When it came to facial hair, The Beatles were always adventurous. At various times both John and George sprouted wild, full-coverage beards. Those two were at their absolute bushiest in the Ethan Russell photo featured on the cover of the 1969 “Hey Jude” compilation album.

And who can forget the silly matching mustaches all four Beatles sported for the Sgt. Pepper album?

Ringo, always a trendsetter, wore a close-cropped beatnik beard way back in his pre-Beatle days — an unusual look at the time in the U.K.

Even baby-faced Paul went through a shaggy phase. Maybe he was styling himself after his sheepdog Martha.

The Stones, on the other hand, mostly remained clean shaven for the duration of their careers – even at the height of hippie culture. But leave it to yer blogger to find evidence that Rolling Stones really can gather facial moss, at least now and then.

One British teenybopper magazine was all abuzz when drummer Charlie Watts grew a conservative mustache back in the ’60s. Check out this hilarious page: Well, look what Charlie Watts has gone and done! He’s grown a mustache. And judging by the looks on the faces of the other Rolling Stones, they can’t quite make up their minds whether they like it or not. Poor Charlie – the most low-key member of the band, subjected to this scrutiny!

Now, here’s one of the few photos of former Stone Brian Jones sporting fuzz. Somehow it just doesn’t suit his Prince Valiant image.

Keith Richards never sprouted facial hair of any type back in the ’60s and ’70s. Funny…even during his most comatose heroin days he found the time and energy to shave.

But just check out Mick, looking like a true Norseman with his reddish Fuller Brush face! Proving once again that the Midnight Rambler is the most manly of them all.

© Dana Spiardi, Aug 26, 2015

At the age of 10 I didn’t know much about football or Scotch, but I did have a budding interest in style and phenomena, and Broadway Joe Namath epitomized both. How could I NOT like a sports star who was once described as “Mick Jagger in a football uniform.” I was totally caught up in his exploits. He sported prominent sideburns, an occasional goatee, and hair that was then considered too long. A hipster in cleats. He wore full length fur coats on the sidelines and favored low-cut white shoes over traditional NFL black high-tops. I mean, if you have to wear sports shoes, they should at least be trendsetting.

He appeared on TV variety shows and tried his hand at acting — in summer stock productions and in a Broadway revival of The Caine Mutiny Court Martial. He donned pantyhose to promote Hanes products and swooned while a then-unknown Farrah Fawcett swirled Noxzema shaving cream on his big mug. I always got the feeling he knew exactly how ridiculous he looked, posing as a mock sex symbol. Still, there was something appealing about his sparkly blue-eyes and folksy rural Pennsylvania manner. My friend Jane, who hailed from a tiny village near Joe’s hometown of Beaver Falls, PA, was working in D.C. at the height of Namath mania, and once remarked to a friend, “Wow, do I relate to that accent.”

Oh, and did I mention that he was one of the greatest football players ever, leading the New York Jets to a 16-7 Super Bowl victory over the Baltimore Colts in 1969?

Here then, are some of my favorite Joe Namath memories, on this, his 73rd birthday.

The famous Hanes pantyhose commercial. Even Joe can’t keep a straight face. Imagine the outtakes.

Getting creamed by Farrah, and loving it:

The Joe Namath theme song:

Trailer from HBO documentary about Joe:

© Dana Spiardi, May 31, 2016

The museum closed in 2010 due to a drop in attendance. What?? You mean people would rather sit in a near catatonic state dropping coins into slots than gaze upon an 1885 French-made Pleyel art-case grand piano or a virgin fox fur coat with a 16-foot train? Philistines! Happy 96th birthday, Liberace. Rest in rhinestones and ostrich feathers.

Tim Tucker will now take you on a tour of the majestic museum. Says he: “I strongly urge that you run, not walk, down here to see this glorious collection….Every rhinestone reflects the spirit and energy of the man who wore them [the clothes] with such style, grace, and showmanship.” There are rumors that the museum may eventually reopen on the Las Vegas Strip.

Thanks to Rockin’ Janey Mac for suggesting I add the Liberace Museum to my list of Las Vegas must-sees. 

© Dana Spiardi, May 16, 2015

I reckon that Brian Jones was the dandiest heterosexual of the 20th century. And one of the randiest, too, having fathered at least five children with five different women by the time he was 23. But there was also real talent behind that foppish Casanova facade. Brian was one of Britain’s earliest practitioners of Delta blues. A natural musician, he was arguably the most versatile member of the band he formed and christened The Rollin Stones in 1962. And while he didn’t write, sing lead, or play solo on a single song during his career, his prowess as a multi-instrumentalist was unmatched in the rock world. He not only played a mean slide guitar, he was also proficient with harmonica, keyboards, recorder, clarinet, oboe, flute, saxophone, trumpet, trombone, sitar, tamboura, dulcimer, koto, harp, autoharp, mellotron, marimba, xylophone, glockenspiel, clavinet, banjo, accordion, harpsichord and many forms of percussion. The signature sounds you hear in “Paint it Black,” “Under My Thumb,” “Ruby Tuesday,” and “Little Red Rooster” are the work of Brian.

Today would have been his 73rd birthday had he not succumbed at age 27 to a drug-related drowning in his swimming pool on July 3, 1969, just weeks after his bandmates fired him for erratic, unprofessional behavior. The British coroner’s report deemed it “death by misadventure,” but many suspected foul play on the part of Frank Thorogood, a contractor who had been supervising the renovation of Brian’s Cotchford Farm estate. Thorogood, on his deathbed, supposedly confessed to murdering Jones in the pool. It’s still a mystery. Even conspiracy-mad medical examiner Cyril Wecht couldn’t confirm a bona fide murder after analyzing the autopsy report and remaining evidence.

Keith Richards has long doubted the deathbed confession story, figuring that Brian, unlike himself, just couldn’t cut the chemical mustard. But he sardonically suggests that the fussy Brian might have driven someone to want to murder him. “…I can imagine the scenario of Brian being so obnoxious to Thorogood and the building crew he had working on Brian’s house that they were just pissing with him,” said Keith in his book, Life. “He pissed off the builders, whining son of a bitch.” Oh, Keith!

With the passing of Brian, the rock world not only lost one of its pioneering (albeit, undisciplined) blues-rock talents, the fashion world lost one its most daring and original style setters. Thanks to Stones bass player Bill Wyman, who took meticulous notes during his 31 years with the band, we have a record of Brian’s buying habits. In his book, Stone Alone, Wyman describes the nature of Brian’s shopgasms:

“Our sharpest dresser, he spent a small fortune at boutiques. Collecting clothes might have been his kind of therapy, as he shopped more frequently during times of stress: the day after his court case was adjourned he went to Chelsea Antique Market for a spree typical in its list of exotic purchases: a mandarin coat, a pink fringed coat, pink velvet cape, a flannel-and-lace jacket, embroidered and velvet jackets, two velvet scarves, four pairs of trousers, two kimonos and two scarves, two strings of bells, a blouse and a pink beaded belt. In New York, too, Brian had indulged himself in expeditions to the ladies jewelry departments of such stores as Saks Fifth Avenue and Bergdorf Goodman. A New York journalist friend commented: ‘If he gave nothing else to the world, Brian was the first heterosexual male to start wearing costume jewelry from Saks Fifth Avenue.'”

Well, he might have been a peacock, masking myriad neuroses with velvet and chintz, but Mr. Jones gave a lot more to the world than man-bracelets and puka shell necklaces. Although there are those among you who will disagree, there would have been no Rolling Stones without Brian Jones. Sure, Mick and Keith would have gone on to be huge rock stars; Charlie and Bill to be highly respected rhythm men. But Brian was the one with the vision for a pure blues band – back when Mick was still contemplating a career as a pin-striped businessman.

And while most of us Stone-heads consider the band’s post-Brian LPs to be among the best and most enduring rock albums ever made, there’s no denying the significance of his early contributions. As Wyman once said, “He formed the band. He chose the members. He named the band. He chose the music we played. He got us gigs…very influential, very important, and then slowly lost it — highly intelligent — and just kind of wasted it and blew it all away.”

Another once-beautiful dead flower. Rest in peace and paisley, Brian Jones!

Here is a montage of photos showing Brian Jones in all his glory. “Who could hang a name on you?”

© Dana Spiardi, Feb 28, 2014

John’s fans may have been surprised to see him wearing glasses in this offbeat little film. Little did they know at the time that his vision had been poor since childhood. His Aunt Mimi constantly nagged him to wear his glasses – which, of course, he hated. Teddy Boys and Gene Vincent wanna-bes didn’t wear glasses! He stumbled around half-blind without specs until he finally began wearing contact lenses during the height of Beatlemania.

Imagine his dismay when he learned that his Private Gripweed role called for him to don the owlish wire-framed glasses once issued by Britain’s National Health system. Well, he ended up embracing his new look and wore the specs from that point on – thus creating a signature style that was quickly copied by the youth of the day. Nobody would have been caught dead wearing wire-rimmed granny glasses before John made them fashionable. I remember the day I went from plastic cat-eyes to wire rectangles. Sure, I loathed wearing glasses as a kid, but at least with cool Lennon frames I could feel more like the hippy-dippy flower child I longed to be.  And then along came Janis Joplin with those huge round wire specs, to seal the style for chicks. Ah, kaleidoscope eyes behind those lenses.

As for the movie? It was a critical and commercial disappointment. And what of John’s acting? Well, inspired, of course…but it really didn’t matter. The project  gave him a break from the pressure of touring and recording with the Beatles. But, most importantly, a masterpiece emerged from the experience: during down-time on the set in Almeria, Spain, John composed what I consider his most magnificent song: “Strawberry Fields Forever.”

An iconic photo of bespectacled John in his combat helmet graced the cover of the very first issue of Rolling Stone magazine, on November 9, 1967 – several weeks after the film’s release.

Here’s a look at John’s scenes in “How I Won the War.”

© Dana Spiardi, October 9, 2014