Mind you, these two girls, Sable, the unofficial queen of the 70’s LA glam rock scene, and Lori, her best friend, were only around 13 at the time. These baby groupies strutted around Sunset Boulevard  on their shiny platform heels, eyes and ears peeled for the likes of Led Zeppelin or David Bowie to show up. I personally don’t like these baby groupies very much, their personalities leaving a lot to be desired, but then again, what 13 year who thinks they’re the hottest thing around isn’t catty? Still, they deserve a mention, these were wild times and these were wild girls.
Due to the comments I keep getting on this particular page, I felt the need to write this. The reason for this post was to not only post a collection of photos of music and fashion from the 70’s, but to also talk about a certain period of time, a moment in history, and the people involved. Nowhere on here does it say I approve of the behavior of the musicians and the groupies. Not once did I say that what they did was ok. It’s like if I made a post about the Holocaust – another period in time that I’m interested in and I’ve read so much about- and saying that I condoned what happened during the Holocaust. I love history (and history has good and bad parts) and the only reason I made this blog was because I like to write about things that interest me, I like to collect pictures, and I like when a person discovers my blog and learns something new or rediscovers something they had forgotten.

Lori modeling with fellow baby groupie Shray Mecham for Star Magazine.

Queenie Glam, Shray, and Sable.
With Iggy Pop.
With Debbie Harry.
With Keith Moon and Annette Walter-Lax.
With Led Zeppelin and groupie Morgana Welch at the English Disco and not the Rainbow Bar & Grill even though to me the booths in the back looked exactly like that. I’ve actually been there a couple of times, not as amazing as I thought it would be, but still crawling with would-be groupies and musicians. I even saw a certain special someone there, coming out of the bathroom before their first gig at The Key Club. Anyroad, the caption to this picture is pretty hilarious.
With John Bonham.
I’m sure you all know what went down with Jimmy and Lori, so I won’t bother to repeat it here.
Just like Jimmy and Lori were a complicated pair, so were Johnny Thunders and Sable.
With Iggy and Johnny.
With Sylvain Sylvain.
With Stiv Bators.
With BP Fallon.
With Dave Hill.
Sable with Mackenzie Phillips and the unofficial mayor of the Sunset Strip, Rodney Bingenheimer, posing outside of the English Disco.
Sable with other baby groupies posing with Rodney outside the Continental Hyatt House (The Riot House).
Young girl – Gary Puckett

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Tales of Rock – Lori Maddox – Part 1

“I LOST MY VIRGINITY TO DAVID BOWIE”

IN THE EARLY 1970S, the Sunset Strip was a magnet for rock stars: Bowie, Zeppelin, Iggy Pop, Mott the Hoople, The Who. They all hung out in the VIP rooms of louche LA nightclubs like E Club, the Rainbow, and Rodney Bingenheimer’s English Disco. And with them, of course, came groupies. Scantily clad 14- and 15-year-olds like Sable Starr and Lynn “Queenie” Koenigsaecker sipped cherry cola, dropped pills, and evolved into pubescent dream girls for the platform-shoed rockers who could get anything and anyone they desired. 

MICHAEL OCHS ARCHIVES/GETTY IMAGES
MICHAEL OCHS ARCHIVES/GETTY IMAGES

 

 

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Tales of Rock – Sly Stone

He became addicted to cocaine among other substances, and supposedly kept a violin case filled with drugs with him constantly.

Sly and the Family Stone’s first four albums were the work of a man in total control of his talents and craft. By the time of his band’s fourth album, the monumental Stand!, Sly Stone was applying remarkable discipline to his work: writing, performing on, producing and arranging all songs.

But with the massive success of Stand! and the band’s subsequent appearance at Woodstock came a big change in Stone and, as a result, his band. He became addicted to cocaine among other substances, and supposedly kept a violin case filled with drugs with him constantly. Stone’s Bel Air mansion took on a cult-like atmosphere, with Stone dispensing drugs to his fellow band members and assorted hangers-on.

Some of the band’s next album, There’s A Riot Goin’ On, was recorded in a home studio here, with Stone recording much of his vocals lying down. He’d also allow groupies to sing over the album’s tapes as “auditions,” then once he’d had his way with these women, send them on their way and wipe the tape. This eventually diluted the fidelity of the actual recordings themselves, contributing to the album’s murky sound. Given all this chaos, it’s a testament to Stone’s talents that the resulting album is still one of the greatest ever made.

Stone made a half-dozen further albums of varying quality after this; by the end of the ’70s he’d started giving them sad titles like “Heard Ya Missed Me, Well I’m Back and Back On The Right Track” and the songs contained within were largely lame retreads of his earlier material. In the 1980s, Sly basically disappeared. He’d pop up for an occasional live performance, cameo on someone else’s album or arrest for cocaine possession, but beyond that was rarely seen.

In the mid-2000s there were hints of a comeback; he appeared with his old band and other musicians for a tribute to Sly and the Family Stone at the 2006 Grammy awards, but Stone left the stage before the performance was over. In 2011, reports surfaced that Stone was homeless and living in a van in L.A. He was quoted as saying, “I like my small camper. I just do not want to return to a fixed home. I cannot stand being in one place. I must keep moving.”

 

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Abby – The First 30 Minutes

In the first five minutes I learn that she’s actually interested in becoming an actress, loves dogs, and really wants to save anal for “real relationships” from here on out.

After Annabelle dumped me, I got talked in to online dating to get me out of my funk. (See:Annabelle – Guy Walks Into a Bar) Instead of bitching and moaning, I decided to just embrace it, and go out and meet women. I didn’t really lead people on. A couple of times at the end of the date I looked at them and flat-out said “We’re just not right for each other.” The first time I was blown away when she let out a sigh of relief and said, “Yeah. You’re right, we’re just moving in different directions. But huge thanks for being cool about it.” A fair number of random dates, fun fooling around, and general dating fun. Because I was really in it just to meet people and not hunker down at home and get depressed, I also had some utterly bizarre dates.

I spoke to Abby a couple of times online, but decided to meet and have dinner pretty quickly. She was funny, and sounded like fun. I got to the bar first, grabbed a drink and talked to the bartender. I actually let them know what was happening. Had enough time to drink half my drink, when she walked in. Happily, she looked better than her pic. Got up, introduced ourselves, nice hug, she sat down and belted down the rest of my drink. Okay… admittedly, not the strangest thing that happened to me that week. No big deal. The bartender comes over, and I ask her if she wants another. “Sure, but make it a double, but no coke. Just rum. Well, no rum. Just whiskey.” she says.

Interesting…. In the first five minutes I learn that she’s actually interested in becoming an actress, loves dogs, and really wants to save anal for “real relationships” from here on out. Oh, and she doesn’t like to do cocaine anymore because it really leads to her making bad decisions. Cool….. I’m now looking around the restaurant for hidden cameras. Another ten minutes, and we’ve talked a little about work, the crappy commutes, coolest client stories I’ve ever had.

Suddenly she looks me dead in the eye (bartender is within arms reach), and says “I’m going to the bathroom. You want a blow job?”

Thirty minutes in to the date. I check the bartender for an ear bud or body camera. Nope. Still no sign of hidden cameras or anything, the chick is just bizarre. The bartender is shaking his head “no” at me. I’m not against some fun freaky time on the first date, but in the first 30 minutes?? I decline. I order two more drinks (signal to slow it down). She disappears, comes back, and we talk for five more minutes before she slams her drink, leans over French kisses me and says “This has been fun! I hope to see you again!”. And bounces out.

The bartender comes over, and we just start laughing. It was SO FREAKING bizarre. I grab a menu, order some dinner. As I’m finishing my dinner drink, the bartender comes over and points at the door. Abby is sneaking back in the restaurant, and heading upstairs (split level place). I take my time finishing my drink, to see if I get any more bizarre tidbits to add to the story, but nothing happens. The bartender even went upstairs to check on things, only to find her doing a rail of coke by herself.

Bizarre blind date. Anal might have happened after the cocaine, but the blow job was offered in the first 30 minutes or so.

 

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