The phone number of the gallery is 020 7836 6747. Their website is www.elmslesters.co.uk. Up to date information regarding the exhibition will be posted on the website. They are awaiting final details from Genesis Publishing.

I phoned the Gallery this morning. I said to the woman who answered the phone "would you tell me which days this is open to the public, because I would not want to turn up and find that there is a private function on, and then have to go away!". She then told me that there will be a private function at the gallery the evening before, i.e. Thursday, 4 November. She added that it is 'invite only'. So there you are, if you are within travelling distance, get there with your cameras, video recorders. She said that the 5/6 November is open to the public and that it is free. I asked how many photos would be exhibited and she said "a lot". She added that the opening hours will be put on their website. It appears that this is being done in conjunction with Genesis.

There's a BBC programme which goes out in the morning on weekdays called 'Homes Under The Hammer'. It is a programme in which experts uncover the tricks of the property auction trade. Last week, when the two presenters were going round one of the houses bought at auction, 'Houses of the Holy' from Physical Graffiti was playing throughout as the background music.

Source:- Mail On Sunday I would draw your attention to the fact that the article says that the drug dealer known as the 'acid king' was never seen again after the raid in 1967, yet one of the photo captions states that here he is with Keith in 1973B). How the Acid King confessed he DID set up Rolling Stones drug bust for MI5 and FBI By Sharon Churcher and Peter Sheridan Last updated at 2:46 PM on 24th October 2010 It is one of the most intriguing chapters in the history of the Rolling Stones. The drugs raid on a party at guitarist Keith Richards’s Sussex home, Redlands, more than 40 years ago very nearly destroyed the band. And one of the 1967 episode’s unexplained mysteries was the identity of the man blamed by Richards and Mick Jagger for setting them up, a young drug dealer known as the Acid King. Crime scene: Mick Jagger and Keith Richards outside Redlands, the home that was raided by police in 1967 He was a guest at the party – and supplied the drugs – but vanished after the raid, never to be seen or heard of again. Jagger and Richards were arrested and jailed for possession of cannabis and amphetamines, though later acquitted on appeal. Richards claimed last week in his autobiography, Life, that the Acid King was a police informant called David Sniderman. The truth appears to confirm Richards’s long-held belief that the band was targeted by an Establishment fearful of its influence over the nation’s youth. The Mail on Sunday can reveal that Sniderman was a Toronto-born failed actor who told his family and friends he was recruited by British and American intelligence as part of a plot to discredit the group. After the Redlands bust, he slipped out of Britain and moved to the States where he changed his name to David Jove, and lived in Hollywood, later working as a small-time producer and film-maker. Informant: David Jove pictured with his wife Lotus Weinstock at a family wedding Maggie Abbott, a Sixties talent agent, met him in Los Angeles in 1983 and became his lover. He told her how he infiltrated the group but said he was now ‘on the run’. She said: ‘David was a heavy drug user but had a quick wit. He was the perfect choice to infiltrate the Stones. ‘He never showed any remorse for what he did. It was all about how he had been “the victim”. He was a totally selfish person. ‘Mick had been my friend as well as a client and I thought about trying to persuade David to come clean publicly. ‘But he was always armed with a handgun and I feared that if I gave him away, he’d shoot me.’ His identity was confirmed by a scion of a family of American philanthropists, James Weinstock. Close: Jove, pictured here with Keith Richards in 1973, was a heavy drug user with a quick wit. As a result, he was easily able to infiltrate the Stones' inner circle Still rocking and rolling: Keith Richards has recently published his autobiography, Life Two years after the Redlands raid, ‘Dave Jove’ married Mr Weinstock’s sister, Lotus, in Britain. ‘They’d come up with some new way to make acid and decided to go to the UK and sell it,’ Miss Abbott said. But David was caught carrying pot by Customs. ‘Some other guys turned up – he implied they were MI5 or MI6 – and they gave him an ultimatum: he’d get out of prison time if he set up the Stones.’ The British agents were in cahoots, he told Miss Abbott, with the FBI’s notorious Counterintelligence division, known as Cointelpro, which specialised in discrediting American groups deemed to be ‘subversive’. On Christmas Day in 1969, ‘Jove’s’ new wife, Lotus, gave birth to a daughter, Lili. Their marriage lasted 18 years, though they never lived together. ‘I first met David when I returned to California from Bali, where I had gone searching for God,’ said James Weinstock, Lotus’s brother. ‘One New Year’s Eve, he showed me a gun and said he’d just killed a man who was messing with his car.’ Later he was rumoured to have murdered a TV personality, Peter Ivers, the presenter of a TV show that ‘Jove’ produced. Miss Abbott said: ‘There was talk that Peter had decided to leave the show and David was angry. ‘I discovered “Jove” wasn’t David’s real name when he shot himself through his heel with his gun. ‘When we checked him into hospital, he used a made-up name and later I found out his real name was Sniderman.’ Satisfaction: The Rolling Stones pictured in their 1960s heyday His first half-hearted admission was to Mr Weinstock: ‘He told me he was tight with the Rolling Stones in England, but had a falling-out with them,’ he said. ‘He was arrested for some ser­ious offence, but managed to extric­ate himself, and he said it all looked very suspicious when the police busted the Rolling Stones. They froze him out after that.’ In 1985, Miss Abbott and an old friend, Marianne Faithfull, went out for dinner in Los Angeles. Miss Abbott introduced her to ‘Jove’ – but Ms Faithfull soon told her she wanted to leave. Miss Abbott says: ‘When we got into my car, she said, “It’s him, the Acid King. He set up the Redlands bust. Don’t ever see him again”. ’ Miss Abbott added: ‘Two months after the evening with Marianne, I finally had it out with him. ‘To my amazement, he told me everything. He said, “It’s a relief to be able to talk about it”. ’ ‘Jove’s’ final confession was made to his daughter, Lili Haydn, now a 40-year-old rock violinist. She said: ‘Shortly before his death he said he was the Acid King. ‘He told me he wasn’t a drug dealer. He felt he was expanding the consciousness of some of the greatest minds of his day.’ Later in his life he was ostracised by his glamorous LA set after his drug use became ‘voluminous’. He died alone in 2004.

I have underlined the text to which I want to draw your attention. I wonder if Jimmy will be turning up in person to this display? If so, there's a chance for our London based members to hang around and see the great man in person. Source:- NME 23 October 2010 Jimmy Page by Jimmy Page', a limited edition photographic autobiography from the Led Zeppelin guitarist, has sold out despite not being officially released yet. The book – which cost £495 – is 512 pages long and features over 650 images of Page from throughout his career. Selling out through pre-orders, the hefty book from Genesis Publications, is bound in leather and wrapped in silk and was compiled by Page himself, who also wrote the text. A selection of pictures from the book, taken by photographers such as Kate Simon, Neal Preston, Ross Halfin and Pennie Smith will be on display on November 5-6 at Elms Lester Painting Rooms in Covent Garden, London. Source:- Londontown.com Elms Lesters PaintingRooms Address: Elms Lesters Painting Rooms, 135 Flitcroft Street, Covent Garden, WC2H 8DH Telephone: 020 7836 6747 Elms Lesters Painting Rooms are housed in an extraordinary space, purpose built as a painting studio in 1904. Since 1984 the gallery has been specialising in contemporary artists who began their careers working on the street. The building still serves its original purpose as there's not only an exhibition space here but artists rooms and facilities for artists to work in residence. These affiliated artists often produce site specific work which is displayed in the gallery. Close to theatre land, the scenic painting studios have been used to create masterpieces for theatre backdrops for more than a hundred years.

Hi Deborah J, Could it be Jackie de Shannon? She was blonde and American.

Later with Jools Holland Friday 29 October 11:50pm - 12:55am BBC2 7/10, series 37 Paul McCartney performs songs from Band on the Run to celebrate the re-issue of the 1973 album, and singer-songwriter Neil Diamond plays a set containing numbers from his forthcoming release Dreams. Plus, Elvis Costello provides tunes from National Ransom, Ohio-based blues rockers the Black Keys play material from Brothers, and Californian R&B artist Aloe Blacc sings from his Good Things album. Extended version of Tuesday's edition. VIDEO Plus+: 900639

Yes Magic, and it is being repeated on the same evening at 2320 hrs for anyone who missed the first showing.

Thanks Sam

SAJ, I was thinking about this too, just after I posted it. It doesn't make sense to me either, and I have to say that I think it is a piece of made up nonsense. Jason's children are 17 and 14 years old - they are not small children who would perhaps have never met, or seen recent pictures of, RP,JP and JPJ. Obviously, I do not know if they were in attendance at the O2, but they are bound to have seen the post-gig press photos, and they were in Robert's company shortly thereafter. The three remaining LZ members have not aged that much since December 2007.

Well done Deborah J for finding photos of the ceremony - I was hunting high and low, yet could not find anything. Obviously, it's congratulations to JPJ for this award. He is, and always has been, a tremendous musician and arranger. Also, he has worn very well!!!

Magic, I'm dreading the rest of this book. Sam (Webmaster) posted an excerpt of his (Davis') encounter with Bonzo. Davis' persistent naming of Bonzo as 'the Beast' is highly objectionable. Obviously, Davis is well aware that you cannot defame the dead. What I think I shall do is stand in Waterstones and look through the book during my lunch hour. I do not wish to give Mr Davis a penny piece of my money for what will probably be a revisionist history!

Magic, I was joking when I posted this . When I saw the item, I simply couldn't believe that anyone would give that amount of money for a Johnny Rotten pictorial book! The other book which I can't see selling even half a dozen copies, is Ross Halfin's imminent travel book through Genesis Publications. With the way the economy is going in Britain, publishers are going to have to be a bit more careful to whom they give deals. BTW, I saw your comment regarding the unreadable link on the Mary McCartney book launch thread, and have posted some pictures and info about her book on the thread. LOL

:D

I've underlined some parts in the text to which I want to draw your attention. From: The Montreal Gazette 'Through Dad's eyes, you know' Jason Bonham, son of late Led Zeppelin drummer, and tribute band doing it the way Zep did it on stage By BERNARD PERUSSE, The Gazette October 23, 2010 8:26 AM "I was trying to impress just the three guys on stage. I never looked past the edge of the stage," Jason Bonham says of reunion concert with surviving members of Led Zeppelin three years ago. When Led Zeppelin drummer John Bonham died with 40 shots of vodka under his belt 30 years ago, he had acquired a reputation as one of rock's unhinged wild men. Like fellow basher Keith Moon, who had met a similar end with pills two years earlier, Bonham was synonymous with rock-star excess. Bonham's son, Jason, was only 14 when he lost his father and his memories are more idyllic. He remembers the man he still constantly refers to as "Dad" as being up at 6 a.m., making sandwiches and preparing the cooler before waking him. The junior Bonham is now out on the road playing drums with Jason Bonham's Led Zeppelin Experience, a band that pays tribute to the beloved hard-rock avatars and plays two sets of Zep evergreens tonight at the Metropolis. But apart from the automatic blood cred, Bonham recently took his father's place behind the drum kit with the three surviving members of Led Zeppelin -Robert Plant, Jimmy Page and John Paul Jones -for a high-profile reunion show. Technically, it wasn't the first time the survivors played together since the group disbanded in 1980, in the wake of the elder Bonham's death. But the one-time return of Led Zeppelin three years ago at London's 02 Arena, before 18,000 excited fans, was the first full show since the breakup. "I was trying to impress just the three guys on stage. I never looked past the edge of the stage," Bonham remembered during a telephone interview this week. "It was to get a smile from Jimmy or a nod from John Paul Jones or a glance back from Robert. That was my goal on that evening." Bonham said that during the performance of Dazed and Confused that night, he even had a moment straight out of The Song Remains the Same, the 1976 Zeppelin concert-fantasy film. It happened when Jones looked back at him to share a quick laugh over a small mistake. "I just said 'Oh, my God, it's that moment!' Through Dad's eyes, you know? I'm looking at this guy who, in the movie, was staring back at him." After that show, speculation about a more permanent reunion, or at least a tour, seemed out of control. Eventually, however, it was reported that Plant had declined further participation. The singer took Bonham and Bonham's son to a soccer game a few weeks after the 02 show and explained everything, Bonham said. "We had a good chat and I understood," he said. And while he wasn't about to betray any confidences, Bonham said there was more to the whole thing than meets the eye. "It's not as simple as 'Robert didn't want to do it,' " he said. Page, Jones and Bonham did get together in 2008 and while some media reported that they were auditioning new singers, Bonham said they were only writing new material. "It was never going to be Led Zeppelin," Bonham said. He did, however, say he would love to finish the songs the three started and expressed hope they would be used in a future project. While Bonham's tribute band might not be Led Zeppelin either, it does, with technological help, feature his father. Unseen photos from family archives, shown on stage, keep the late drummer alive and the mystery of what Bonham, as a child, was playing on that drum kit in The Song Remains the Same will be revealed during the show. Most intriguingly, the carefully choreographed use of video allows the two Bonhams to play a drum solo together on Moby Dick -a moment, Bonham said, that always leaves a few "tearful eyes." The raison d'etre of the group, of course, is to pay homage to the Led Zeppelin repertoire without making it sound like a museum piece. Changes are constantly made to the set list, Bonham said, and he warned against expectations that the songs will sound like the studio versions. After all, it's not like Led Zeppelin didn't take colossal liberties with their material on stage. "I gave the guys in the band about 30 to 40 different bootlegs to listen to," Bonham said. "The real diehards know exactly what we're doing. It's really cool when you see someone get it. They go 'Oh my God! They're doing the Birmingham gig, 1971!' " Bonham, who said his favourite performance of his father's is on Achilles Last Stand, from Presence, contended that the Zeppelin catalogue refuses to get old, constantly yielding neglected treasures like Night Flight on Physical Graffiti. His own children, a 17-year-old daughter and a 14-year-old son, have seen and appreciated the vintage records and photos, but his son was shocked when Bonham showed him a recent shot of the surviving members. "He looks and goes 'But they're old!' " Bonham said, laughing. "He couldn't get it, you know? To them, Zeppelin are still a young band." His son, he said, plays drums a little, but hasn't shown an intense desire to carry on the family tradition and get behind the kit. "Who knows? My dad didn't start playing until he was 15," Bonham said. "So I said to my son, 'You've got another year.' " Jason Bonham's Led Zeppelin Experience plays tonight at 8 at Metropolis, 59 Ste. Catherine St. E. Tickets cost $49.50. Phone 514-790-1245 or go to www.admission.com.

It pains me to put this excerpt that I found in the Times UK on this site because I have made my feelings clear elsewhere. However, I don't like our members to miss out on anything Zeppelin related. 'I saw that the gods of rock were mere mortals' The Times (London); Oct 22, 2010; Stephen Davis; p. 7 Shortly after the guitarist Jimmy Page founded the English rock group in 1968, relations with the press deteriorated to the point of outright hostility on both sides. Early reviews of Led Zeppelin's recordings and concerts were negative, unkind and even vitriolic. There were accounts of journalists being assaulted by members of Led Zeppelin; being spat on; having drinks flung in their faces. All this changed, somewhat, in 1975. By then Led Zeppelin was the biggest, highest-grossing rock band in the world. As the band prepared a new album of songs and a sold-out tour of North America, the band's media representatives decided that Led Zeppelin would take the unprecedented step of inviting carefully selected writers, editors and photographers from the regular media to come along for a taste of the tour from the inside. Backstage passes would be doled out, interviews would be given, a tour photographer was hired. An elite from this small constituency would even be offered the occasional seat on Starship One, Led Zeppelin's flying gin palace, a converted Boeing jetliner. I was one of those writers. So, between January and March 1975, I covered Led Zeppelin's tenth American tour as a magazine journalist. I heard a lot of great music, and also witnessed concerts that were far less than brilliant, illustrating how a long, hard-fought rock campaign could be undermined by illness, exile, homesickness, weather, drugs and alcohol. I saw that the current gods of rock were mere mortals after all. LZ-'75 is a personal portrait of the greatest rock band in history, at the apogee of its flight. For Led Zeppelin, everything they had done until then led up to the epic music they would create in 1975: a year of travel, incredible artistic success, personal exaltation, near-death traumas and a creative rebirth under painful hardship and dislocation. After 1975 Led Zeppelin would never be the same again. The Starship The sky was darkening and it began to rain. The limo convoy pulled right up to the Starship's staircase, and the band boarded first, greeted by the two smiling flight attendants. The big runic Led Zeppelin logo was painted on the fuselage. Once inside the customized Boeing 720B, I got a chance to inspect most of the plane before we had to fasten our seat belts. The entire interior cabin was carpeted in deep purple shag. The front section had a few booths and swivelling leather chairs. Amidships were a brass-covered bar and a seating area comprised of three large sofas and more leather seats. A state-of the-art video player -- still a rarity in 1975 -- could show an impressive library of VHS tapes: Looney Tunes, the Marx Brothers, Deep Throat and Behind the Green Door. A built-in organ stood near an impressive pop-art target painting at the end of the bar. Farther aft was a cosy private lounge (with a working electric fireplace) and more sofas. The bedroom was in the tail, occupied almost exclusively by Jimmy Page and Peter Grant, and off-limits to everyone else. The bedroom decor was Vegas honeymoon. A huge fake-fur rug covered a king-sized waterbed. The shower was reputed to have been the portal for several rock stars' entrance into the fabled Mile-High Club. The Starship took off in a serious thunderstorm. Lightning flashed as the big jet lumbered down the runway. Once aloft, the pilot banked and weaved around the thunderheads, causing drinks to spill. I noticed some fellow passengers tightening seat belts and glancing nervously out the windows. There was a huge flash of lightning, and the Starship shuddered and dropped a thousand feet. Someone screamed, "Air pocket!" This was greeted with uneasy laughter. I moved to the bar area and sat near Robert Plant, who was holding court for the pretty girls on the plane, most wearing floppy silk pantsuits and stacked heels. Hovering near Robert was Nick Kent, the correspondent for the New Musical Express. Kent was decked out in high pop fashion: shaggy hair, mucky face, Edwardian jacket, lace shirt, check trousers, absurdly stacked-heel boots. He was sticking close to Plant and Page and the hippie coke dealer they were hanging with. The Starship now descended amid tremendous blasts of lightning. I could feel the landing gear going down. The plane's sound system was playing the Elvis Presley classic Teddy Bear. The plane shook, sickeningly, in the turbulence, but Robert stayed cool. He remarked that if the Zeppelin was going down, the Elvis soundtrack was totally appropriate since Elvis was where Led Zeppelin had come from. The plane was diving now in the storm. I looked at Danny Goldberg [the band's publicist], and he looked at me. We both laughed. The whole thing was so gonzo. Rain lashed at the windows. Robert got up and peered out over the wing. "Aha! Dear God," he yelled. "We're landing in a supermarket!" The Golden God The warm California sun was shining silver over the greening Hollywood Hills. "Stephen, it's Danny. Can you come down to my room as quickly as possible? Thanks." Danny had a small suite on the third floor. I let myself in, and he motioned to the bedroom, where Robert Plant was lying like a young king on a king-sized bed. He was dressed in tight jeans, snakeskin boots and a seriously tie-dyed shirt. Danny suggested doing our interview right then and there, but I said that my photographer was upstairs where the light was better, and besides, he had a Thermos of freshly made chai. "Chai?" Robert leapt up. "Let's have some chai. My wife's Indian, you know." I introduced Robert Plant to Peter Simon [the photographer] and they made a sort of hippie-brother connection. As I handed Robert the cup of chai, he earnestly inquired: "There's not any acid, or anything, in this, is there?" No acid, I said, and offered him some of the Panama Red. "No, thanks," he said. "Actually, I gave up cocaine... this morning. A very destructive substance when abused. It's just tea with lemon for me from now on. Well, maybe some chai, too. This is good, man." This was accompanied by an ironic little smile. We started in on reggae. He said he and Jimmy had just been on the island of Dominica, where the local Rastafarians had treated them to ganja and some sort of hallucinogenic "jelly fruit". Robert had been doing interviews, and people kept asking him about the band's supposed affinity with black magic -- their legend had them making a deal with Satan to ensure their success -- and now it seemed Robert wanted to get something across. "All that magical stuff," he began in his high, husky speaking voice, "and of course the music, might well get the audience high, but I never allow myself that luxury, and I don't think Jimmy does either. On the other hand, Jimmy'll tell you that sometimes he goes into trances with the audience, and I believe him. But that's not where I'm coming from. I've always got to be in control or the party's over pretty quick. "What I live for are the King Arthur moments when the music and the vibe just bring everything into a communion. That's what gets me off." We spoke a bit about Physical Graffiti, still reigning over the charts at No 1, and I asked Robert about Kashmir. "It was originally called Driving to Kashmir," he said. "I spent some time in India after we formed the group, and that's been a major influence on my life. I learnt a lot about a different kind of music, with different kinds of scales and singing styles. And I remember being in one of the towns, recording street musicians, when a Pakistani plane flew over to bomb and there was a sudden blackout. Everything stopped except the street musicians, probably because they thought they weren't gonna get paid. "Anyway, all the bombs missed the town and landed in the fields. So I think the musicians might have played the danger away, so to speak. If their music could protect the town, I'd like to think we could have a force like that. Just kind of... playing the danger away." Did he, I asked, actually make it as far as the Vale of Kashmir? "No, not yet," he laughed. "Our Kashmir is really a state of mind. But in a way, we go there every night [on tour]." I said I'd seen a bunch of the concerts now, and that Stairway to Heaven seemed to provide the greatest spiritual lift to the kids. I asked where his inspiration for the bustle in the hedgerow and the lady buying the stairway came from. "I wrote those words one day after reading a great book called The Magic Arts in Celtic Britain by [the antiquarian] Lewis Spence. Jimmy had the music going in the other room, and I went off to make some notes, and the words came to me, at one sitting, as if I were being guided to write down what I did. So maybe there was a force. And I think about that a lot. It's no longer my absolute favourite Led Zeppelin song, but sometimes I feel that if we didn't have it, we could possibly be just another group heading over the hill." I asked about direct musical influences. "Elvis," Robert answered immediately, "Elvis singing Little Sister. Little Richard doing Tutti Frutti. Robert Johnson doing Travelling Riverside Blues. Sometimes I tell the audience that Trampled Under Foot is our version of Johnson's song. Then there's Blind Willie Johnson's In My Time of Dying. Bukka White doing Shake 'Em On Down. Howlin' Wolf. Muddy. "And I loved the San Francisco bands -- the Airplane, Moby Grape, especially Spirit. All great stuff." What about Jimmy? "With him, it was everybody I just said, and then you throw in the guitar players: John Fahey, Davey Graham, John Renbourn. When I first went to Jimmy's house, I was shocked because he had the same records as me, only a lot more of them." Peter asked Robert to step out on the balcony so he could be photographed overlooking the big Physical Graffiti billboard opposite the hotel. When I opened the sliding door, Robert stepped onto the balcony, stretched his hands out over the smoggy Hollywood vista, shook out his long blond locks, and shouted, "I'm a golden god!" Peter framed and shot this scene, and I had to laugh because, indeed, at that shining moment with this charming rock star who was charging toward Valhalla while singing of Vikings and Hobbits and a lady who shines white light, it seemed that the golden god thing could actually be true. Jimmy Page I hadn't had time to eat after our interview with Robert. I drank a gin and tonic, and another, when I spied John Paul Jones standing in a corner with a drink in his hand. I asked Danny to introduce us, and chatted with the truculent but polite Jones for a few minutes. I had a mad notion to ask him about the founding legend of Led Zeppelin, which held that the magic-obsessed Jimmy Page convinced the other guys in the New Yardbirds to sell their souls to Satan in return for the usual success and riches. As I was screwing up my courage with another drink, a birthday cake appeared, and a refreshed Peter Grant came in with a bottle of Dom Perignon in each large paw. Richard Cole joined the party moments later. "Where's Pagey, then?" Grant asked. "Sitting in the bar downstairs." This was my cue. As glasses were raised, I slipped out of the party and headed for the bar, now almost empty at one o'clock in the morning. Jimmy was at a table in back with two men. I sat at the next table and waved to Jimmy, who nodded back. Jimmy looked to be giving an interview. After a few minutes, that conversation ended and the second man left. So I introduced myself to Phil Carson, who worked for Atlantic Records, in London, and asked Jimmy if I could buy them a drink and get a few quick quotes for my article while we were there. Page said he was very tired, but sure, make it quick. I asked him a few questions, hoping I didn't sound drunk after four cocktails, and tried to scribble shorthand notes on the bar napkins. My first question, about technique, was quickly dismissed. "It's never a question of technique," he said. "I just deal in emotions." Well, emotions, then. "It's even simpler than that," he said. "It's really about... attitude, isn't it? The application of attitude. It's either there, or it isn't." What about the magic thing? "Magic is a system of will, and of strength. That's what interests me about magic. I can't produce material magic, real magic, so what we offer is the illusion of magic-mechanical devices that perform illusions while we play music. And in my own mind, the difference between the illusion and the reality of the lasers and the theremin and all that is... hazy. What's a laser beam? Magic, isn't it?" Richard Cole now came into the bar and looked at me darkly. Jimmy and I both got up, shakily. Time to go upstairs. I held out my hand, and he shook it gently. He looked really exhausted. I asked, "How long are you going to do this?" "Nothing lasts for ever," he said over his shoulder. "I'm going to enjoy it while I can." Quite a day, I thought, as I rode up the elevator. I'd done the two crucial interviews I needed for my article. I'd attended the best Led Zeppelin concert of the tour so far, and partied with the entourage. How I got spiked Over the next two weeks, I transcribed my interviews and typed up my notes. I submitted my article, to my editor at The Atlantic Monthly. Two weeks later he informed me that the magazine's elderly editor-in-chief absolutely hated my piece. He was particularly offended at my mention of the mirror ball, which the band had hung over the audience in their arena shows, noting that mirror balls had been common among the swing bands of his distant youth. Also, the old fart had apparently listened to a Led Zeppelin album, or as much as he could stand, and had told my editor it wasn't music but the death agonies of screaming monkeys. I didn't care. The Atlantic Monthly assignment was just an excuse to get a seat on the Starship. I called Danny Goldberg, but he didn't care about it either. The magazine paid me a kill fee for not publishing the piece. I secured my bulging Zeppelin file, put it in a drawer for safekeeping, and used the kill fee to buy a plane ticket to Jamaica, where Bob Marley and his fellow reggae stars were most hospitable when Peter Simon and I went down there to report on them for The New York Times a few months later.

From Ross' Diary, 21 October 2010 http://www.rosshalfin.com/diary/october-2010/diary-october-2010.php "Plus the new issue of the art magazine LID which has a great portfolio from the Jimmy Page Book, finishing with Jimmy's favourite photo, by me, of course... Available from www.lidmagazine.net"

For those who wanted Jimmy's book, but missed out, it looks like Johnny Rotten of all people has jumped on the highly priced book bandwagon! Don't all rush to get your credit cards out at once:D Johnny Rotten publishing pricey book 'for fans' By: Deidre WengenphillyBurbs.comWhat is it with rock stars and absurdly-priced books these days? We told you a little while back about how Jimmy Page is publishing a limited-edition photo book that will retail for $685. Now it looks like Sex Pistols frontman Johnny Rotten (John Lydon) will be doing something quite similar. According to Lydon is planning to print just 750 copies of "" that will tell the story of his life and include many never before seen photos of the punk legend (yes, there will be baby photos). Each book will feature a handwritten note from Lydon as well as a 12-inch vinyl picture disc including spoken word recordings and live Public Image Ltd. recordings from 2009. Fans can pre-order the book from for the special price of just under $600 (£379). If you wait until the official release in December, the book will cost £449 or roughly $700. Yes, we're serious. Every book will be numbered and feature a center foldout with Lydon's signature and other doodles. And if that's not enough to entice you to shill out the money, 100 of the 750 books will contain a special golden ticket. That ticket will get you a 10 minute live web chat with, you guessed it, Johnny Rotten himself. Will you bite on the high-price book from this Sex Pistols star? thhttp://www.phillyburbs.com/opinions/blogs/burbsblogs/book_checked/deidre_wengen_details/article/427/2010/october/22/johnny-rotten-publishing-pricey-book-for-fans.html

I would have the highly literate, articulate, brilliantly knowledgeable Mr S A Jones write a biography of Led Zeppelin. It would be the only book about the group that you could guarantee would be 100% accurate. SAJ would be as well to do it because it occurred to me that other people could feasibly write a book about Zeppelin, and use the resources on this site to save themselves having to do their own independent research (just a thoughtB) ).

'It's much better to be my friend L than my enemy' The Sunday Times (London); Jul 11, 2010; p. 46 Full Text: If you've never heard of Jerry Weintraub, you will most certainly know his friends. He has presidents on his speed dial and has produced the biggest stars in the world, from Elvis Presley and Frank Sinatra to Led Zeppelin, Brad Pitt and George Clooney. Oh, and his wife and girlfriend are friends. The phone rings. The caller ID shows an LA area code where it's 6am. "It's Jerry," the gravelly, Brooklyn-accented voice says. "Jerry Weintraub." Even announcing his name, it sounds like the start of a story you will want to pay attention to. "I've had two million emails about this interview already and I said, 'Lemme cut through the crap -- just give me her number.' " There is an immediate familiarity, as though we're resuming a conversation, not beginning one. "I want this to happen," he says. When Jerry Weintraub wants something to happen, it happens. For more than five decades he has been a larger-than-life manager, promoter, producer and legendary impresario for a Forbes list of the great and the powerful. His memoir, When I Stop Talking, You'll Know I'm Dead, is out now, and there's a reason the subtitle is: Useful Stories from a Persuasive Man. Two weeks later, I'm on my way to a private island in the Bahamas. In 2009, he was dying. This year, he is on top and more robust then ever. He produced the original Karate Kid as well as co-producing the current remake with Will and Jada Pinkett Smith; the film stars their 12-year-old son, Jaden. Even though initially Weintraub didn't go for the idea when the Smiths first approached him ("I didn't want to risk ruining my legacy," he says, with characteristic candour), they won him over. It was, he says, one of the best experiences he's had making a movie and he's thrilled with the result. The film grossed $56m in its opening weekend in the US and reached No 1 at the box office. Along the way he became "Uncle Jerry" to Will Smith and his family. "History always repeats itself. The trick is to be alive when it happens." At 72, he is more alive then most people half his age. His book is on its seventh print run in a genre that usually falls flat. Why? Because aside from the fact that he's a notoriously great storyteller and there are loads of intimate stories about the biggest names in show business, there is an emotional narrative that drives the story -- a chance to see what it's like behind the curtain with the wizard. There are humorous moments too. When Led Zeppelin played at Madison Square Garden, Weintraub collected a hand-stitched, doublebreasted suit he had made for himself in London. He hung it in the dressing room with a note pinned to it that said: "Hands off!" He then takes his place to watch the show. As the band comes on stage, he notices John Bonham, the drummer, is wearing his jacket. Bonham sits behind the drums, rips off the sleeves and shouts: "How do I look, Jerry Weintraub?" One of his most trenchant features is that he never gives up. He believes there's no problem he can't solve. When Zeppelin needed to be the loudest band, he had huge fake speakers put on stage. When Elvis needed to sing to a sold-out audience, he had 5,000 seats taken out of an arena. Weintraub has something else that sets him apart. Influence. There are people who have had it and lost it, but his power has endured. He doesn't self-destruct and he doesn't worry if it all comes crashing down. Even his weaknesses -- drugs, drinking, women -- which he admits to, haven't derailed him. Two flights and a 30-minute boat ride pass before I land on Guana Cay at sunset. This island is the site of Baker's Bay, a luxurious privatemembers' golf resort that Weintraub co-owns. You have to have many many millions to join. Men with walkie-talkies escort me to a golf cart and, 10 minutes later, I'm driven onto a pristine golf nirvana. We drive around looking for "Jerry and Susie". Suddenly another golf cart is spotted driving towards us. Weintraub has one hand on the steering wheel and a vodka cocktail in the other. "Welcome!" he calls out. In person, he has both an imposing and approachable presence. And despite his 72 years there is a confident sex appeal. Susie Ekins, his red-headed girlfriend and constant companion, is petite and warm. They have been together for nearly two decades. He refers to her as "Mrs Weintraub". Weintraub owns four homes and is so well off he can't remember the last time he flew on a commercial jet. "I don't know," he laughs. "Back when I was a kid maybe." Yet there is none of the discomfort one usually feels around people who are in another stratosphere of wealth. Perhaps this has to do with Weintraub's working-class roots. His father, Sam, was a travelling jewellery salesman, his mother, Rose, a stay-at-home mum. As a young boy he would bunk school to go to the movies. He imagined his life and made it happen. It's not just that he didn't take no for an answer, he didn't hear the word at all. He writes in his book: "When you dig through all the craziness of my life, you'll see that I'm just a guy from the Bronx who knows how to attract a crowd. I get people to notice the sapphire so it's not lying in a cellar where it might be found in a hundred years, long after the man who mined it has died. That is my talent." Then, with characteristic bravado, he adds: "If I'd been around Van Gogh or Melville, they would not have had to wait so long for fame." I swap places with Susie and ride with Weintraub off the golf course to where a celebration is beginning. Minutes later I'm immersed in a Caribbean spectacle. Bahamians dressed in masks with cowbells and whistles mingle with affluent guests amid plates of lobster and crab on ice. Filet mignon and mahi-mahi are on the grill. Weintraub shakes hands and poses for photos, all the while insisting: "Call me Jerry." If you didn't know better, you'd think he was running for office. Off to the side, I sit at a table with Susie who shows me a photo in her iPhone of a handsome blonde woman. "That's Jane," she says with affection. Susie, the love of Jerry's life, is his girlfriend. Jane, the other love of his life, is his wife. They've been married since 1965 and have three grown-up daughters. He also has a son from his first marriage. Jane, who is his second wife, is also "Mrs Weintraub". "We'll go over all of that tomorrow!" Jerry declares. Then he pops a piece of stone crab in his mouth and he is off, dancing into the night. The following morning we meet for breakfast at 8.30am sharp on a patio that overlooks the beach. He's been up for hours, and if he has a hangover, he hides it well. He wakes up every day at 4am and is in the gym at 4.30 or 5. He watches news shows on TV while he's on the treadmill. There are things he checks daily: movie grosses, the stock market and his new "addiction", the Amazon ranking for his book. By 8.30am he's on "the phones". He has a call sheet that his office sends him every night and he tries to return everyone's phone calls. "I like people to return mine." turn mine. It's not that he's a luddite -- an iPad and iPhone sit on the table -- but he finds email impersonal. "You don't ever get the flavour of relationships over email. It's no iPad an -- but impe ever rela I cTf I can't express myself. There's no back and forth. I'm always saying the wrong things." Building relationships and sustaining those relationships is what he is known for. He has something more important than money: a network. He mentions having had cancer in his book, but gives it only a sentence or two. What follows is a story about the only time in his life he had a feeling it wouldn't work out. It's not in the book. In 2009, he had back surgery and contracted a serious bacterial infection. He turned his bedroom at home in Palm Desert into a hospital because he wanted to be in his own house. "No one knew what it was. I've heard 18 different stories -- it was staph, it wasn't staph -- whatever it was, it was killing me. Literally eating up my body." He was told he wouldn't make it. "I had at least five or six doctors taking care of me. I had an IV in me for 16 weeks. A drip to keep me alive." This experience was something he couldn't control. "I'd always been afraid of death. In 2008 and 2009, I lost a lot of friends. I visited them just as they were dying. I came to the place where I wasn't scared any more. I brought my family in to say goodbye. Everyone was standing next to the bed -- the rabbi, the doctor, Susie, Jane, my kids -- I thought that was it. I was finished. "I looked awful and I didn't want to see anybody. George Clooney, Brad Pitt, Matt Damon all came to visit and I told Susie not to let anyone in. Clooney snuck in behind the florist." He recounts having a near-death experience. "I felt myself float out the window. I swear to you, I was out the window. The rabbi was screaming at the top of his lungs, 'You can't have him. He can't go now.' And the next thing I knew, I woke up. Now I don't know what happened, but I had an experience. I came back." After that, he got better. We are seated at a table overlooking the Caribbean and it's not hard to imagine this is where he would sit with a president or movie star. Is there anyone he can't get on the phone? He shakes his head and smiles. "I know everyone. I can call anybody." Barack Obama? "Sure I could call Barack Obama. Do I want to call Obama? No, because I have nothing to say to him. But I promise you, it could happen." David Cameron? "Who? You mean the prime minister? I don't know him. But I'm sure I could get to him." Who can't you get to? "I'm telling you, I can get to anyone." He explains. "Politically, I'm a source of fundraising. And politicians like sources of fundraising." How does it feel to get to anyone in the world? "It feels like you shouldn't abuse that power. I don't want to go to Downing Street and talk about the weather. I wouldn't waste his time." Weintraub admits not everyone is charmed by him. He gets along with everyone, he says, but some people can be intimidated. "I'm not a good enemy to have. I'm a much better friend. It's much better to be my friend than my enemy. Because at some point, something is going to come across my desk and everything that goes around comes around." He can't stand people who are fanatical -- religious or political, whether far right or far left, and considers himself to be a centrist. He is not a Republican but is close friends with George HW Bush ("Bush 41") and there is a mutual admiration that goes back many years. Is he friends with his son? It is the first and only time he is guarded before responding. "Uh, I know his son. Very well. For a long, long time. I don't talk about his son." After a few seconds he continues: "Bush 43 [the 43rd president] and I are friendly. I've known him since he was a young man. We know each other very well. But my friend is Bush 41, the guy that I cared about and worked for." He returns to the subject of not being able to make something happen. It's been on his mind. "I did fail with one thing... I failed twice. I was trying to get a presidential pardon for a friend of mine. I tried with Clinton and I couldn't get it. And I couldn't get it with Bush 43." He won't say the name of this person on the record. "If there was anyone who deserved it, it was this guy. I worked very, very hard on it and I pulled out all the stops. I had senators lined up and governors lined up and I couldn't get it." He shakes his head, still bothered by the defeat. "But it will happen. I know it will." In 1963 Weintraub formed his own company called Management Three. He was by then living in LA and managing various musical acts, and one night he was in bed with his wife, Jane, by his side, when he had a dream. He keeps a notepad on the bedside table and he woke up in the middle of the night and wrote down "Jerry Weintraub presents Elvis Presley". He told his wife he was going to promote Elvis and take him to Madison Square Garden. "That's crazy," his wife said. "You don't even know Elvis." The next day, Weintraub called Colonel Tom Parker, Elvis's manager. He told him he'd like to take Elvis on the road. The Colonel said no way. Weintraub persisted. He called every day for months. A year later, the Colonel called. He would be at the Hilton Hotel in Las Vegas at 9am and if Weintraub showed up with a cheque for $1m it would happen. From that point on, he was in business with Elvis. He took Elvis on tour and by the end of it, at 26, he was a multimillionaire and had a new company, Concerts West, which became the largest concert business in the world. There is a story he tells about the scene at Graceland just after Elvis died. With the coffin in the other room, Elvis's father and the Colonel were arguing about selling T-shirts to the mourners. Weintraub interrupted. "What's wrong with you guys?" he said. "The body is in the next room. We're about to leave for the funeral. Show some respect." They went to the funeral in a long line of white Cadillacs. "What a bizarre moment," he says. He rode in the car behind the hearse. After founding Concerts West, Weintraub presented Frank Sinatra at Madison Square Garden in a concert called The Main Event that was broadcast around the world by satellite. He also helped to handle and promote artists such as Bob Dylan, Neil Diamond, the Beach Boys, Queen and many others. Along the way, some, like Frank Sinatra and John Denver, became like family to him. There is an entire section in the book devoted to John Denver, who, as Weintraub writes, he "cooked from scratch". What followed were mega-hits like Sunshine on My Shoulders and Rocky Mountain High. Weintraub explains how Denver went on to break his heart. "We had a very close relationship," he says. Even now, years later, the break-up appears to haunt him. "I loved him very much. Then one day he just walked in and fired me. I never asked him why. He asked me if I wanted to know. I told him, 'I have in my own mind why you did it. And I prefer my version to anything you could tell me. I don't want to talk about it.' " What was his version? "His father died. He got divorced. I was the dominant figure in his life and he didn't want me to replace his father, and he wanted to be in charge of his own destiny. I was in charge of it so I was expendable. I don't know if that's true or not, but I know I didn't steal anything from him, I didn't hurt him." Denver was killed in a plane crash in 1997. "I never had closure," Weintraub says. By the early 1980s Weintraub had moved from the music industry into film and become a full-time producer. He had made his debut with Robert Altman's 1975 feature, Nashville. Weintraub explains in the book how nobody in Hollywood would make the film -- which later went on to win an Oscar and receive a further four nominations including Best Picture. He also believed in a small film called Diner that launched the careers of Kevin Bacon, Ellen Barkin, Mickey Rourke and the first-time director Barry Levinson. Then there are the Ocean's movies: Ocean's Eleven, Twelve and Thirteen have grossed over $1 billion. He is so close to George Clooney, Brad Pitt, and Matt Damon that he refers to them as his kids. Getting that stellar ensemble -- which includes Julia Roberts, Andy Garcia and Don Cheadle -- together, and managing to balance the movie-star egos, is tricky. They do it in large part because of their affection for him. Plus, they have fun. He sent the script to Julia Roberts with a $20 bill and a note that said: "I know you get $20m for a movie but you'll have to work for less on this one." When Clooney, Pitt and Damon got their footprints implanted on the Hollywood Walk of Fame, they insisted that Weintraub had his footprints as well. When it was time to step into the cement they played a practical joke on him. They had gone out and purchased size-14 clown shoes -- which all three used. Weintraub's size-10 feet appeared tiny by comparison. Weintraub has also managed his personal life in a way that reflects his ability to work things out, no matter what. He married the blonde bombshell Jane Morgan in 1965, and they are still happily married. However, they are not living together and their relationship is platonic. He lives with and is romantically involved with Susie. They both look after him. "Big time! Like I'm the Shah of Iran! They have given themselves completely to me. Both of these women. And that's extraordinary." He respects that? "If I didn't, they should take me away and give me a lobotomy." When it's pointed out that a lot of modern men might find that devotion unattractive or outdated he doesn't flinch. "I come from a different time. First of all, both Jane and Susie have careers. Jane was a huge singing star. When I first met Jane, Howard Hughes and Aly Khan were sending gifts over to the house trying to go out with her. I don't know if you ever saw pictures of her when she was younger -- she was a f***ing knockout. And she ended up with me. She gave up her career for me. She did it. I didn't ask her to." There is no possessiveness or jealousy between Susie and Jane. "We knew early on. We knew people would pass judgment. Jane said, 'Look, I don't want a divorce. If Susie needs to marry you, we'll get a divorce -- but I don't want one.' "She was able to make it work because she and I decided that no matter who said what, we would have a united front. Whoever couldn't get on that wavelength -- f*** 'em. Believe me, there were people who were upset with her. And upset with me. Morally wrong and whatever. But we didn't listen." It would be easy to assume Weintraub wrote the memoir to record his legacy, but a more personal reason had to do with his children. He has a son, Michael, from an earlier marriage, and three adopted daughters, now in their thirties, with Jane. He is close to all his children, but feeling known by them is another story. "They know I'm a big powerful figure. They know that I gave trust funds to them. They know that if they need something, they get it. They also know that when they come to me for something, they better have their facts together. They're gonna inherit a lot of money when I die, but I'm not dying yet. They know me in those ways." Not feeling that he has been the best father is one of the trade-offs he writes about in the book. He chose a path to provide for his family. Could he have been better? Given them better values? That's where he thinks he might have faltered. "I see changes in their relationship with me since the book came out. I think they have more insight into me. I think some things that were unsaid, were said." For Weintraub, his stars were family too. He misses Sinatra to this day. He tells some great stories about their time working together, so I ask for one that didn't make it into the book. When he was "a kid" -- about 30 years old, Sinatra told Weintraub he had to go to Houston. "He says to me, 'You gotta get your heart checked. You've been running around, you drink too much' -- I still drink too much -- 'you gotta get your heart checked by DeBakey.' " Michael DeBakey was a world-renowned heart surgeon. "I said, 'Frank, I got Elvis, I got no time.' He says, 'We're going to get your heart checked.' So we got on a plane and went to Houston: Sinatra, myself, and a couple of other guys. DeBakey says, 'Tomorrow, 6am, you guys come to the hospital and I'm gonna check you out. When I finish, you'll be back in Los Angeles by 10.' I said, 'Oh, that's great -- I'm not gonna miss any time at the office.' "The only instructions were no eating or drinking after 8 o'clock. We go to the hotel -- 8 o'clock I get into bed. There's a knock -- Sinatra's standing there with a bottle and two glasses and says, 'Let's have a drink.' I said, 'We can't -- DeBakey said no drinking.' So Frank says, 'One drink. They're not going to find one drink in our blood. So we finish the bottle. Then we finish another bottle. Then we call some girls up and we have a party. And this goes on for four days and four nights. "I'm scruffy, I haven't shaved -- I get back on a plane and I'm slumped down and Sinatra's sitting across from me and he goes, 'Are you okay, kid?' "I said, 'Am I okay? No, Frank. I'm not okay. You brought me here to get my heart checked and I never saw the hospital. I haven't been on the phone with the office, I haven't done my work.' "Frank says, 'What's the matter with you? Your heart is fine. If you lived through what we did the last four days, your heart is perfect.' " He laughs. "We had a lot of that kind of stuff." When asked if he misses those days, he says no, because he had them. Then he says, thoughtfully: "But I miss him." One thing Weintraub won't do is spill secrets about others. He relies on his ability to talk to the most powerful people on Earth -- heads of state, movie-studio bosses, titans of industry -- and connect. Not just talk, but connect. There is a paternalistic, I-got-your-back type of connection. He is big-time and old-school but he is not an artefact. He is as relevant today as he has always been. Next up is a movie about Liberace with Michael Douglas and Matt Damon. Before I leave he gives me his email in case there are follow-up questions. The address is taken from a film he produced -- The Avengers -- that didn't do well. Or, as he puts it, "A disaster." He smiles when he explains that he did this because he likes to remind himself every day of this failure. The one thing he can't tolerate. For someone who can make anything happen, it must be frustrating when he comes up against something in life that, try as he may, he can't alter. When his mother got Alzheimer's, for instance, it was painful to see his father suffer. "He told me at the time, 'You know, when your mom dies, don't expect me to hang around.' " Did he feel helpless? "Yes," he says quietly. "But I handled it." Two months later, his father passed away. "Listen," he says, reaching for his iPhone to check in on his Amazon ranking, "as much money as I have, and as much as I can make happen -- I'm Harry Houdini with the telephone -- I can't change death." But as he says this, it seems for a second there is a flicker of hesitation and that maybe, just maybe, it's not entirely out of the question When I Stop Talking, You'll Know I'm Dead (Twelve, Pounds 18.99), is available at the BooksFirst price of Pounds 17.09, inc. p&p. Tel: 0845 2712 135

Freddie Mercury wanted another 40 quid so I told him to f*** off! Sunday Mercury (Birmingham); Oct 10, 2010; STEVE BRADLEY; p. 18 IT was where it all started for so many rock heroes. Blur had their first paying gig there, Dire Straits earned pounds 50 for a show, and a fledgling group called U2 came over from Ireland to try to establish themselves in front of punters in 1980. Queen wanted a date there, but asked for too much money. The Sex Pistols hid out at the venue after defying a ban imposed by neighbouring Wolverhampton Council and playing as The Spots. The Pretenders, UB40, Joy Division, The Police, Bob Geldof's Boomtown Rats and the Manic Street Preachers all gigged there as they climbed the ladder to stardom, and Kidderminster rock god Robert Plant gave some low-key performances. But now the dark, dingy and utterly rock 'n' roll JB's in Dudley, England's longest running live music venue, is facing closure after 41 years because of spiralling debts, unless administrators drafted in last month can find a buyer. The club is now in its third building in the town, having been set up at Dudley Town Football Club in 1969 by childhood pals Sam Jukes and Sid Weston. It moved to King Street 18 months later, arriving at its current premises at the bottom of Castle Hill in 1995. Sam, now 63, and Sid, 66, both put in pounds 100 to start the venue after Sam, a onetime professional footballer with Walsall, noted that his then team Dudley Town was in a desperate financial situation. They paid a bill so that the electricity would be switched on again, and named the club after DJ Johnny Bryant, who would run regular nights there. Soon, live bands were added and the move to King Street was prompted because far more people wanted to get in than the 200-capacity would allow. There then followed a golden era, which saw Thin Lizzy play in 1971, plus a host of hungry young bands who were desperate to wow the Black Country's music fans, for a small fee - and as standard, a crate of Newcastle Brown ale. Sid's twin brother John, who worked behind the bar for several years, said there was little evidence of Lizzy frontman Phil Lynott being the hellraiser he would later turn into. He recalled: "Phil was just down to earth. He came to the bar for a drink and was very friendly." Anarchistic, foul-mouthed punks the Sex Pistols, with the sarcastic God Save The Queen riding high in the charts, dropped in undercover in 1977 for a drink, after playing an illicit gig in Wolverhampton. John said: "They had been banned by Wolverhampton Council, as they had by many other councils and had appeared at the Lafayette as The Spots, which stood for Sex Pistols On Tour. The owner of the Lafayette had asked us if we could look after them. "Johnny Rotten was ever so nice - he asked for half a lager and a packet of crisps - and he said please! They just sat with the punters. One of the customers said Sid Vicious drew his name on the toilet door." Up-and-coming pub rock band Dire Straits, led by the clever compositions and fluent guitar work of former journalist Mark Knopfler, played around the same time as the song Sultans Of Swing was starting to cause a stir. Sam, whose memory has been affected by the two strokes he suffered earlier this year, said: "It was very low-key - they were pretty much unknown at the time. We got them a support slot for about pounds 50 - that was all they were worth in those days. "When I was paying Mark Knopfler, I chatted to him and said, 'You've got a halfdecent chance, and I wouldn't mind managing you'. He said to me, 'Sam, we've just signed up with someone else'. That man was Ed Bicknell and with him they became superstars." Sid, who had a day job as a civil engineer, said: "Dire Straits stood out head and shoulders. They were a little bit different. "With bands like that it's all about confi-dence, but you could tell they'd got something." Sam recalled turning Queen down at around the time their first album came out in 1973: "Freddie Mercury phoned up and wanted another 40 quid, and I told him to f*** off. "I remember saying to him: 'You ain't going nowhere!'" John said the dispute with the band, who were just two years away from crafting the all-time classic Bohemian Rhapsody, had revolved around the four-piece quibbling over how far the dressing room was from the stage. Sue Jukes, 59, Sam's wife, has routinely prepared delicious chicken or veggie curries for acts appearing at JB's - gratefully received by up-and-coming stars such as Chrissie Hynde of The Pretenders, Annie Lennox of The Tourists and local heroes like The Wonder Stuff and Ned's Atomic Dustbin. She said: "We remember them all. Blur told us they stopped off at a motorway service station after their gig here, for burger and chips. They hadn't been paid before - this was the first cheque they'd had, and they were keen to spend it!" Spencer Davis, whose band included Steve Winwood, once told the JB's team: "Forget the music - you should open up as a restaurant!" Sid added: "Steve Winwood was a big real ale fan, and when he appeared here a couple of years ago, we sent him up to local pub The Lamp. He came back with a big jug of Bathams!" He said any trouble at the venue was soon nipped in the bud by bouncer Jimmy Fisher, now dead from cancer, who would send outside anyone smoking a joint. The no-drugs rule was strictly enforced against bands by Jimmy for many years, too. "Jimmy, bless him, had seen more courts than Rod Laver. If any of the bands did play up, he would let them know," Sid said. Former Led Zeppelin vocalist Robert Plant last played at JB's in February in 2009 at the 60th birthday bash of his sound engineer Roy Williams. Tickets costing pounds 20 were selling for pounds 100 at online marketplace eBay. Plant has been a regular visitor over the years, rubbing shoulders with fans who idolise him. John said: "He's very down-to-earth and he'd just call in for a pint of Mild. He sometimes brought [Led Zeppelin drummer] John Bonham up with him. When we were at Dudley Town FC he used to come up and play darts. "A lot of times he brought Maureen with him, who was his wife then. He would arrive in an Aston Martin, the same as in the James Bond films, but he was OK - no airs and graces." Sam and Sid are unhappy at the Per-forming Rights Society's demands for three per cent of the door money, which they claim was what pushed the venue into administration. The PRS collects cash on behalf of composers and hit JB's with a pounds 4,800 bill. Sam said: "They sent the bailiffs down, but I still maintain we don't owe them any money. "If bands come in and play their own stuff, which they mostly do, I don't think we should be liable for PRS payments. "For all these years we've supported live music, I'd say that 99 per cent of musicians aren't even registered with the PRS. They were the ones that forced us into administration." Sid, who has known Sam since he was 11, said the venue owed pounds 80,000 to creditors, the rest of the reported pounds 450,000 debt being his and Sam's "own money". He added: "The first nail in the coffin was the smoking ban, then it was the credit crunch hitting people's available disposable income. People still come out but they don't come out as often, and don't spend as much when they do come out. "The other thing is cheap booze. People can buy lager for pounds 8 a pack and they can smoke themselves silly at home in front of 40-inch high definition TV, so they're probably choosing that. "We've had a rich vein of great bands. On a personal level they would do anything for Sam and the club, but they have very little say in things these days - it's the agents. If another venue is offering pounds 500 more they'll go there." He said Sam was a "terrible delegator" who, despite poor health, regularly stayed at the club until 5am to make sure everything was running smoothly. Sid has suggested several times that Sam should call it a day. But Sam, who is talking to ex-Deep Purple star Glenn Hughes about a benefit gig, said: "The situation might be where we can actually buy it back off the administrators one day."

I was trying to find a place for this interview from Bev Bevan where he talks about playing with Jason recently. Show is set to rock the region Mail (Birmingham); Oct 8, 2010; Martin Hutchinson; p. 34 Full Text: (Copyright 2010 Birmingham Post and Mail Ltd.) IT'S only rock 'n' roll - but we like it! A new show featuring a veritable who's who of Midlands' rockers tours the region over the next few weeks. The line-up includes country/folk singer Raymond Froggatt and Hartley Cain from his band, Geoff Turton from The Rockin' Berries, Bev Bevan and Trevor Burton from The Move and Birmingham's first pop star Danny King. Bev Bevan, who has also drummed with ELO and Black Sabbath, says: "We've been doing the Brum Rocks concerts for about four years now and this show has evolved from that. "It's really been restricted to the Birmingham area but the promoters wanted to take it further afield and introduce other people. "It's coming together nicely, but it's a real workout for the drums. The show actually opens with a drum solo and then the drum standard, Let There Be Drums." Bev reveals he was inspired by the music of the 50s. "If I had to pick a year when music was at it's best, I'd have to say 1958-59; all American Rock and Roll, plus Move It. Those songs really inspired me." He agrees that It's Only Rock 'N' Roll has quite a line-up of stars. "Danny King was there at the beginning. He was doing the Hamburg club scene back in 1957! He's one of the original rock and roll singers. He also discovered Trevor Burton, who was playing in his band at 15 years old." Trevor went on to form The Move with Bev in 1965. "In the show, we'll do some Rock and Blues stuff and a couple of Move hits like I Can Hear The Grass Grow and Blackberry Way," Bev says. "Geoff Turton has a great high voice and he does some of the Rockin' Berries hits as well as Pretty Woman and Young Girl. Ray Froggatt does his own songs like Red Balloon. "We're doing a tribute to our old friend Jimi Hendrix, as it's 40 years since he died, with a version of Purple Haze and Danny King's version of Yesterday, with just him and an acoustic guitar, will bring the house down." Bev, who turns 65 during the tour, is known primarily as a drummer but he gets to exercise his vocal chords. "I'm dusting off Zing Went The Strings Of My Heart which I sang on the first Move album in 1968," he smiles. "I'm really enjoying my drumming these days," he add. "It's like I've got a new lease of life. "We had a bit of a get together recently at my old friend John Bonham's house, where his widow still lives. Jason, his son, was there and started playing the drums. I remembered that I used to play with him and his dad when he was about seven years old. John and I were drumming away and little Jason had a small kit made up in between us and played along."

From: Amazon UK Product Description From Where I Stand reveals the best work from Mary McCartneys complete archive from the 1990s to date. The book provides an incomparable view into Marys world, both public and private, featuring famous faces such as Paul and Linda McCartney, Madonna, Bono, Kate Hudson, Gwyneth Paltrow, Dennis Hopper, Kate Moss or Tracey Emin, and photographs capturing the the raw energy backstage and onstage at fashion shows, rock concerts, the theatre and ballet.

Daily Dish The inside scoop on food in Los Angeles Oh the faces it's seen! Barney's Beanery turns 90 October 21, 2010 | 12:30 pm It's a story so revolting and so legendary that it has achieved near mythical status. One night in the 1960s, during a particularly heavy bout of drinking, Jim Morrison stood up and urinated on the long wooden bar at Barney's Beanery in West Hollywood. Rock-god status and titillating snug leather pants or not, Morrison was booted from the famous restaurant and bar. "Of course, this being Barney's, they wiped it off and put a plaque there," jokes Jim Ladd, the KLOS-FM DJ known for spinning raw, classic rock sans formulaic playlists for nearly 40 years. He adds, "Probably every rocker that has ever come through L.A. has gone to Barney's." This month, with Barney's celebrating its 90th birthday, Ladd's observation speaks to Barney's reputation as a gritty clubhouse for the famous and those who love them but leave them be. Since its opening, the cluttered wooden roadside shack has drawn the likes of Clark Gable, Rita Hayworth, Jimmy Page, Jack Nicholson, Quentin Tarantino and many more with its greasy food and rough-and-tumble atmosphere. And, due to a longstanding (now exorcised) intolerance of gays, it has generated as much controversy as it has plates of chili. To read the full story, click here.

Neil Young has never had much time for journalists - or even his fans. So how did Rod Liddle, a journalist and lifelong admirer, fare when he met his hero for the first time, in California? The Times (London); Oct 3, 2010; Rod Liddle; p. 26 Full Text: (Copyright © Times Newspapers Limited 2010) We're at a log-cabin restaurant in the middle of a damp, silent redwood forest just south of San Francisco, a handful of miles from Neil Young's ranch. Young is inside, finishing an interview with the Canadian broadcaster CBC, and I'm next, so this is a nervy time, because the singer is not terribly keen on journalists and most usually takes the piss out of them, or is truculent, or monosyllabic, or just grouchy. Difficult, one way or another, and full of disdain. It is not nice to be disdained. I crunch around outside in the gravel and dirt lot, smoking -- this may be the only place in California where you can smoke -- and wonder how I might ingratiate myself. But that doesn't usually work either -- as we will see, he has even less time for his fan base than he does for hacks. Inside, the television lights are being dismantled, so I make my way into the bar area and tentatively ask Jasmine, the CBC babe: "Happy, then?" "Believe me," she replies, "shit like this don't determine my state of happiness, y'know. This is just, like, work." Uh-oh. There's another reason to be nervy about this interview. For 36 years, I have had the perfect relationship with Neil Young: he makes an album, I buy it; he plays a show somewhere, I go see it. This has been true since, as a 14-year-old kid, I bought On the Beach, unheard, on the strength of a damning review I'd read in, I think, the NME. The reviewer was so utterly mystified, I just had to have the record, so I saved up my pocket money for six weeks and bought it. Only much later was On the Beach cited as a work of unparalleled genius, and so on, and much the same process applied to his next extraordinary release, Tonight's the Night -- first the mystification and bewilderment, then, rather later, the extravagant praise -- and, for that matter, many, many subsequent recordings. This in part explains his disdain towards the press: often, they don't get it. Yet I'm not sure I want to jeopardise what has been, hitherto, a perfectly happy relationship. You don't get many perfect relationships in life, do you? Now he is seated across the table from me in this charming backwoods restaurant, flanked by his producer and fellow Canadian, the appropriately leather-clad and affable Daniel Lanois, with whom he has collaborated on his latest album, entitled, punningly and as a backhanded compliment, Le Noise. It is an odd thing, being face to face with Neil Young. He is much bigger, much more substantial than you would assume from those emotive whining vocals. He doesn't have the hollowed-out, drugaddled, skeletal face of many rock'n'roll survivors, your famous Keith Richards mask. Nor the expensively acquired youthfulness of the more mainstream old lags of pop. Rather, with the acres of stubble and the pouchy skin around the eyes, the encroaching sideburns, the dress-down grunge T-shirt and loose jacket, he resembles a 64-year-old plumber whom you have called out early on a bank holiday to fix your cistern, who is not awfully pleased to have been called out and who is probably going to overcharge you as a consequence. There is a worryingly appraising look in those eyes and the shadow of an ironic smile playing about that lopsided mouth. Le Noise is a very good album indeed, perhaps Young's best since Sleeps with Angels, back in 1994. A lot is made by both Young and Lanois during the interview of the unique nature of the album -- just Young alone with an acoustic or electric guitar, which is then subjected to Lanois's clever sonic interference, with those strangulated vocals sometimes looped and Young's two favourite electric guitars squalling or growling away in the background. It is (surprisingly) true that, live records apart, Young has never recorded an album in this way, without a band, although I am not sure it is quite so singular in the history of popular music as the two of them seem keen to insist. "This is what the old bluesmen, you know, John Lee Hooker, were doing. This is getting right back. We hit the mother lode with this one," Lanois says, full of congratulatory awe at himself and Young. Well, yes, they were, up to a point -- and quite a few non-old-bluesmen have done the same since, not least the late John Martyn. They are protesting a little too much, and making claims that they do not really need to make -- for this is, as I've mentioned, a wonderful album, and Lanois is no small part of it, not merely tinkering around at the edges, but even convincing Young to drop whole verses, to change the structure of his songs. It is a genuine collaboration and commended as such by the album title. If there is a similarity with any former album of Young's, it is with Freedom (1989), a collaboration with another auteur-producer, Niko Bolas, where gentle acoustic melodies are suddenly usurped by howling guitar and feedback. "This is a close-up," Young asserts, "an extreme close-up. You can't have anything better." Young continues, saying he enjoyed the freedom of not having to write songs for a band: "I wanted to make a solo record, where I don't have to make any decisions about having to write in a certain way because of, you know, the band. This opened certain doors for me, where there's no limitations." It is interesting for a fan, like me, to know that he writes in this way, that the songs sort of follow the band, from the magnificent raucous lumbering of Crazy Horse to the plangent country rock of the Stray Gators (who gave him his biggest British hit with Harvest, back in 1972). With this record, Young apparently performed sitting alone with a guitar, then Lanois went to work in the studio. Le Noise has been greeted with equal parts adulation and that usual mystification by both the press and the Young obsessives. The fan sites want another crunching rock album, like Zuma or Ragged Glory, or maybe another sweet country album, like Harvest or Comes a Time. They get cross when he does stuff like Le Noise, just as they got cross when he made Tonight's the Night. They get cross when he confounds expectation -- yet almost every Neil Young record has confounded expectation. That, you might argue, is the point. Young guffaws. "You never, ever listen to your fan base. The last thing you should ever do is follow your fan base. That's all they are -- a fan base. There's no ownership. I don't have to deal with them... They get angry about the very things that they seem to value, that make them fans in the first place," he says, humorously exasperated. That sense of ownership of the artist, enhanced by the internet sites, has a fascistic side to it. One Neil Young site has asked: "Should Neil be allowed to follow his muse?" Young shakes his head: "These people... should your fan That's all are -- a I don't deal with they need to have something to do." It is true that if the fans had had their way, there would have been no On the Beach orTonight's the Night; and if the fans of those two albums had had their way, no American Stars 'n Bars, or Trans. He does something different every time. This is what marks him out as a performer; that and the fact that he has a better grasp of that limited and overrated medium, rock music, than anyone you care to name. It is probably true that Young could not have written a song as neat and perfect as Bob Dylan's Simple Twist of Fate; it is equally true that Dylan could not have made an album as musically attuned as Tonight's the Night, where the raw performances and instrumentation matched the tenor and feel of the songs. Tonight's the Night still stands as his greatest album, the closest -- in Young's words -- that he has come to art. But if you ask him to compare it to any of his other records, he won't play ball, won't engage. They are all good, or all bad, or all indifferent, or all three of these things. He won't draw lines between them, even those that are genuinely awful, such as Journey Through the Past and the comparatively recent Are You Passionate? I ask him whether he is a good judge of his own material. "God, no, no, no, I'm a terrible judge. That's why I had him for this album," he says, nodding to Lanois. He has been eviscerated, too, for the occasional political faux pas, as far as the liberal music press was concerned -- the lefty hippie who said that maybe Reagan was a better bet than Carter back in 1980, and later supported Ross Perot's bid to win the presidency. On the first point, there are surely few who would disagree with him now. "I'm not going to not say things just because other people might disagree with them," he says. He insists that he is not primarily a political songwriter, and that he tries to see even the most right-wing of politicians, such as Richard Nixon and Ronald Reagan, as human beings. A few years back, he released Living with War, a fine and again confounding album full of rage about George W Bush's war against Iraq, the furious Let's Impeach the President. It sits oddly with his assertion that he is not political, but he has said it was made because so few contemporaneous -- ie, young -- artists were making the same sort of stand. What about the likes of Conor Oberst, of Bright Eyes, I ask him? "I meant in the mainstream. Such as, hey, you know... how about Britney Spears? It would have been great if Britney Spears had made a record about it . You know, she's awesome, a brilliant performer, made some great records." have to them' I like the idea of a Britney album about the invasion of Iraq. I think that's a good call, and some enterprising producer should get on the case right now. Before my time is up, I ask Young about Time Fades Away, a lost live album of his that has never been released on CD, and is much loved by that aforementioned fan base. Young is capricious and stubborn even over past material of his that the critics adore -- On the Beach was not released on CD for 20-odd years, and Time Fades Away will have spent nearer 40 languishing only on vinyl (which might nonetheless be the best medium for it). Yes, he says, Time Fades Away will be released as part of his archive series, a long and exhaustive process. It will be released one of these days. Then I'm out of there, the log cabin in the woods, and the next journalist waiting is saying to me: "Happy, then?" Well, hey, bud, shit like this don't determine my state of happiness. 'The last thing you should do is follow your fan base. That's all they are -- a fan base. I don't have to deal with them'