In September of 1972, while I was awaiting the birth of my daughter, the Kinks hired Dawson Sound and our revolutionary acoustic suspension sound system for a tour. It started in San Antonio, Texas with Steely Dan opening, and, since it was one of our first tours with the system, I was anxious to make a good impression. At that time, few had heard of Steely Dan—all I knew about them was that they were the openers. Ken Jones, an old friend and the Kinks’ road manager, took me aside during sound check.

“Ray doesn’t want the opening act to have a sound check,” Ken confided. “Nothing personal, but he never wants the support band to sound check. So just let them set up their gear and that’s it.”

“What!” I exclaimed, waving my arms. “No way! No! They’re part of the show. Bloody hell! That’s just wrong. I can’t do that! Tell the wanker I said no!”

Ken and I went at it for a few minutes before he threw up his hands and left. Steely Dan got their sound check. As the crew set up the Dan’s gear, I explained to a scruffy, long-haired bass player who came out to the house board how the acoustic suspension system was different from horn-loaded systems. Walter Becker smiled and said very little, just nodded his head a few times as he listened, and then left to go play. And play they did! It was an amazing set, and I made a mental note to remember the band.

By the time we hit Steely Dan’s last show as opener in Chicago, I knew that Ray was not pleased I had disregarded his directive, although he never said anything to me. Ray insisted on a full rehearsal that day, taking up the stage until it was time for doors to open. There was barely enough time to set up the Dan’s equipment, but by this time, I knew the Dan’s set and could have mixed them blindfolded. After the show, Walter came out to thank me for the sound checks and for mixing the shows.

“You may be hearing from us one day,” he said.

“I hope so,” I replied. “You guys are great!”

During the tour, I got sick with food poisoning and then a stomach and respiratory flu, which left me quite tired. Andy Topeka flew out from Boston to help with some of the shows. So, when Ken told me a few shows had been added, including two at the Felt Forum in New York, I just hoped I could last. I was grateful that the Kinks played Boston before that date, and I had a few days off at home before going to NYC, especially when Dr. Howard Jonas, a truly warm and humane physician, checked me out at the show and told me I had walking pneumonia. He ordered bed rest now or hospitalization later. Hating hospitals, I chose bed rest.

On November 14th, I checked into the Gramercy Park Hotel, where I often stayed with the Byrds. If you saw the film Almost Famous, you’ve seen the lobby of the notorious rock ‘n’ roll hotel. Anyway, Ken called to see how I was doing. The Kinks and entourage were staying at the Ramada Inn on Eighth Avenue, and I said I would see him the next day at the gig. Maybe after the show I’d come over for drinks if I were feeling better.

As we set up at the Felt Forum, the band asked how I was feeling. The rest at home and antibiotics were just what I needed. Ray Davies said he too had felt sick at four shows in a row and, with all the traveling, he was going nuts. Ken Jones later told me the road was taking its toll. Both Ray and Dave were getting weird, and he was glad he also had a few days away from both of them.

Now, the Felt Forum is part of Madison Square Garden, a union venue. Just before the sound check, the union sound engineer decided he would mix the show.

“What???” I was pleasantly aghast. “You’re going to mix the show? Did the Kinks hire you? You’re going to do what?”

I wanted to burst into laughter but knew better. I wasn’t even angry. I had learned about teamsters and stagehands on my first visit to America in 1969, when Fleetwood Mac opened for Sly and the Family Stone at the Garden. Back then, a union soundman pulled a gun on me to make his point that this was a union house. More specifically, it was his union house. I quickly learned not to mess with them. Over the years, however, I got to know most of the union crews in the city, especially Frank, the formidable, muscular union steward who loved cigars and became a good friend.

It was Frank who overheard my conversation and suggested to his union mate that perhaps it would be better if I mixed and the union sound engineer helped. Frank pointed out that the union guy would still get paid, and, because I knew the group and their music, everyone would be happy. A deal was made and the shows were brilliant theater. Everyone was feeling great.

After packing the gear on the second night, I went back to Ken’s hotel room with him and Dave Davies to chat and have a celebratory beer. Dave was talking when Ray came in the room with two pretty girls in white face.

“Hello, lads,” Ray cheerfully greeted us. “Meet my new friends. You have got to see this!” After a few minutes, it became evident that these girls were mimes, a pair of sexy, female Marcel Marceaus. Without a word, the girls made their intentions clear. Silently, they walked over to Dave and began to tie him up with imaginary ropes, dragging a compliant Dave out of the room.

“These two girls just showed up at my door,” Ray explained with a big grin. “They did this crazy sex mime routine, so I let them in. They haven’t made a sound yet! Come with us and check it out!”

Ken and I declined, although we laughed a lot about it.

“Great, man,” Ken replied, “tell me what happens later.” Ray disappeared after his brother and the two mimes.

Ken and I worked on some papers, chatting and drinking for some time, when suddenly we heard loud knocking at the door. Bang! Bang, BANG… when Ken opened the door, Dave staggered into the room, laughing uncontrollably.

“Okay,” chuckled Ken, “Tell us what happened! Give us the sordid details.” Dave fell on Ken’s bed, doubled over in laughter. When he finally caught his breath, he began.

“Well, the girls had me and Ray sit on the bed as they began their mime. Not one word! No sound! You know, the mime thing, lads. One of ‘em pretended to walk down the hall and knock on the hotel room door. The other let her in and they began kissing. Well, soon it became pretty real and they started going at it, kissing, taking their clothes off, the whole bit!”

“And that ain’t all,” Dave continued. “When they finished that routine, they started on us! Ray wanted to go first, so here I am.” Both Ken and I were astonished. We looked at each other, not quite knowing if we should believe him, before returning to our drinks. Presently, a knock at the door proclaimed Ray’s return.

“Okay, Dave. Your turn,” Ray gleefully announced. As Dave smiled and made his exit, Ray turned to Ken and me. “That was truly different but rather nice. You want to check out their show now?” he asked with a tired but devilish smile.

We respectfully declined as Ray passed out on the bed. Shortly after, I bailed out, heading back to the Gramercy and a nice, hot bath. A number of years ago, Ken passed from cancer. Whenever I hear the Kinks, especially “Waterloo Sunset”, I think about him. Rock ‘n’ roll was special back in the day.

Tags: The Kinks, Ray Davies, Dave Davies,
Steely Dan

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