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Clarence White and Jim Morrison Stretch on a 747
On October 29, 1970, the Byrds flew to Miami for a series of concerts, happy to escape to the road after all the drama surrounding recording in LA. Roger McGuinn had decided we could use a little first class relaxation, so Jimmi Seiter upgraded our plane tickets. We’d deal with the accountants, who were notoriously frugal, upon our return.
As we boarded the plane, we noticed that the spacious section of the plane held only two other passengers, one of whom looked familiar. A collective sigh of relief could be heard as the Boeing 747 lifted off from LAX. Shortly after takeoff, Clarence White strolled over to the other occupants, chatted a while, and returned with the familiar one, whom everyone now recognized. Jim Morrison of the Doors, a little heavier than when we had previously seen him, was traveling to Miami with his lawyer for an arraignment over charges that he had exposed himself onstage at a recent concert.
“We’re going upstairs to the lounge for a drink,” Clarence said. “Wanna join us?” Now, flying back then was rather different from today’s security-driven flights. Among other things, first class on a 747 included a well-fortified bar, which we were all looking forward to visiting. I loved those jumbo jets for their spiral staircases and penthouse watering holes. In a moment, all of us were upstairs, ordering drinks from a pretty flight attendant behind the bar.
1971 Byrds: Dinky Pens “BB Class Road”
A few years ago, I was enjoying my morning coffee while checking email. There, in my inbox, was a note from Joe, a friend I hadn’t heard from in months.
“Mr. Dawson,” it read, “check this out: http://www.snopes.com/music/songs/bbclassroad.asp. You’re an urban legend!”
So I followed the link and, much to my surprise, found an article about “BB Class Road”, a song I had written with Gene Parsons, the Byrds drummer, for the group’s album Farther Along. Now Snopes bills itself as “the definitive internet reference source for urban legends, folklore, myths, rumors, and misinformation,” and I use it regularly to verify preposterous claims.
“Whoa,” I thought as I read the article. “Even Snopes doesn’t always get it totally right.” Previously, I had heard the rumor it was my vocal on “BB Class Road”, and although I sang “Gilbert and Sullivan” as a teenager, I have never sung on any recording. I prefer working with a mixing console rather than singing into a mic. Snopes got the singing part right, but there was other misinformation in the article. So here, Crawdaddy! readers, is my take on the entire episode!
Byrds for Gearheads
During August 1970, Byrds road manager Jimmi Seiter introduced me to John, an electronics engineer at Valley Sound in Los Angeles, who had customized Clarence White’s electric guitar setup. I wanted John to build me a new stereo summing box, similar to the one I had brought with the Watkins Electric Music (WEM) sound system when I joined the Byrds. At that time, John had been working with Clarence on a fuzz/distortion box, switching clean sound into a Fender Leslie Vibratone and Fender Twin Reverb with JBL speakers.
“I’ll have one for you before you play the Fillmore West,” John said. Now Jimmi, the Byrds’ tour manager and sometime percussionist, was insisting we use the WEM in the Fillmore in San Francisco. I was overjoyed to learn we’d haul the sound and band gear, which filled a 22-foot truck, up two flights of stairs to the Fillmore dance floor.
While John worked on the Byrds’ equipment, Jimmi and I went to see Ron at William Bal Fiber about building cases for the WEM, as well as for some new Fender and Acoustic amplifiers. CBS, their record label, sponsored the Byrds, supplied them with Fender amps and Rogers drums, and we needed the flight cases to protect the gear. The Byrds, along with the Doors, were one of the earliest rock groups to have equipment protected by fiber cases. We ordered 39 of them.
1970 Tales of Byrds and Brownies
In 1970, I left Fleetwood Mac to come to America to work with the Byrds. Quite the stranger in a strange land, my first month in California found this Englishman building equipment for the road, moving into a new house in Sherman Oaks with Jimmi Seiter, the Byrds road manager, and meeting all the group’s families. Roger, his wife Ianthe, and his two sons, Patrick and Henry, lived high in the Hollywood Hills. I have fond memories of playing pool there and checking out Roger’s toys, including a huge Moog synthesizer with wires going back and forth in organized chaos.
During the pre-cell phone days of the 1970s, CBs (citizens’ band radios) were kings of the road; everyone who spent any time on America’s highways had a CB for communication. They were an essential road tool—great for speed traps and accident alerts, as well as for finding gas stations and places to eat while traveling. Popular among truck drivers, Roger had a CB base station at home, units in his Porsche and other cars, and a portable one that he carried with him. Clarence had a CB unit too, and he and Roger would talk to each other all the time, using the 10-codes and other CB lingo, and sometimes setting up practical jokes on the other band members.
However, Roger’s most spectacular toy at that time was his low-powered laser. Sometimes at night, Roger would point his laser across the canyon road through a window onto a white wall in the living room of an unsuspecting neighbor watching television. The laser burst would shine a spot of light on the living room wall, freaking out the man who would look everywhere searching for the light source. Roger, of course, used binoculars to watch the man and would turn the laser off just as the man turned toward the window. In those pre-terrorist days, Roger often took the laser on the road, amusing the band as he annoyed bewildered victims with his practical jokes.
The Kinks Do the Felt Forum
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.
The Return of Spanky and Our Gang
In 1970, I left Fleetwood Mac in England to come to America to work with the Byrds. My newest friends in the US were the band members, especially Clarence White and his dad, and the roadies, Jimmi Seiter, Carlos Bernal, and Al Hersh. Jimmi and I rented a house in the San Fernando Valley, and, if we weren’t hanging out with our friends in the canyons, they were crashing at our place.
I’m not sure when Jimmi (whose brother John, now working for the NY Jets, was an early drummer for Spanky and Our Gang), first took me to meet Elaine “Spanky” McFarlane, but we hit it off right away. Anyone who meets Spanky marvels at how friendly, generous, and open she is. She first started making music in Chicago, near her hometown of Peoria, Illinois. By the time she was 18, she fronted a blues band that played Mother Blues in the Windy City. In her band at that time were Little Brother Montgomery, Wee Willie Dixon, and Booker T. Washington. After her hits with Spanky and Our Gang (“Sunday Will Never Be the Same”, “Lazy Day”, “Like to Get to Know You”, “Give a Damn”), she moved to the West Coast. When Jimmi introduced me, Spanky was living in Topanga Canyon with her two kids, DeeCee and Matt, near Michael Horse, a Yaqui Native American actor and activist who had played Tonto in The Legend of Lone Ranger. A few weeks before our visit, Matt had created some mischief at Michael’s house. He ended up tied to a small tree as Michael, in a full headdress of eagle feathers, wildly danced around him, shaking his bow. Matt didn’t know if he should laugh or cry, but he was scared, and after his release, ran home, eyes wide, to tell Mom, who tried to control her laughter. A few hours later, Spanky heard a loud whack at her front door. As Matt carefully opened the wooden door, she gasped and then laughed as she found a flaming arrow piercing the frame. Ah!!! Topanga Canyon back in the day!
Fleetwood Mac: Roundhouse, Chalk Farm, London
April 24, 1970 — In early April, when Fleetwood Mac returned to London after an emotional European tour, Peter Green, devastated by drugs, suddenly announced he would be leaving the group in late May. Clifford Davis, the band’s manager, reluctantly began cancelling an upcoming British tour set to begin the following month. Relationships in the stunned band were strained, but the Mac still had to complete recording “The Green Manalishi (With the Two-Prong Crown)”, Peter’s final studio effort with them, as well as a B-side for the single. To underscore the troubled band relationships, Jeremy Spencer opted out of these sessions to work on his own album.
Despite the high tension, the recording sessions at De Lane Lea Studios in London, driven by the intense music, still had their moments. Mick set up his new gong, surrounded by six microphones and miles of cables, in the underground car park below the studio. When Mick banged his gong, that car park vibrated like a giant bell with an eerie ringing that reverberated off the walls. Talk about an echo! Another night, Carlos Santana showed up, and it didn’t take long for a lengthy jam session to start. In the past, Peter often hit upon brilliant melodic ideas in the midst of jams like these, and on this night, he was showing Santana some pretty impressive licks. At some point, Peter had introduced Santana to “Black Magic Woman”, the hit that Carlos would record shortly thereafter for his own band’s second album. Throughout the sessions, Clifford did his best to convince Peter to stay, but Greenie steadfastly maintained his intention to leave, seemingly happier now that his decision was public.
Part II: Ambrosia, 1978
After the awesome showcase at the Palladium, everyone’s morale was soaring. Our next date was the Civic Center in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, opening one last time for Heart. I was again expecting to work with a limited system, but, much to my delight, on this night there were few restrictions. Even though Ambrosia still didn’t get a full soundcheck, we were able to complete a line check to set our vocal and instrument levels. During our opening set, the Wilson sisters stood by the monitor console and, to their credit, it was evident that they wanted to make sure their sound company worked with us. As we shook the building with “Life Beyond LA”, it looked like one of the girls was making sexy eyes at David Pack. David looked quite embarrassed.
The next day found us back in two rental cars, driving to a club date in Toledo. After my last encounter with the cops, I was trying to respect the speed limits. Stuffed in the cars for hours, we needed a break, exiting the Ohio Turnpike into a little town called Newton Falls, where we decided to grab some food and stretch our legs. We brought our soaring spirits into a pizza joint near the exit. The poor girl behind the counter was a little freaked to see our rag-tag group enter the empty place, but the long-haired cook came from the kitchen to cheerfully greet us. As we began eating our pizzas, the cook sat down at our table, noting we didn’t look like the locals. He soon learned we were touring musicians, but he hadn’t heard of Ambrosia. Nonetheless, he found us interesting.
“You guys wanna take a little break?” he asked when he learned we had a day off before our next show. “I got a little house not far from here where you can chill. Got a little herb, too.”
Part I: Ambrosia, 1978
In September, a few months after I completed touring with Warren Zevon, I got a call from Warren Wallace, the former tour manager for Steely Dan, asking me to join him in Los Angeles, where he was working with Ambrosia. Arriving in LA, I went straight to their rehearsals at S.I.R. I dropped my bags, walked to the house console, and immediately started mixing the song they were rehearsing. When the tune ended, David Pack, Ambrosia’s lead guitarist and main vocalist, rushed over, very excited I was there. Soon Warren introduced me to Steve Lehman, their tour manager, chief cook, and bottle washer, Bob “Omaha” Toth, the keyboard tech and electronics whiz (whom I instantly pegged as the road crew’s wild man), and Gordy Hebler, their young lighting director. I also met the other band members: Joe Puerta on bass, Moog pedals, and vocals, Burleigh Drummond on drums and vocals, the two keyboard players, Chris North and David Lewis, and Royce Jones on vocals and percussion, whom I remembered from the 1974 Steely Dan tour. Their manager was Freddie Piro and the publicist Billy Pfordresher. Over the next few days, we all worked together, primarily for my benefit since these guys were well together after rehearsing for a month.
After a week we were ready to hit the road for a short tour, but I got a stomach bug and fever the day before I was to leave LA. Feeling queasy, I visited an old friend, a chemist, who had said he might be able to calm my stomach. As soon as I walked into Roy’s apartment, he noticed how ill I looked and immediately started putting a concoction together. I was fascinated by his prescription. He first emptied a bit of soda from a quarter-sized can of Coca-Cola, adding three crushed coca leaves to it. Scraping a brown chunk of rock he called French chalk, he added this white powder to the soda, which started bubbling and frothing out of the can.
“Drink this,” he said. “It will calm your stomach and bring down your fever.”
My Life Is the Road: Byrd Food, Dial-A-Steak to Dutch Dinners
by: Dinky Dawson
On my first road trip with the Byrds to New York City, I was introduced to the Gramercy Park Hotel, a legendary rock ‘n’ roll hotel located at 21st Street and Lexington Avenue next to the park. In fact, if you were a guest at the hotel, you had access to a key that opened up the fenced-in plot of greenery in Manhattan. Built on the site of the former home of architect Sanford White, who designed Madison Square Garden, notables such as Humphrey Bogart, Joseph P. Kennedy, and Edmund White once had residences there. Babe Ruth had been a regular patron of the bar. However, by the ’60s, along with the Chelsea Hotel, it became the hotel of choice for traveling musicians in New York. It was cheap, bohemian, and close to the Village, and no one complained if you had a loud, late-night party in your room. Plus, you were always greeted by Pinky, the short day bellman who could get you anything you wanted in the city, from baseball tickets to the finest weed.
On my first stay at the Gramercy, Carlos Bernal, guitar player and roadie, introduced me to not only the fabulous bar, but also to Dial-A-Steak. We had returned to the hotel and parked our yellow Ryder truck on a side street. To discourage any theft, I removed the distributor cap from the engine and we headed to the bar. After a couple of beers, we retired to our shared room for a late-night smoke. Sometime around 3am, after depleting our small stash, Carlos and I noticed we were hungry.
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by: Dinky Dawson
published: January 21, 2010
in column: My Life Is the Road
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