Colin: August 2008 Archives
I once peed on Joe Cocker.
Bear with me. It’s been 23 years.
I was at the Palomino in North Hollywood. That sadly forgotten quasar of clubs.
TOWER OF POWER was crankin’ out tunes funkier than James Brown’s feet in a bucket of blue cheese and the only thing more incredible than Lenny Pickett’s tenor was the seventeen year old caucasian kid from Agoura screaming out, ‘I’m black and I”m proud.’
A cathedral of stained carpet, scored wood and torn vinyl, the Palomino Club was little bigger than a Taco Bell, but played host to the greatest artists that have ever graced a stage. Johnny Cash, Jerry Lee Lewis, Bonnie Rait. Willie Nelson. George Harrison, Merle Haggard, Neil Young. Dylan. It was the place you went to celebrate the sublime. And all of it for little more than ten bucks.
The Palomino was different than anything you’d ever find in New York. First off, it was a country bar more than anything else. But more importantly, this was California baby and that meant there were little if any ‘airs’ about the place or people. Backstage was open to anyone who wanted to say hello, extend a thank you or brave an autograph. And if the artists themselves weren’t up on stage, odds are they were sitting right next to you.
“Hey man. I’m Colin.”
“Hey Colin, John Fogerty.”
And it attracted all kinds. Bikers. Preppies. Cowboys. Punks. An ‘Apollo’ of stetsons, surfboards and soul brothers. My own personal Birdland. What a place.
The entrance to this forgotten diamond was certainly nothing to speak of. Dirt parking lot, cracked asphalt and a used tire dump just up the road. And if there hadn’t been those 8 neon letters just above the roof, you’d have missed it entirely. But cross that threshold of sun baked plaster and you found yourself in another world.
Dimly lit. The first thing to hit you was the aerated hops that found your nose. You didn’t dare look anyone in the eye for fear of being caught on. Sit in the back, order a coke and wait a bit ‘till things got busy enough to finagle a beer from the cocktail waitress. And for the six years I used to frequent the place, never do I remember anyone asking for my ID. Instead, they looked at your face. Your eyes. And should you pass muster, they gave you the nod.
Provided you didn’t break the rules, get too drunk or start any trouble, you’d be fine. Forget the above and you’d be cracked in half, tossed out onto your ass and wake up with teeth in your pocket. No cops. No lawsuits. No bullshit.
But the music. My god.
And so, you sat there. In anticipation of the freight train that was about to flatten you. The lights would dim. The chairs would shake and the room would rumble. And it began.
“Ladies and Gentlemen! Would you please welcome…”
It was a different time. A better time. There were more freedoms back then. Politically correct fascism hadn’t yet infected the populous and so there wasn’t that cloud that hangs over everybody today. There was no fear of engaging in a conversation with someone. Everything was better. The music was better. The comedy was better. Real satire. Nothing was off limits. And so everyone was able to come together and laugh at, let alone celebrate, themselves. Having the freedom to point out the fact that we were NOT all the same, made us the same. Try that today and you go to jail.
What does any of this have to do with my making pee pee on Joe Cocker?
Nothing really. Well, maybe a couple of things. One… It took 23 years to dignify it. I know that may sound crazy, but never tell a story you can’t celebrate. And two, I recently saw Joe on the tube and it made me think, ‘My God. I peed on that guy.’
Okay. So. Here’s how it went down. No big surprises I can assure you. It was 1982. I’d had a few beers. And I’m pretty sure that Joe was riding the same bicycle. We were both at the urinal doing our business, someone called my name, I turned and…
”Christ!!!”
What followed then was a drunken execration of every ill that should befall me.
Actually, he was very cool about it. I’d only dotted his shoe (for a split second) and the man simply said,
“Hey!”
“Oh, shit. Sorry man.”
“Eyes straight there Jimmy Riddle.”
And that was it.
But to see the legendary crooner on television last night sent me back to where it all began. 1982. The Palomino Club. It was a Tuesday night, and the first night that I ever saw the incomparable Tower of Power. By the following afternoon I’d purchased my first saxophone. 16 months later, I was up on stage jamming alongside Chet McCracken (Doobie Brothers), Chris Pinnick (Chicago) and Buddy Sklar (Spencer Davis Group). I met one of my dearest friends, baritone funk-a-file Scoobie Sorkin and upon reflection, I now recognize that it was the night that changed my life. And over the course of the next 23 years, I suppose one thing led to another and well… here I am.
It’s been an interesting road. A million exits but not a single u-turn. Such is life I suppose. I don’t play as much sax as I used to. Spending a lot more time of late memorizing lines like, “Stop or I’ll shoot.” But as much as I miss grabbing the brass and getting up on stage with my idols, I’m happy about the choices I’ve made. It’s been absolutely amazing. No regrets.
Still, every now and then. I’ll hear a flash of Lennie Pickett, David Sanborn or Bill Dickens and I freeze.
And wonder that I might just make a wish. Gather it all up. And trade it all in…
For just one more night at 6907 Lankershim Blvd.
Ah well.
To think that after all of that. Gang, won’t be making it to Dragon Con this year. Just booked a gig on a movie called FIREBALL and the schedule conflicts. All I can ask is that you all have a great time and if you’ve got the inclination, go check out CENTIGRADE as part of the Dragon Con Film Festival.
Thanks for all the support.
God bless you Matt.
Great news!
Guess who’s been ‘officially’ invited to come out and play in Atlanta?
Yippity doo!
Ya, I know that I was coming anyway for the film festival, but this makes it all the more fun. So, keep a look out for me at Dragon Con but don’t forget about the Film Festival! I know there will be many things to do, but I’m hoping that you may put a screening of CENTIGRADE on that list.
See you on the Walk of Fame everyone. Gonna be a blast.
C.
Great news.
As I’d mentioned before, there are some very exciting things happening with CENTIGRADE.
Basically, we are in negotiations with a fantastic company called SHORTS INTERNATIONAL that is quite keen on distributing the film. Shorts International is one of (if not ‘the’) largest and most prolific distributors of short films in the world. It has the sole account for iTunes and we could not have been approached by a better company. Still ironing out a few small details, but hope to ink something next week.
After that we’ll be crossing our fingers that CENTIGRADE finds a home on iTunes, and therefore available to download anywhere in the world! There’s no guarantee, but it doesn’t hurt to hope.
Crossing our fingers. Thanks again everyone for the support.
Colin and Madison
Thinking about getting out of the film game and going into reality television. That’s where the real money is.
No actors to coddle or writers strikes to worry about. Bullet proof contracts. Gonna make a fortune. Only, I’m gonna throw out the reality crap we’ve got today and start producing even edgier, more provocative shows.
I’m thinking deep, thought provoking titles such as SO YOU THINK YOU CAN FART?, CELEBRITY SACRIFICE and PALESTINIAN IDOL might just be the ticket. Think of the demographics out there just begging for content.
I’d start out with a couple of scare docs. THE SKY IS FALLING and WE’RE ALL GONNA DIE for the Al Gore/Born Again Christian crowd. Then follow it with a ‘homeless home renovation’ thing called FLIP THIS BOX. And for the hobo on the go? PIMP MY SHOPPING CART.
Friday nights would kick ass because I’d program the radical Muslim matrimony game WHO WANTS TO MARRY A NINE YEAR OLD? with the knee slappin’ Mormon sit com MY SIX MOMS.
My personal favorite though would be RAINBOWS COURT. The show where a liberal hippy magistrate sits on the bench, but refuses to judge anything. And for ‘sweeps week’, watch out for REPUBLICAN ISLAND. The reality show where everyone has tons of cash, but no food because China owns all the coconuts.
But it won’t all be fun and games. I’ll also create some wholesome ‘family themed’ tv movies. Heart tugging stories like BARREN GROUND. The story of two gay men desperately trying to conceive their own child without a condom. (And of the draconian, ‘closed minded’ science that stands in their way.)
A ROSE BY ANY OTHER NAME will follow the true story of Jeffery McCracken, an accountant in Philadelphia who realized that he was in fact, a German Shepherd trapped inside a mans body. And of the intolerant co-workers from whom he suffered (and later sued for 12 million). Finally forcing the government to pay for his Canine Reassignment Surgery, the film cronicles his life from that of a young puppy to his unfortunate and tragic death in 1998. (Fell down a flight of stairs trying to lick his nuts.)
And when it comes to ‘Day Time’ programming. Again, got some great ideas. First off, I think I’d like to keep THE VIEW just the way it is. It’s fun, informative and those gals are just a hoot. Only thing I’d do would be to jazz up the title a little bit and rename it, ‘THE VIEW’ FROM MY ASS.
As for the silly, irrelevant ‘fluff’ programming? Wouldn’t touch it.
We’ve already got FOX and CNN.
