Originally published in Melody Maker, 19 January 1974

Although I’m typing this in Greenwich Village, New York City, this story really begins 3,000 miles away in Los Angeles.

It begins during the first week of October, which was when I moved into an apartment on Rangely Avenue, a quiet street not a stone’s throw away from the Troubador Club on the edge of the Beverly Hills estate.

The apartment belonged to Phil Ochs and was rented by me through Phil’s brother Michael. At the time Phil was away on an extended vacation in Africa.

I’d never met Phil but I’d heard his music, read some of his writings, and seen pictures of him. Now I was living with his possessions, in fact his life, all around me.

It was an untidy apartment, but large and homey nevertheless. From this I deduced Phil to be an untidy, disorganised character who enjoyed the comforts of life.

One day, while reading one of Phil’s books, I came across his homemade bookmark: A cheque for $1,000 never cashed and seemingly ignored. It was made payable to Phil.

The closets throughout the apartment were in complete disorder. Old clothes were piled in disregardless.

In the bedroom closet hung the gold lame suit, Elvis Presley style, which Phil had worn at the now notorious concert at New York’s Carnegie Hall. I tried it on secretly one night, but it was far too big.

All this I lived with for two months without meeting the owner until my last night in Los Angeles. It was more than a little coincidental that Phil should return unexpectedly that night, the night before I was catching an 11am plane to New York.

There was a knock at the door and there he stood, a little plump, a little untidy, and a little drunk.

Phil relaxed in his favourite chair, put on a classical record, switched on the television without sound to await the news, and made a series of telephone calls, almost ignoring me.

The calls over, we talked about his visit to Africa, his recorded but never released live album (I’d discovered a test pressing of this lying around the apartment), and sundry other topics.

Conversation turned at one point to Dylan who, of course, now lives in Los Angeles. In the early ’60s Ochs and Dylan were friendly.

The previous afternoon Phil had been driving along Sunset Strip when he heard his name called from the sidewalk. It was Dylan who was shouting at him.

“Bob just got in the car and we drove around for a while talking about old times,” said Phil.

Phil left for a dinner date about two hours after he’d arrived. The following day I flew to New York and Phil moved back into his apartment.

The next time I saw Phil Ochs was at Max’s Kansas City, a few blocks away from where I’m writing this, last week. He was playing a seven-night engagement at Max’s, two shows a night, and I went along for the opening.

Just inside the door of the concert room upstairs at Max’s, Phil was leaning against the bar drinking beer from a bottle.

During our brief conversation he explained that his voice wasn’t too good, the result of an attack by bandits in Africa when he was held tightly around the neck while being robbed.

It appears he was lucky to escape with his life.

The club was packed for Phil who is something of a legend. He was roundly applauded as he picked his way through the audience carrying an old Gibson acoustic guitar.

He explained that some of his songs were a little old-fashioned for today’s tastes, which indeed they were, but it didn’t seem to matter.

Ochs is 33 years old. He was born in El Paso in Texas, but raised in Ohio.

In 1961 he arrived in New York and settled in the Village determined to become a singer after having studied journalism in school and contributed articles to various journals.

Within one week he met Bob Dylan and today ruefully admits that he’s more famous as a Dylan raconteur than for his own music.

Phil had just finished his week at Max’s when we met at the Lion’s Head. He was proud of the fact that his stint there had created some kind of record as far as the house gross was concerned.

His greatest problem at the moment was losing his singing voice because of the assault in Africa.

The other topic uppermost in his mind at the moment is the release of his live album in Canada and Japan.

A&M, Phil’s company, don’t like it enough to release it in the States, but if it sells 10,000 in Canada the American release will go ahead. Phil thinks it’s the best album he’s done.