Well, as it turns out, they sat in the Lennons’ living room and watched Saturday Night Live! Imagine their surprise when SNL producer Lorne Michaels appeared on their TV screen, announcing an offer to pay the Beatles $3,000 to come together and perform three songs on his show! He held up a check and said, “NBC has authorized me to offer you a certified check for $3,000….you can divide it anyway you want. If you want to give Ringo less, that’s up to you.” What a commentary on the creative pecking order, albeit at poor Ringo’s expense!
John later told David Sheff, author of the book All We Are Saying, “He [Paul] was visiting us at our place in the Dakota. We were watching it [SNL] and almost went down to the studio, just as a gag. We nearly got into a cab, but we were actually too tired.”
WHAT? Two healthy guys in their mid-thirties, too tired? From what…smoking too much weed? How dare they deprive the world of what would have been the biggest event in rock history! Oh, well. Yoko would have tagged along and ruined the whole thing anyway.
A month later, Michaels again tried to lure the Beatles, this time with a sum of $3,200 and an offer by NBC to pay for their hotel accommodations! He asked SNL announcer Don Pardo to provide more details. Here’s the hilarious transcript:
First of all, the lads from Liverpool will be picked up by a radio-dispatched Checker cab that will whisk them to the Cross Town Motor Inn, located in the heart of New York’s fashionable garment district. Once there, they will check in, in the recently renovated lobby; and then it’s off to their rooms via round-the-clock elevator service. They’ll be treated like royalty, as pitchers of ice water are hand-delivered to their rooms, and they can drink that water from glasses sanitized for their convenience. Oops — Ringo spilled a little something on his jacket? No problem — not with prompt forty-eight-hour dry cleaning service! ‘In by Tuesday, out by Thursday.’ And let’s just put a shine on those shoes, too, with a free shoe shine cloth. And, Lorne, since the Beatles will be staying in separate rooms, the four Mop Tops can speak to each other as much as they want because there is no charge for room-to-room calls. And, after a hard day’s night, the Beatles can sleep as late as they like with a leisurely checkout time of 10 A.M. That’s the Cross Town Motor Inn, a hotel tradition, hosting New York’s visitors since 1971. Yeah, yeah, yeah! Back to you Lorne!
Okay, pretty funny, but the huge sums offered by other industry moguls were nothing to scoff at. Three months before Lorne Michaels’ offer, promoter Bill Sargent tried to bait the Beatles with a payment of $50 million. And later in the year, Sid Bernstein, the man who promoted the Beatles’ early U.S. tours, offered a staggering $230 million for them to perform a one-time-only charity concert. The four turned it down, although sources say Paul considered it.
The closest thing to a Beatles reunion took place on May 19, 1979, when Paul, George, and Ringo jammed at the wedding of Eric Clapton and Pattie Boyd (George’s ex-wife). They performed shaky, alcohol-laced renditions of “Get Back,” “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band,” and “Lawdy Miss Clawdy.” But where was John? He and Clapton had been tight in the early ’70s, when the guitarist performed with John at his Live Peace in Toronto concert. Did Eric and Pattie forget to send John an invitation? Did Yoko receive it and toss it in the trash? In Peter Doggett’s book, You Never Give Me Your Money, Clapton said, “John later phoned me to say that he would have been there too if he had known about it.” Sadly, all hopes for a Beatles reunion were abandoned on December 8, 1980, when John was assassinated as he entered his apartment.
When the Beatles played their impromptu “concert” on the rooftop of the Apple Records building during the “Let It Be” recording sessions in January 1969, little did anyone know it would be the final live performance of the greatest and most influential band in history. It was the world’s finest free concert. Priceless.
Here’s Lorne Michaels, offering The Beatles the BIG check, on April 24, 1976:
© Dana Spiardi, April 24, 2013
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Attention: this is an important history lesson for all you sweet young things born after the baby boom! The subject is Abbie Hoffman, who died 25 years ago today. He was one of the most colorful pranksters and political activists of the 1960s, and a hero to many. He was a founder of the Youth International Party (Yippies) and one of the “Chicago Seven,” a group arrested for conspiracy and inciting a riot during the 1968 Democratic National Convention. His outlandish behavior inspired many to become politically active, question authority and protest the Vietnam war. What an adorable little bad-ass Jew!
The Nixon government considered him a subversive, due to his association with such controversial groups as the Black Panthers, the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee (SNCC) and the Socialist Workers Party (SWP). His FBI file consisted of over 13,000 pages.
One of his grand symbolic stunts involved taking a group of Yippie followers to the New York Stock Exchange in 1967, where they tossed both real and phony dollars from the gallery, amusing themselves as traders went wild trying to catch the falling bills. No one in Hoffman’s entourage even thought to alert the press ahead of time, but the story spread like wildfire through the media. As a result of the prank, the NYSE spent $20,000 to enclose the gallery with bulletproof glass.
Another of his capers involved leading a group of war protestors to the Pentagon, only to find that a throng of soldiers had formed a human chain to prevent them from nearing the building. Abbie suggested the use of psychic energy to levitate the Pentagon until it turned bright orange and began to vibrate – thus bringing the Vietnam war to an end. Allen Ginsberg was on hand to lead the crowd in Tibetan chants. Oh, what a time!
The courtroom trial of the Chicago Seven was like a scene from a Marx Brothers movie. Abbie and fellow defendant Jerry Rubin wore judicial robes to court one day. As Abbie was being sworn in, he managed to flash the finger while his hand was on the bible. When asked to give his state of residence, he replied, “the state of mind of my brothers and sisters.” He led his codefendants in daily harassments of Judge Julius Hoffman (no relation). Abbie told the judge, “you are a ‘shande fur de Goyim’ [disgrace in front of the gentiles]. You would have served Hitler better.” During the trial he repeatedly called the judge “Julie,” and even suggested he try LSD, promising to set him up with a dealer in Florida.
Abbie and four of his codefendants – Rubin, David Dellinger, Rennie Davis, and Tom Hayden (who later married Jane Fonda after their controversial jaunt to North Vietnam in 1972) – were found guilty of “intent to incite a riot while crossing state lines.” They were fined $5,000 and sentenced to five years in prison, but the convictions were later overturned when a commission ruled that a “police riot” caused the violent clashes at the Democratic convention.
When Abbie was convicted for wearing a shirt resembling the American flag – which police had torn from his back – he announced, Nathan Hale-style, “I only regret that I have but one shirt to give for my country.” (To make matters worse, he had a Viet Cong flag painted on his back.)
Through the years Abbie continued to stir things up. He jumped on stage while The Who were performing at Woodstock, and delivered an LSD-fueled message: “I think this is a pile of shit while [militant counterculture leader] John Sinclair rots in prison.” Pete Townshend charged at him, whacking him with his guitar for violating the “sanctity of the stage.” (Townshend denied striking him; accounts vary.)
In 1973, police nabbed Abbie for “intent to sell and distribute cocaine.” Maintaining that he was framed, he skipped bail, underwent plastic surgery and went into hiding, finally surrendering in 1980 (he served a four month sentence). In 1986, he (along with President Carter’s daughter Amy) was arrested for trespassing during a protest of CIA actions on the campus of the University of Massachusetts at Amherst.
Along the way, he authored the wildly popular guide to political activism, “Steal This Book,” and, with Jonathan Silvers, co-authored “Steal This Urine Test,” which exposed the flaws in the government’s war on drugs.
As the Reagan ’80s progressed, Abbot Howard Hoffman remained active in social causes, but was battling bi-polar disorder and no doubt bemoaning the lack of activism among young people. On April 12, 1989, at age 52, he washed down 150 phenobarbital tablets with liquor. Some say it was an unintentional overdose, but swallowing 150 pills does require some effort on the part of even the most experienced aficionado. It was ruled a suicide.
Abbie would have approved of the eulogy delivered by Rabbi Norman Mendell, who said that his activism and rabble-rousing were in keeping with “the Jewish prophetic tradition, which is to comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable.”
Now, let’s all steal THAT philosophy!
“Revolution is not something fixed in ideology, nor is it something fashioned to a particular decade. It is a perpetual process embedded in the human spirit.”
After Abbie told a Chicago city official that he’d take $100,000 to call off the massive demonstration planned for the 1968 Democratic Convention, a reporter asked him if he was serious. Here’s what he said.
By Dana Spiardi, April 12, 2014
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I stopped making self-improvement resolutions a long time ago. Today, as always, I embrace my inner sloth, heed the words of gurus named Lennon, Dylan, Berry and Waits, and enjoy a lifestyle defined by words like riff, gig, mojo, backbeat, rave, juke, and a-wop-bop-a-loo-mop-a-wop-bam-boom. I prefer “old vinyl” to “new age,” amplification to meditation, and Prince to Pilates.
But as yer full-service, dedicated blogger, I have a responsibility to guide you, my loyal followers, toward a more enriching reading experience. Therefore, I have made these 10 resolutions.
1. I resolve never to cave-in to potential threats from Kim Jong-un following publication of my upcoming “Hijinks on the North Korean Border” article. (Stay tuned!)
2. I resolve to provide you with so much top-notch useless trivia that you, like me, will feel compelled to bore people to death at dinner parties by cluing them in on oodles of factoids – from details of Led Zeppelin’s greatest sex orgies, to the dates and places of all of Keith Richards’ and Paul McCartney’s drug busts.
3. I resolve to rail against extraneous ornament and to kill my darlings to the extent possible.
4. I resolve to never again describe an artist, song or album as iconic, a word I decided was totally useless after hearing CNN’s Wolf Blitzer once use it to describe Ferris Bueller’s Day Off.
5. I resolve to make thicker my thinly-veiled references to high school friends and foes.
6. I resolve never to use the terms dumpster fire, bae, humblebrag, growth hacker, hashtag, or on fleek.
7. I resolve to warn male blog followers to stop reading my posts if they experience an erection lasting longer than 4 hours.
8. I resolve to warn all blog followers to stop reading my posts if they experience anxiety, headache, nausea, vomiting, loss of appetite, constipation, dry mouth, diarrhea, skin rash or restless leg syndrome. OR if they are pregnant or plan to become pregnant (ladies, stay away from the afflicted blog follower in resolution #7.)
9. I resolve to avoid annoying, abhorant alliterations, to permanently purge passé, puerile prose, and to remove repetitive, redundant rhetoric.
10. I resolve to never endorse any candidate for any public office, despite repeated requests from the powerful politicians who read by blog.
So, there you have it. The Hip Quotient is now “resolution-ized.” And your lives will be all the richer for it. You’re welcome.
By Dana Spiardi, Jan 5, 2015
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The Iron Curtain. That was a term I heard often as a kid growing up in the Cold War ’60s. What exactly was this metallic barrier, and who or what was behind it, I wondered. Little did I know back then that British Prime Minster Winston Churchill had coined the term to refer to the ideological barrier that separated the free world from the Communist world. But in time, I came to realize that an actual curtain really did exist – one made of concrete. It was called the Berlin Wall, and it held much fascination for me.
By the time I first set foot in Berlin in 1993, there was virtually nothing left of the monolith that separated the two parts of the city between August 13, 1961, and November 9, 1989. I was expecting to see something of the 97-mile-long structure that was born at roughly the same time as I. Still, I understood the need to destroy this ugly reminder of socio-political oppression.
My first order of business was a trip to the famous Checkpoint Charlie area to buy up as much memorabilia as I could: from silly touristy things like a tiny chunk of the demolished wall, tastefully encased in plastic (whether it’s authentic or not, it’s on my kitchen wall!), to books detailing the history of the barrier and the incredible stories of East Germans who carried out elaborate schemes to scale or burrow under the wall (at least 136 people died trying to cross the border). But my favorite souvenir is a book that features the incredible amateur graffiti that once adorned the western side of the wall, as well as the more professional paintings that cover the structure’s few remaining remnants.
The most famous of these graffiti images is a painting based on a 1979 photograph of Soviet leader Leonid Brezhnev planting a big wet kiss on the lips of East German President Erich Honnecker during a celebration to mark the 30th anniversary of the formation of the Deutsche Demokratische Republik (the Communist-ruled German Democratic Republic, or DDR). French photographer Régis Bossu snapped the original image, perfectly capturing the creepy lip-lock of the Commie brothers. The photograph was an immediate media hit, published in newspapers around the globe. French magazine Paris Match named the photo “The Kiss,” and devoted a two-page spread to the picture. A German telecommunications firm even used the photo in advertising posters without permission. (Bossu filled a lawsuit and won.)
In 1990, with the euphoria of German reunification at its peak, Russian painter Dimitri Vrubel discovered Bossu’s photo and decided to paint a version of it on a remnant of the wall that was still standing in East Berlin. He added the caption, “God help me to survive this deadly love affair.” His work became one of the most photographed graffiti images of all time, and was reproduced on everything from t-shirts to towels. The East-Side Hotel in Berlin even used the image in its logo.
Vrubel’s painting was the key attraction of what came to be known as the East Side Gallery – a 1,000-foot-long section of remaining wall which runs parallel to the Spree River. Through the years, 117 artists from 21 countries have displayed their work on this once controversial canvas. The stretch of wall – considered the largest open air gallery in the world – is a major tourist attraction. It’s been protected by a preservation order since 1993. But vandalism and bad weather eventually took their toll; the artwork – much of which was created using cheap paint – slowly deteriorated.
In 2009, the East Side Gallery launched a major overhaul of the art wall. They removed the faded paintings using steam, and invited the original artists to repaint their sections. Vrubel was offered $4,000 to recreate his “Fraternal Kiss.” He donated the money to a social art project.
And while poor old Bossu never got rich from his shot seen ’round the world, he does garner a small, steady income every time his photo is published — which, to date, has amounted to over 500 times! He and Dimitri Vrubel finally met in 2009, when Bossu was invited to Berlin to exhibit his photos at the East-Side Hotel.
The fall of the Berlin wall was the most significant world event that occurred in my lifetime. As I watched the televised scenes of ecstatic people chiseling away at the wall with pickaxes on November 9, 1989, I never imagined that one by one the countries of the Soviet empire would soon be independent, or that I would spend the majority of my next five years immersed in the culture, history, and media landscapes of those fascinating regions.
Most of the Berlin Wall art panels have been removed and only exist in places such as Potsdamer Platz, Mühlenstrasse, and Bernauer Strasse. A few original remnants reside in museums. I took these photos: first, at the Centre de Commerce mondial in Montréal (in the “underground city”), and second, at the Newseum in Washington, DC. The third photos shows a wall section from the John F. Kennedy library in Boston. Click here to read more about art from the Berlin Wall.
© Dana Spiardi, Nov 9, 2014
Whatever happened to Dave Chappelle, the gifted comedian, writer, actor, and satirist whose Chappelle’s Show ran for a mere two seasons on Comedy Central? His TV sketches were among the most brilliant and biting I’ve ever seen. Sure, Jimmy Fallon’s send-ups of artists like Neil Young, Jim Morrison, and Bob Dylan are hilarious; his impersonations are dead-on. But Chappelle had a talent for writing and performing sketches that depicted stars at their worst and most outrageous. His parodies were often tasteless, usually non-PC, and always side-splitting. Fans and critics loved him. But he began to grow unhappy with the direction of the show, and surprised everyone by abruptly leaving in the middle of third season production and heading to South Africa.
In recent years he’s returned to his roots, taking part in stand-up marathons at The Laugh Factory on LA’s Sunset Strip. In December 2007, he delivered 6 hours and 12 minutes of live comedy on stage. If you aren’t familiar with Dave, or have forgotten just how talented he is, take a look at these classic music-related Chappelle’s Show segments.
My favorite of Dave’s parodies is one that features him as the diminutive and very mysterious artist formerly and currently known as Prince. Who knew that The Purple One had a knack for shooting hoops and whipping up pancakes? We’ll let Eddie Murphy’s older brother Charlie relate this fictitious “True Hollywood Story” about the day The Blouses trumped The Shirts.
Equally hilarious is Dave’s satire of the wild and wicked life of funk superstar Rick James, who died of heart failure in 2004. James had a history of cocaine and crack addiction and served three years in Folsom Prison for assaulting women while under the influence. He appears as himself in this mockumentary, summing up his nasty conduct with this insightful comment: “Cocaine is a hell of a drug!”
R&B singer/songwriter R. Kelly became the talk of the entertainment industry when a videotape surfaced, showing him having sex with an underage girl and urinating on her. He was indicted, but claimed he was not the man in the video. These charges, plus others related to child pornography, were eventually dropped. But the damage was done. And Dave Chappelle capitalized on it with this edgy parody of the star’s hit song, “Feelin’ On Yo Booty.”
Dave loves to take on the very rich, the very famous and the very vainglorious. Here’s his take on rapper, producer and entrepreneur Sean Combs, also known P. Diddy.
And finally, here’s Dave’s analysis of the dancing styles of white people. If you’re a fan of electric guitars or grew up in the era of classic rock, I think you’ll dig this as much as I do. Every time I see it, I rise from my chair and trance-dance.
© Dana Spiardi, May 23, 2014
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