June 17, 2021 • 31 mins
Janis’ relationship with the Hell’s Angels continues to sour. A violent altercation erupts during a show she’s headlining for the San Rafael chapter of the infamous motorcycle gang. Tensions run high at her sold-out shows in cities like Cambridge, Massachusetts, where stories of rock concert riots throughout the country make everyone nervous. And no one is more nervous than producer Paul Rothchild.
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Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
Speaker 1 (00:00):
The twenty seven Club is a production of I Heart
Radio and Double Elvis. Janice Joplin died at the age
of and she lived the life that, much like her
worn down voice, was both ragged and passionate. I can
give you twenty seven reasons why that statement is true.
Five would be the number of times she'd sometimes repeat
(00:22):
a phrase in a song and the repetition of a
device of anticipation that would lead to Catharctic release something
like come On, come On, come On, come On, come On,
and cry baby. One more would be the number of
Hell's Angels chapters that would turn on Janice, never mind
her years of solidarity and friendship when she didn't play
by their rules. Another twelve would be the number of
(00:46):
hours it took her to recover from a transcontinental train
trip across the prairies of Canada, where she continued to
evolve as an artist as an amalgamation of musical influences.
Another one would be the number of love Struck record
producers she convinced to work with her, despite the fact
that her continued addiction and increasingly erratic behavior was indicative
(01:07):
of darker days ahead. And eight would be the number
of weeks she'd have left to live after she showed
up late to a gig at the Harvard Stadium on
August twelve and played the last set she'd ever play
in front of an audience. On This our tenth episode
of season three, Cathartic Release, Love Struck Producers, Vindictive, Hell's Angels,
(01:29):
and Janice Joplin Walking a Winding Path to Liberation. I'm
Jake Brennant in This Is the Seven Cosm. Garnett Mims
(02:20):
heard all the rumors about Bert Burns. He heard that
Burt Burns had friends deep in the New York mafia,
and not just some hot air music executive types, the
real deal, the Genevese family kind of friends. He heard
the bird Burns threatened Van Morrison. He heard the bird
Burns orchestrated some mafio so smoke bomb scared the Neil
(02:40):
Diamond show in the village. He heard the bird Burns
didn't give a fuck. He heard that the guy was
a walking time bomb, and not just in the sense
that he had a temper and was often packing heat.
His ticker was all fucked up in at any moment
to think could take its last talk. Garnett didn't know
bird birds. He heard all the stories that people told
(03:01):
about him on the streets of Philly, secondhand stories passed
down from the streets of New York City. Garnett felt
more comfortable with Burns songwriting partner Jerry Ragavoy. In fact,
he kind of knew rack of voice, since the two
of them hailed from the city of brotherly Love and all,
and that was one of the things that Garnett and
Ragivoy bonded over. When Garnett moved his vocal group, The Enchanters,
(03:23):
up to the Big Apple, but no one called the
guy Ragivoy. They all called them Racks. Everyone back in
Philly called him that. Everyone at the electrical appliance shop
where he worked, the one that had a section of
choice seventy eight just for the hell of it. This
is back in the nineteen fifties, back in the day
when a local singing group could bring their demo to
(03:43):
the local appliance store, the one with the music section
in the back, and the guys working there would be
so impressed and so excited that they drop everything and
on the spot decide to start a record label from scratch,
just so they could release the group's debut single. That's
exactly what Rags did when the Castels walked through the
shops front door, actate in hand. Rags was no singer,
(04:06):
not even a great player. But he loved blues music.
Do rhythm and blues. He had near for he had
a heart for it. He loved the music so much
that he started writing songs on his own, songs that
were honest to God hits. He loved the music so
much that he split the small change town of Philly
for the greener pastors of New York City. It was
there that he wrote Times on My Side, a tract
(04:28):
that would later give the Rolling Stones their first top
ten hit in the US. Rags had this one particular song, though,
that he could never finish. Couldn't shake it either. He
tried to file it away in a drawer, but he'd
find it months lit or unfinished, and na he'd forget
about it, forget about it on purpose. The thing was
a time suck that seemed to exist solely to cast
(04:50):
doubt on his own ability to do what he thought
he was able to do. It was a reminder that
he didn't always finish what he started, that he wasn't
the best, that he wasn't prolific that he'd wake up
in the middle of the night, the half finished chorus
banging around in the back of his head and taunting him.
And then he got burn Burns involved. Burns was an assassin.
(05:10):
When it came to putting the finishing touches on a tune,
Garnett mim saw it with his own two eyes. He'd
made the pilgrimage up to New York City when he
had been summoned to Burns his apartment. He was told
to come alone, leave the enchanters behind. Burns was real,
hush hush like that. Garnett walked in to find Burns
and Rags tying together the fraid ends of cry Baby,
(05:32):
the song that Rags had until that moment been unable
to finish, the one he couldn't shake, the one that
gnawed at him. Garnett felt like he'd walked into the
meeting of some secret society, some sacred space where alchemy
was happening. Burns would nod his head and Rags would
put his pencil to the paper. Burns stood at the
end of a piano and didn't say much. He didn't
(05:53):
have to. He used all that tough guy menace that
he picked up from the wise guys he hung around.
He was letting Aags hold the reins. But Garnett picked
up on the vibe that hung in the room. It
was Burns his apartment, after all, Burns his piano. It
was Burns his world, and the rest of them were
just living in it. The unspoken truth was that Bert
Burns could take control of everything with the snap of
(06:15):
his connected fingers if that's what he wanted. Garnett followed
Rags's lead. He did what they wanted him to do,
sang the song how they wanted him to sing it.
He knew an opportunity when he saw one. He knew
not to look the proverbial gift horse in the mouth,
especially if said gift horse had some scarred faced, brass
knuckled bruisers on the inside. Then the songwriting duo then
(06:38):
told Garnett that he'd go to the recording session without
the enchanters. Rags had some great singers already on TAPP
to provide backup Cissy Houston along with their two nieces Dion. Indeed, Warwick,
Garnett felt like he was being unfaithful to his Philly
bred bandmates. Rags told him not to worry about him.
He was just business. Burns didn't say anything, but just
(07:00):
gave Garnett that stare, that stare from the other side
of the piano that encouraged him not to worry about it.
When it was released on the United Artists label in
August of nine sixty three, Garnett mims Is cry Baby
went to the top of the r and beach her
and then it went to number four on the Billboard
Hot one. Along with Piece of My Heart. Cry Baby
(07:22):
would be one of two Burt Burns Jerry Ragilvoy compositions
that would make their way to Janice Joplin. Janice road
tested her version of the song with the Full Tiled
Boogie Band during the summer, including the brief but memorable
Festival Express tour that took them along with The Grateful
Dead and others across Canada. Janice's cry Baby was a
(07:42):
show stopper, even if she played it at the beginning
of the show. She branded the song as her own,
dropping in extended riffs and the song's middle section about
how her man ran off to Detroit or Catman Do
or Nepal. Garnet ms Little Song of that could was
now an impassioned cry that reached its arms out to
the whole wide world. Janice felt she was ready to
(08:04):
put it down on team. In the studio with producer
Paul Rothschild, recording what would become her final album, Pearl,
Janice gave a cry baby performance for the ages, larynx
shredding and passioned vocal and all, and people loved it.
It made its way up the charts when it was
(08:25):
released as a single. In problem was by the time
the world got to hear it two months later, Janis
Joplin was dead like any Hell's Angels party. The concert
(09:04):
that the San raphael chapter of the Notorious Motorcycle Club
was now hosting was rife with drama. Not just drama.
Attention to the tension in the place was so thick
he could cut it with one of the knives, and
angels kept on their belts. It was March and the
infamous Rolling Stone show at the Altamont Speedways still hung
(09:25):
around the rock and biker culture like a black cloud.
In December of sixty nine, the peace and love ethos
of Woodstock was pummeled into the mud by security guards
turned rogue nihilus thugs. The Hell's Angels freaked the funk
out at Altamont, and the whole rock and roll world
was still reeling from the fallow. Albert Grossman, for one,
(09:46):
was skeptical about the whole thing. The fact that one
of his most important clients, Janis Joplin, was headlining a
show of support of one of the most dangerous and
hated groups of people in the United States didn't make
him feel all warm and fuzzy inside. It pretty fucking
far from it, actually, And to make matters worse, the
Angels were paying Janis I easily two hundred and sixty
(10:07):
bucks for the honor to perform in front of them.
Two hundred and sixty dollars Janis Joplin in v at
the height of her fame. Janis had asked Albert to
bite his tongue to allow her to do this one favor.
And the Angels had been good to her in the past,
and they had accepted her as one of their own,
and she was their little sister, and they protected her
and they looked out for the least she could do
(10:28):
was play a show for them at a friendly rate. Plus,
you had guys like sweet William, Sweet William was the
kind of angel that Janice liked. He had the badass
angel look, long black hair, devilish goatee, but deep down
he was a total softie. He was named after a
flower for Christ's sex. He was the vice president of
the San Francisco Chapter of the Angels. Janis did shows
(10:51):
like these for guys like Sweet William. Guys like Sweet
William gave the club a good name. It wasn't just
Tells Angels in the room. The actor Michael J. Pollard
was there too, still reminiscing about the New York City
party with Bob new Earth and Chris Christofferson, still glowing
from his Oscar nomination a few years back now. However,
(11:11):
instead of waxing nostalgic with stories of Fade Dunaway, he
was holding court with tales about the recent shoot with
Robert Redford on the set of Little Fause and Big Halsey.
Janice slung her arm around Pollard's shoulder and pulled him close.
She wanted to hear all about the bikes that Pollard
and Redford road for the flick. She wanted to hear
(11:31):
about every single goose of the throttle, about every single
breeze that blew through their hair. About every single open
road they surveyed in the distance, each vista on each
horizon so distant and everlasting that it made a person
ponder the meaning of it all. Janice loved that feeling,
the feeling of discovering something new, the feeling of tooling
down a highway long and flat and infinite, and hoping
(11:53):
it would take you to a better place, a place
where you could feel free, better yet a place to
be free. It was the same feeling she got when
she sat in the passenger seat and made the track
from Texas to California, or Chicago to California, or the
East Coast to the West coast. She repeated those far flung,
free flowing journey so often, just to harness that feeling again,
(12:14):
the electric anticipation of freedom. But Robert Redford wasn't too
shabby either. She listened to Paula talk all about that
handsome matinee Idol all night long, and Janice kept a
grip on Pollard's shoulder as she walked towards the stage,
a bottle of half empty Southern Comfort dangling from her hand.
She was ready to give the restless angels crowd what
(12:35):
they wanted, but it quickly became clear that they wanted
more than music. It wanted control, even if it meant
they had to create chaos first. As Janis and Paul
had approached the stage, one of the angels launched for
Janice's bottle of Southern Comfort. Give me a swig of
that sweet stuff, Janice, the angel yell. A group of
bikers sitting next to him erupted into laughter, and Janice
(12:57):
took her arm off Pollard and steadied the bottle. She
played this game before, she was always ready to play
it again. Funk off, boys, this is my bottle, she responded,
Get your own liquor, and the Angel stood up from
his seat and the laughter quickly subsided. She didn't recognize
anyone in this particular subsection of MC members. Sure as
hell wasn't sweet, William. I'm thirsty, the Angel said, his
(13:21):
voice full of impatience, and you are playing for us.
If I want some of your goddamn Southern comfort, I'll
take some of your goddamn Southern comfort. A few tables away,
Albert Grossman was getting nervous. He ran his hand through
his shoulder length white hair and scanned the room for allies.
He'd watch ship go pear shape before he knew the drill.
(13:43):
Janice stood her ground and kept the bottle as far
from the angel as she could. She looked him dead
in the eye, raised her arm and pointed her finger
in this direction. Fuck you, man, she yelled, funck all
of you, and then the chaos came. One of the
biker's girlfriend's dot of a nearby cluster of angel's glass,
point of beer in her hand, she ran straight forward Janis,
(14:04):
who didn't even see her coming. Suddenly, the entire point
of beer was airborne. It had left the glass and
made a swan to a trajectory right for Janice's face.
The girlfriend tossed the empty glass on the floor. It
shattered into pieces at their feet, and Grossman was on
his feet now. Pollard backed away, fucking Hell's angels. Grossman
was muttering under his breath. He kept watching to see
(14:25):
what would happen next. Do you know who you're talking to?
The girlfriend was screaming at Janie, you can't talk like
that to a Hell's Angel. Janice wiped the sticky beer
from her face and flung the excess at the girlfriend. Yeah, well,
Janice responded, fuck you too. The girlfriend then leapt in
the air and tackled Janice to the floor. The two
rolled around, kicking and screaming, the wet beer mopped up
(14:47):
by the feathers in Janice's hair and the shards of
glass digging into their backs, and the girlfriend took her
hands to Genese's face and started to dig. She grabbed
one of Janice's ears and pulled out her earring in
a violent tug, and the blood sprang out from Janice's
ear all over the girlfriend's hand and then mixed it
with the discarded point of the hardwood. Janice was storing
punches and screaming. She connected a few times with the
(15:07):
enraged by her girlfriend, who was on top of her.
Now Janice's eyes were shut tight, and she just yelled
and kicked and threw punches. The whole place went bananas.
Grossman struggled to get close to the action to help Janice.
He just kept replaying the moment from the Altamont Show
when that Hell's Angels fatally stabbed her at his hunter.
He was terrified that the same scene was about to
play out in front of him, that the chaos was
(15:28):
so overpowering, so it was impossible to get through. He
felt powerless. Before long, the girlfriend's angel had pulled her
off Janice and he took her place. He straddled on
top of her, held her down with his left hand,
and pulled his right hand back. He wound up. He
was ready to clock Janis Joplan her smug, fucking mug.
This old lady was right, man, How dare she talked
(15:50):
to the m c that way? He wound his fist
up tight in the air. Janice opened her eyes and
the crowd around them was panicking. The boys from the
San Rafael chapter were holding back others who wanted to
pull Janice to safety. Janice's eyes darted around. She had
lost track of Pollard. She called out for Grossman, and
the angel clenched his raised fist tighter, so tight that
(16:10):
he felt his long, dirty fingernails digging to the meat
of his palm. He gritted his teeth, gritted them so
tight he thought something would snap, and just as he
began to bring his fist down towards Janice's face, Sweet
William intervened. He jumped over a nearby table, took a
few big strides, and brought his foot straight into the
angel's face. As sweet William pulled Janis out of the
(16:33):
fray and kept those who wanted more blood at bay.
Janice was no longer thinking about the promises of freedom
on a long open road. She was thinking of a
darkness on the horizon. She thought of a darkness hanging
over an entire scene that she had once loved. She
thought of the diminishing returns of the life of a
rock singer. She thought about how glad she was and
(16:54):
that chaotic moment to be alive, and wondered how much
longer she would be able to hold on to that feeling.
We'll be right back after this word we were. The
kid with the off white khakis and horn rimmed glasses
(17:15):
on the opposite side of the fence got Bobby Davis's attention.
The old school away. Bobby took notice of the kid
out of the corner of his eye, wave of hair
crusting over his left eye, intermitting weak old stubble dotting
his chin. Kid's hands hung off the chain link in
the most casual of ways. Hey, Bobby d that was
(17:37):
the first waiter Bobby's heart referring to him in the
shorthand in a way that communicated intimacy. Bobby looked to
his left and then to his right, checking to see
if the coast was clear. He wasn't ready to abandon
his post just because this kid happened to know his name.
Kate called again. Grass is greener on this side of
the fence. My man, he whispered, and this time he
(17:59):
dangled the atle wound joint between two fingers. He had
pushed it halfway through the fence. This was the second
way to Bobby's heart and most definitely constituted a free pass.
Bobby looked around again, made sure he didn't see any
faculty or staff, and then slowly eased his way to
the fence to be outside the fence. The crowds were
(18:20):
quickly growing in the queue to enter the Harvard Stadium
was becoming longer and less orderly. It was dusk and
concert goers were arriving at a steady clip. Now it
wasn't Bobby's job to watch the steady clip of paying customers.
He was hired by the Shaffer Music Festival to watch
for any deadbeat who decided to forego the two dollar
ticket price and tried to hop the chain link fence.
(18:42):
The fence jumpers were always easy to spot. Always they'd
linger on the outskirts of the slow moving queue, pretending
a little too hard to look like they actually belonged
their little fuckers. They always had a nervous look in
their eyes. The tiniest noise or smallest movement would make
their eyes dark this way or that, and they nervously
waited for the right time to bail. And they think
(19:03):
the Bobby or the other college kids hired his gate
crasher narcs weren't looking, and suddenly they make a run
for it, and they're always faster in their heads. And
in reality, Bobby got better at the job as a
summer concert season war on. By August, it was a cakewalk.
He beat el cheap out to the fence half the time.
Right after he read the jumper's face and watched the
wheels turn in his head. Bobby sneakers would be pounding
(19:25):
the pavement a full second before there would be free
rider put his hands on the chain link. The smartest
gate crashers were the ones who knew how to buy
off Bobby. A term of endearment in some mellow grass,
it was that easy. Bobby was easy to find wearing
his a signed red T shirt with a white peace
sign on the front. Anyone with half a brain cell
knew the gate crasher narks by those shirts, and jumping
(19:47):
the fence could lead to getting hurt or worse, getting arrested.
And slipping a dube into Bobby's hand bypassed all the
unnecessary chaos. Bobby took the joint from the kid's hand
and then gave him the silent nod, the silent on
the one that indicated that the kid had five seconds
to make it over the fence while Bobby turned us back.
You had five seconds flat, and after that Bobby couldn't
(20:10):
help you anymore. Bobby folded his arms across his chest
to cover up the peace sign that broadcast the fact
that he worked for the Shaper Festival, that he worked
for Harvard Stadium. He listened to the fence rattle awkwardly
as the kid made his way up and over another
desperate pilgrim off on a free ride. He pocketed the
joint for later that night. It was hot that day.
(20:31):
August twelve. Summer in Cambridge, Massachusetts wasn't without its stretches
of oppressively muggy days, as Bobby's uncle said back home,
it was hotter than a slapped ass. But this was Harvard,
this was a respectable territory. So Bobby had to keep
the Randy jokes to himself until he got back to
the Emissy of campus across the river. Later in the evening.
(20:53):
He could hear his mother in his head, know your audience.
Probably the best thing about being a gate crasher in
arc was that he got to be part of the
audience on every concert night. This summer had been shocked
full of great shows. Dylan and the Band, Ray Charles,
the Grateful Dead ten years after. Tonight's two dollar headliner
was none other than Janice Choplin. Janison her Full Till
(21:14):
Boogie Band had just returned from their allotted Festival Express
tour of Canada, and they were in tip top shit
hot shape. On board that train, they picked up blistering
blues licks from Buddy Guy, pound dog hollers from Rick Danko,
nuggets of Americana from Jerry Garcia, and white hot r
and B queues from Delaney and Bonnie. Word on the
street was that this was the best incarnation of the
(21:37):
foot stopping hoot and holler and Janice, and they were
tighter than Big Brother in the Holding Company, the more
with it than the Cosmic Blues band. They chugg a
lugged with the combined forces of the musical inspirations passed
in present about the smart Kid crowd at the Harvard
Stadium would have to wait a little longer for the
show to begin. An unseen, unknown delay was preventing the
(21:57):
show from starting on time. Sadly, show delays were becoming
an all two regular occurrence in the rock and roll world,
and like all other show delays at other recent concerts
across the US, the crowd was less than pleased. Typically,
when a show started, Bobby would pull a plain red
T shirt from where it was stashed in the back
pocket of his jeans and pull it over the gate
(22:19):
and arc peace sign shirt. He'd make his way into
the crowd and relieve himself from his shift on his
own recognisance. But tonight the crowd of nearly thirty three
thousand were growing increasingly impatient. Bobby felt the need to
honor the second part of his Shaffer Music Festival shift,
which involves standing guard at the stage to keep fans
from bum rushing the band. He worried that something was
(22:40):
going to happen. As he hustled towards the stage at
the head of the Harvard Stadiums you shaped outline. He
couldn't help but run through worst case scenarios in his head.
What if Janison the Full Tilt Bookie band didn't show
for hours, But if they didn't show at all, or
if they had another album on on their hands. He
didn't spot any Hell's was making their way through the
(23:01):
turnstiles near the front of the venue. But bikers weren't
the only ones turning violent anymore. What if the audience
rioted in the way they rioted at Grant Park in
Chicago one sigh in the family Stone were a no show,
or when Jim Morrison to the doors led his audience
to riot. At the Singer Bowl in Queens, Janis ran
with some shady people, that was for sure. Just look
(23:22):
at the recent show she'd attempted to play for the
Hell's Angels and San Raphael, the one that ended with
Janis on the floor and half the local m c
out for her blood. Even Canadian crowds had just stormed
the gate at the Festival Express stop in Toronto. They
caused such a commotion that organizers had to negotiate with
the crowd that that kind of ship didn't happen in Canada,
could have happened in Cambridge, Massachusetts. It can't happen here.
(23:46):
That's what Bobby kept repeating to himself silently, over and
over in his head. It can't happen here. Bobby looked
out at the crowd of thousands from where he stood
at the edge of the stage. His happy, go lucky
outlooked to could dive his throat down to a pit
somewhere at the bottom of his stomach. He pondered in
early toke from the contraband choint he had been handed
through the gate that night, just to take the edge off.
(24:09):
And then around ten thirty that night, Janice walked on
stage a bottle of JM B Scotch in her hand.
Where the Southern Comfort usually was, it was impossible to
tell where her long strands of hair ended and the
long stringy feathers she wore began. Moments later, the guys
in the full tiled boogie band followed, and they plugged in,
(24:29):
counted off, and roared to life. Bobby gradually settled down
as all was forgiven by the audience, and Cambridge defaulted
to having a good time, the best time, and the
last time too. That night would be the last time
Janice Joplin would ever play Cambridge, the last time Janice
Joplin would ever play anywhere. Two months later, people will
(24:53):
be waiting for Janice to show up again like they
often did, only this time she'd never show m Paul
(25:30):
Rothschild was in love with Janice Choplin, her laugh, her smile,
her easy, breezy, funk at all attitude towards life, how
she took zero ships from no one, the way she dressed,
with all those countless feathers and beads and bengals, hanging
and flowing and flowering in every direction. He had known
that he was in love with her for quite some time,
(25:51):
all the way back to when she fronted Big Brother
and he tried to woo away with a solo deal
on Elektra. Now in the middle of at to making
a name as the unofficial fifth member of The Doors,
he had signed on to produce Janice's second solo album
and her first with the Full Till Boogie Band as
her backup. Even though Rothschild was in love with Janice.
(26:12):
He was also a professional first and the love struck
puppy second look Janice. He told her one day, I
really love you very very much, and I'd like to
be with you, but let's funk on tape. He was
worried just about as much as he was smitten. He
had spent some time with Janice while she was making
her last record, I got them old Cosmic Blues again, Mama,
(26:33):
and he knew she was fighting some demons. He knew
she was holding onto addictions. He saw the marks on
her arms, the bags under her eyes. He knew where
she went when she disappeared for a few minutes or
a few hours at a time. His moments, like those
that the colorful, expressive Janice he loved would find herself
consumed by a dark cloud and he would lose sight
(26:55):
of her temporarily, he wouldn't recognize it. When Rothschild his
first approach to produce janice new record in he initially
refused because he was worried. He was ready to write
her office and once talented junkie assumed to be has
been to consume with bullshit to be worth his time.
He loved her, and because he loved her. He couldn't
(27:16):
bear to be a party to what was surely her
downhill slide. Her voice was shot. All the touring, the smoking,
the drinking, and the drunking had just ravaged the sound
of her voice. She even asked Rothschild to accompany her
in her shows and stand on the side of the
stage with a stopwatch. Tired, she said, I'm tired of
(27:36):
my voice hurts and my body aches, and I know
that every night I only have thirty five good minutes
in me thirty five minutes flat. After that, I turned
into a pumpkin. She placed the stopwatch in his hand
and folded his fingers on top of it. I want
you to stand over there on the other side of
the curtain. In the minute the show starts, I want
(27:57):
you to start to stop watch, she told him. When
I turn around to look at you, I want you
to flash me how many minutes I've got left. Rothschild
was kept up at night wondering what would happen if
Janice went over thirty five minutes. Janice convinced Rothschild to
sit in the producer's chair for her latest sessions, and
Janice appealed to the part of Rothschild that was in
(28:17):
love with her. She told him not to worry. She
told him she was turning things around, that she was
pulling herself together, that she needed the support of people
like him to help her over the next hill, to
walk that next mile. Rothschild couldn't resist. Just being around
her was intoxicating. It was everything he wanted a recording
session to be. That would get the chance to funk
on tape after all. But as good as the sessions were,
(28:41):
Rothschild couldn't help but remain worried. He knew there was
another shoe out there somewhere, ready to drop. He'd seen
it before with friends who were lost or addicted, friends
who had sworn up and down that they had gotten clean,
that there was nothing to worry about. Because there was
always something to worry about. Rothschild had to do more
than just produce. He had to step in to intervene.
(29:03):
He had to give a ship. But that just led
to a new thing to worry about, and that despite
his help and his love, in his steady, well meaning direction,
that would all be too late. Um, Jake Brennan, and
this is the twenty seven gold all right, This episode
(29:32):
of the seven Club is brought to you by disgrace Land,
the award winning music and true crime podcast that I
also host. Disgrace Land is available only in the free
Amazon Music app. To hear tons of insane stories about
your favorite musicians getting away with murder and behaving very badly. Nirvana, Prince,
Jerry Lee Lewis, The Grateful Dead, The Rolling Stones, Cardi
b In, many many more. Go to Amazon dot com
(29:54):
slash disgrace Land, or if you have an Echo device,
just say hey Alexa play the disgrace Land podcast. The
twenty seven Club is hosted and co written by me
Jake Brennan. Zeth Landi is the lead writer and co producer.
Matt Bowden mixes the show. Additional music and score elements
by Ryan Spraaker and Henry Anna. The twenty seven Club
is produced by myself for Double Elvis and partnership with
(30:16):
I Heart Radio. Sources for this episode are available at
Double Elvis dot com with the twenty seven Club series page.
Our previous seasons on Jimmy Hendrix and Jim Morrison are
available for you to binge right now wherever you get
your podcasts, and if you're likely here, please be sure
to find and follow the twenty seven Club on the
I Heart Radio, Apple podcast or wherever you get shows,
(30:38):
and if you'd like to win a free twenty seven
Club poster designed by the man himself, Nate Gonzalez, then
leave a review for twenty seven Club on Apple podcast
or hashtag subscribe to twenty seven Club on social media,
and we'll pick two winners each week and announce them
on the Double Elvis Instagram page that's at Double Elvis.
Give that a fallow. So get out there and spread
(30:58):
the word about the twenty seven Club. Talk to me
per usual on Instagram and Twitter at disgrace Land, pod
Rock Corolla. What's up for your is
The twenty seven Club is a production of I Heart
Radio and Double Elvis. Janice Joplin died at the age
of and she lived the life that, much like her
worn down voice, was both ragged and passionate. I can
give you twenty seven reasons why that statement is true.
Five would be the number of times she'd sometimes repeat
(00:22):
a phrase in a song and the repetition of a
device of anticipation that would lead to Catharctic release something
like come On, come On, come On, come On, come On,
and cry baby. One more would be the number of
Hell's Angels chapters that would turn on Janice, never mind
her years of solidarity and friendship when she didn't play
by their rules. Another twelve would be the number of
(00:46):
hours it took her to recover from a transcontinental train
trip across the prairies of Canada, where she continued to
evolve as an artist as an amalgamation of musical influences.
Another one would be the number of love Struck record
producers she convinced to work with her, despite the fact
that her continued addiction and increasingly erratic behavior was indicative
(01:07):
of darker days ahead. And eight would be the number
of weeks she'd have left to live after she showed
up late to a gig at the Harvard Stadium on
August twelve and played the last set she'd ever play
in front of an audience. On This our tenth episode
of season three, Cathartic Release, Love Struck Producers, Vindictive, Hell's Angels,
(01:29):
and Janice Joplin Walking a Winding Path to Liberation. I'm
Jake Brennant in This Is the Seven Cosm. Garnett Mims
(02:20):
heard all the rumors about Bert Burns. He heard that
Burt Burns had friends deep in the New York mafia,
and not just some hot air music executive types, the
real deal, the Genevese family kind of friends. He heard
the bird Burns threatened Van Morrison. He heard the bird
Burns orchestrated some mafio so smoke bomb scared the Neil
(02:40):
Diamond show in the village. He heard the bird Burns
didn't give a fuck. He heard that the guy was
a walking time bomb, and not just in the sense
that he had a temper and was often packing heat.
His ticker was all fucked up in at any moment
to think could take its last talk. Garnett didn't know
bird birds. He heard all the stories that people told
(03:01):
about him on the streets of Philly, secondhand stories passed
down from the streets of New York City. Garnett felt
more comfortable with Burns songwriting partner Jerry Ragavoy. In fact,
he kind of knew rack of voice, since the two
of them hailed from the city of brotherly Love and all,
and that was one of the things that Garnett and
Ragivoy bonded over. When Garnett moved his vocal group, The Enchanters,
(03:23):
up to the Big Apple, but no one called the
guy Ragivoy. They all called them Racks. Everyone back in
Philly called him that. Everyone at the electrical appliance shop
where he worked, the one that had a section of
choice seventy eight just for the hell of it. This
is back in the nineteen fifties, back in the day
when a local singing group could bring their demo to
(03:43):
the local appliance store, the one with the music section
in the back, and the guys working there would be
so impressed and so excited that they drop everything and
on the spot decide to start a record label from scratch,
just so they could release the group's debut single. That's
exactly what Rags did when the Castels walked through the
shops front door, actate in hand. Rags was no singer,
(04:06):
not even a great player. But he loved blues music.
Do rhythm and blues. He had near for he had
a heart for it. He loved the music so much
that he started writing songs on his own, songs that
were honest to God hits. He loved the music so
much that he split the small change town of Philly
for the greener pastors of New York City. It was
there that he wrote Times on My Side, a tract
(04:28):
that would later give the Rolling Stones their first top
ten hit in the US. Rags had this one particular song, though,
that he could never finish. Couldn't shake it either. He
tried to file it away in a drawer, but he'd
find it months lit or unfinished, and na he'd forget
about it, forget about it on purpose. The thing was
a time suck that seemed to exist solely to cast
(04:50):
doubt on his own ability to do what he thought
he was able to do. It was a reminder that
he didn't always finish what he started, that he wasn't
the best, that he wasn't prolific that he'd wake up
in the middle of the night, the half finished chorus
banging around in the back of his head and taunting him.
And then he got burn Burns involved. Burns was an assassin.
(05:10):
When it came to putting the finishing touches on a tune,
Garnett mim saw it with his own two eyes. He'd
made the pilgrimage up to New York City when he
had been summoned to Burns his apartment. He was told
to come alone, leave the enchanters behind. Burns was real,
hush hush like that. Garnett walked in to find Burns
and Rags tying together the fraid ends of cry Baby,
(05:32):
the song that Rags had until that moment been unable
to finish, the one he couldn't shake, the one that
gnawed at him. Garnett felt like he'd walked into the
meeting of some secret society, some sacred space where alchemy
was happening. Burns would nod his head and Rags would
put his pencil to the paper. Burns stood at the
end of a piano and didn't say much. He didn't
(05:53):
have to. He used all that tough guy menace that
he picked up from the wise guys he hung around.
He was letting Aags hold the reins. But Garnett picked
up on the vibe that hung in the room. It
was Burns his apartment, after all, Burns his piano. It
was Burns his world, and the rest of them were
just living in it. The unspoken truth was that Bert
Burns could take control of everything with the snap of
(06:15):
his connected fingers if that's what he wanted. Garnett followed
Rags's lead. He did what they wanted him to do,
sang the song how they wanted him to sing it.
He knew an opportunity when he saw one. He knew
not to look the proverbial gift horse in the mouth,
especially if said gift horse had some scarred faced, brass
knuckled bruisers on the inside. Then the songwriting duo then
(06:38):
told Garnett that he'd go to the recording session without
the enchanters. Rags had some great singers already on TAPP
to provide backup Cissy Houston along with their two nieces Dion. Indeed, Warwick,
Garnett felt like he was being unfaithful to his Philly
bred bandmates. Rags told him not to worry about him.
He was just business. Burns didn't say anything, but just
(07:00):
gave Garnett that stare, that stare from the other side
of the piano that encouraged him not to worry about it.
When it was released on the United Artists label in
August of nine sixty three, Garnett mims Is cry Baby
went to the top of the r and beach her
and then it went to number four on the Billboard
Hot one. Along with Piece of My Heart. Cry Baby
(07:22):
would be one of two Burt Burns Jerry Ragilvoy compositions
that would make their way to Janice Joplin. Janice road
tested her version of the song with the Full Tiled
Boogie Band during the summer, including the brief but memorable
Festival Express tour that took them along with The Grateful
Dead and others across Canada. Janice's cry Baby was a
(07:42):
show stopper, even if she played it at the beginning
of the show. She branded the song as her own,
dropping in extended riffs and the song's middle section about
how her man ran off to Detroit or Catman Do
or Nepal. Garnet ms Little Song of that could was
now an impassioned cry that reached its arms out to
the whole wide world. Janice felt she was ready to
(08:04):
put it down on team. In the studio with producer
Paul Rothschild, recording what would become her final album, Pearl,
Janice gave a cry baby performance for the ages, larynx
shredding and passioned vocal and all, and people loved it.
It made its way up the charts when it was
(08:25):
released as a single. In problem was by the time
the world got to hear it two months later, Janis
Joplin was dead like any Hell's Angels party. The concert
(09:04):
that the San raphael chapter of the Notorious Motorcycle Club
was now hosting was rife with drama. Not just drama.
Attention to the tension in the place was so thick
he could cut it with one of the knives, and
angels kept on their belts. It was March and the
infamous Rolling Stone show at the Altamont Speedways still hung
(09:25):
around the rock and biker culture like a black cloud.
In December of sixty nine, the peace and love ethos
of Woodstock was pummeled into the mud by security guards
turned rogue nihilus thugs. The Hell's Angels freaked the funk
out at Altamont, and the whole rock and roll world
was still reeling from the fallow. Albert Grossman, for one,
(09:46):
was skeptical about the whole thing. The fact that one
of his most important clients, Janis Joplin, was headlining a
show of support of one of the most dangerous and
hated groups of people in the United States didn't make
him feel all warm and fuzzy inside. It pretty fucking
far from it, actually, And to make matters worse, the
Angels were paying Janis I easily two hundred and sixty
(10:07):
bucks for the honor to perform in front of them.
Two hundred and sixty dollars Janis Joplin in v at
the height of her fame. Janis had asked Albert to
bite his tongue to allow her to do this one favor.
And the Angels had been good to her in the past,
and they had accepted her as one of their own,
and she was their little sister, and they protected her
and they looked out for the least she could do
(10:28):
was play a show for them at a friendly rate. Plus,
you had guys like sweet William, Sweet William was the
kind of angel that Janice liked. He had the badass
angel look, long black hair, devilish goatee, but deep down
he was a total softie. He was named after a
flower for Christ's sex. He was the vice president of
the San Francisco Chapter of the Angels. Janis did shows
(10:51):
like these for guys like Sweet William. Guys like Sweet
William gave the club a good name. It wasn't just
Tells Angels in the room. The actor Michael J. Pollard
was there too, still reminiscing about the New York City
party with Bob new Earth and Chris Christofferson, still glowing
from his Oscar nomination a few years back now. However,
(11:11):
instead of waxing nostalgic with stories of Fade Dunaway, he
was holding court with tales about the recent shoot with
Robert Redford on the set of Little Fause and Big Halsey.
Janice slung her arm around Pollard's shoulder and pulled him close.
She wanted to hear all about the bikes that Pollard
and Redford road for the flick. She wanted to hear
(11:31):
about every single goose of the throttle, about every single
breeze that blew through their hair. About every single open
road they surveyed in the distance, each vista on each
horizon so distant and everlasting that it made a person
ponder the meaning of it all. Janice loved that feeling,
the feeling of discovering something new, the feeling of tooling
down a highway long and flat and infinite, and hoping
(11:53):
it would take you to a better place, a place
where you could feel free, better yet a place to
be free. It was the same feeling she got when
she sat in the passenger seat and made the track
from Texas to California, or Chicago to California, or the
East Coast to the West coast. She repeated those far flung,
free flowing journey so often, just to harness that feeling again,
(12:14):
the electric anticipation of freedom. But Robert Redford wasn't too
shabby either. She listened to Paula talk all about that
handsome matinee Idol all night long, and Janice kept a
grip on Pollard's shoulder as she walked towards the stage,
a bottle of half empty Southern Comfort dangling from her hand.
She was ready to give the restless angels crowd what
(12:35):
they wanted, but it quickly became clear that they wanted
more than music. It wanted control, even if it meant
they had to create chaos first. As Janis and Paul
had approached the stage, one of the angels launched for
Janice's bottle of Southern Comfort. Give me a swig of
that sweet stuff, Janice, the angel yell. A group of
bikers sitting next to him erupted into laughter, and Janice
(12:57):
took her arm off Pollard and steadied the bottle. She
played this game before, she was always ready to play
it again. Funk off, boys, this is my bottle, she responded,
Get your own liquor, and the Angel stood up from
his seat and the laughter quickly subsided. She didn't recognize
anyone in this particular subsection of MC members. Sure as
hell wasn't sweet, William. I'm thirsty, the Angel said, his
(13:21):
voice full of impatience, and you are playing for us.
If I want some of your goddamn Southern comfort, I'll
take some of your goddamn Southern comfort. A few tables away,
Albert Grossman was getting nervous. He ran his hand through
his shoulder length white hair and scanned the room for allies.
He'd watch ship go pear shape before he knew the drill.
(13:43):
Janice stood her ground and kept the bottle as far
from the angel as she could. She looked him dead
in the eye, raised her arm and pointed her finger
in this direction. Fuck you, man, she yelled, funck all
of you, and then the chaos came. One of the
biker's girlfriend's dot of a nearby cluster of angel's glass,
point of beer in her hand, she ran straight forward Janis,
(14:04):
who didn't even see her coming. Suddenly, the entire point
of beer was airborne. It had left the glass and
made a swan to a trajectory right for Janice's face.
The girlfriend tossed the empty glass on the floor. It
shattered into pieces at their feet, and Grossman was on
his feet now. Pollard backed away, fucking Hell's angels. Grossman
was muttering under his breath. He kept watching to see
(14:25):
what would happen next. Do you know who you're talking to?
The girlfriend was screaming at Janie, you can't talk like
that to a Hell's Angel. Janice wiped the sticky beer
from her face and flung the excess at the girlfriend. Yeah, well,
Janice responded, fuck you too. The girlfriend then leapt in
the air and tackled Janice to the floor. The two
rolled around, kicking and screaming, the wet beer mopped up
(14:47):
by the feathers in Janice's hair and the shards of
glass digging into their backs, and the girlfriend took her
hands to Genese's face and started to dig. She grabbed
one of Janice's ears and pulled out her earring in
a violent tug, and the blood sprang out from Janice's
ear all over the girlfriend's hand and then mixed it
with the discarded point of the hardwood. Janice was storing
punches and screaming. She connected a few times with the
(15:07):
enraged by her girlfriend, who was on top of her.
Now Janice's eyes were shut tight, and she just yelled
and kicked and threw punches. The whole place went bananas.
Grossman struggled to get close to the action to help Janice.
He just kept replaying the moment from the Altamont Show
when that Hell's Angels fatally stabbed her at his hunter.
He was terrified that the same scene was about to
play out in front of him, that the chaos was
(15:28):
so overpowering, so it was impossible to get through. He
felt powerless. Before long, the girlfriend's angel had pulled her
off Janice and he took her place. He straddled on
top of her, held her down with his left hand,
and pulled his right hand back. He wound up. He
was ready to clock Janis Joplan her smug, fucking mug.
This old lady was right, man, How dare she talked
(15:50):
to the m c that way? He wound his fist
up tight in the air. Janice opened her eyes and
the crowd around them was panicking. The boys from the
San Rafael chapter were holding back others who wanted to
pull Janice to safety. Janice's eyes darted around. She had
lost track of Pollard. She called out for Grossman, and
the angel clenched his raised fist tighter, so tight that
(16:10):
he felt his long, dirty fingernails digging to the meat
of his palm. He gritted his teeth, gritted them so
tight he thought something would snap, and just as he
began to bring his fist down towards Janice's face, Sweet
William intervened. He jumped over a nearby table, took a
few big strides, and brought his foot straight into the
angel's face. As sweet William pulled Janis out of the
(16:33):
fray and kept those who wanted more blood at bay.
Janice was no longer thinking about the promises of freedom
on a long open road. She was thinking of a
darkness on the horizon. She thought of a darkness hanging
over an entire scene that she had once loved. She
thought of the diminishing returns of the life of a
rock singer. She thought about how glad she was and
(16:54):
that chaotic moment to be alive, and wondered how much
longer she would be able to hold on to that feeling.
We'll be right back after this word we were. The
kid with the off white khakis and horn rimmed glasses
(17:15):
on the opposite side of the fence got Bobby Davis's attention.
The old school away. Bobby took notice of the kid
out of the corner of his eye, wave of hair
crusting over his left eye, intermitting weak old stubble dotting
his chin. Kid's hands hung off the chain link in
the most casual of ways. Hey, Bobby d that was
(17:37):
the first waiter Bobby's heart referring to him in the
shorthand in a way that communicated intimacy. Bobby looked to
his left and then to his right, checking to see
if the coast was clear. He wasn't ready to abandon
his post just because this kid happened to know his name.
Kate called again. Grass is greener on this side of
the fence. My man, he whispered, and this time he
(17:59):
dangled the atle wound joint between two fingers. He had
pushed it halfway through the fence. This was the second
way to Bobby's heart and most definitely constituted a free pass.
Bobby looked around again, made sure he didn't see any
faculty or staff, and then slowly eased his way to
the fence to be outside the fence. The crowds were
(18:20):
quickly growing in the queue to enter the Harvard Stadium
was becoming longer and less orderly. It was dusk and
concert goers were arriving at a steady clip. Now it
wasn't Bobby's job to watch the steady clip of paying customers.
He was hired by the Shaffer Music Festival to watch
for any deadbeat who decided to forego the two dollar
ticket price and tried to hop the chain link fence.
(18:42):
The fence jumpers were always easy to spot. Always they'd
linger on the outskirts of the slow moving queue, pretending
a little too hard to look like they actually belonged
their little fuckers. They always had a nervous look in
their eyes. The tiniest noise or smallest movement would make
their eyes dark this way or that, and they nervously
waited for the right time to bail. And they think
(19:03):
the Bobby or the other college kids hired his gate
crasher narcs weren't looking, and suddenly they make a run
for it, and they're always faster in their heads. And
in reality, Bobby got better at the job as a
summer concert season war on. By August, it was a cakewalk.
He beat el cheap out to the fence half the time.
Right after he read the jumper's face and watched the
wheels turn in his head. Bobby sneakers would be pounding
(19:25):
the pavement a full second before there would be free
rider put his hands on the chain link. The smartest
gate crashers were the ones who knew how to buy
off Bobby. A term of endearment in some mellow grass,
it was that easy. Bobby was easy to find wearing
his a signed red T shirt with a white peace
sign on the front. Anyone with half a brain cell
knew the gate crasher narks by those shirts, and jumping
(19:47):
the fence could lead to getting hurt or worse, getting arrested.
And slipping a dube into Bobby's hand bypassed all the
unnecessary chaos. Bobby took the joint from the kid's hand
and then gave him the silent nod, the silent on
the one that indicated that the kid had five seconds
to make it over the fence while Bobby turned us back.
You had five seconds flat, and after that Bobby couldn't
(20:10):
help you anymore. Bobby folded his arms across his chest
to cover up the peace sign that broadcast the fact
that he worked for the Shaper Festival, that he worked
for Harvard Stadium. He listened to the fence rattle awkwardly
as the kid made his way up and over another
desperate pilgrim off on a free ride. He pocketed the
joint for later that night. It was hot that day.
(20:31):
August twelve. Summer in Cambridge, Massachusetts wasn't without its stretches
of oppressively muggy days, as Bobby's uncle said back home,
it was hotter than a slapped ass. But this was Harvard,
this was a respectable territory. So Bobby had to keep
the Randy jokes to himself until he got back to
the Emissy of campus across the river. Later in the evening.
(20:53):
He could hear his mother in his head, know your audience.
Probably the best thing about being a gate crasher in
arc was that he got to be part of the
audience on every concert night. This summer had been shocked
full of great shows. Dylan and the Band, Ray Charles,
the Grateful Dead ten years after. Tonight's two dollar headliner
was none other than Janice Choplin. Janison her Full Till
(21:14):
Boogie Band had just returned from their allotted Festival Express
tour of Canada, and they were in tip top shit
hot shape. On board that train, they picked up blistering
blues licks from Buddy Guy, pound dog hollers from Rick Danko,
nuggets of Americana from Jerry Garcia, and white hot r
and B queues from Delaney and Bonnie. Word on the
street was that this was the best incarnation of the
(21:37):
foot stopping hoot and holler and Janice, and they were
tighter than Big Brother in the Holding Company, the more
with it than the Cosmic Blues band. They chugg a
lugged with the combined forces of the musical inspirations passed
in present about the smart Kid crowd at the Harvard
Stadium would have to wait a little longer for the
show to begin. An unseen, unknown delay was preventing the
(21:57):
show from starting on time. Sadly, show delays were becoming
an all two regular occurrence in the rock and roll world,
and like all other show delays at other recent concerts
across the US, the crowd was less than pleased. Typically,
when a show started, Bobby would pull a plain red
T shirt from where it was stashed in the back
pocket of his jeans and pull it over the gate
(22:19):
and arc peace sign shirt. He'd make his way into
the crowd and relieve himself from his shift on his
own recognisance. But tonight the crowd of nearly thirty three
thousand were growing increasingly impatient. Bobby felt the need to
honor the second part of his Shaffer Music Festival shift,
which involves standing guard at the stage to keep fans
from bum rushing the band. He worried that something was
(22:40):
going to happen. As he hustled towards the stage at
the head of the Harvard Stadiums you shaped outline. He
couldn't help but run through worst case scenarios in his head.
What if Janison the Full Tilt Bookie band didn't show
for hours, But if they didn't show at all, or
if they had another album on on their hands. He
didn't spot any Hell's was making their way through the
(23:01):
turnstiles near the front of the venue. But bikers weren't
the only ones turning violent anymore. What if the audience
rioted in the way they rioted at Grant Park in
Chicago one sigh in the family Stone were a no show,
or when Jim Morrison to the doors led his audience
to riot. At the Singer Bowl in Queens, Janis ran
with some shady people, that was for sure. Just look
(23:22):
at the recent show she'd attempted to play for the
Hell's Angels and San Raphael, the one that ended with
Janis on the floor and half the local m c
out for her blood. Even Canadian crowds had just stormed
the gate at the Festival Express stop in Toronto. They
caused such a commotion that organizers had to negotiate with
the crowd that that kind of ship didn't happen in Canada,
could have happened in Cambridge, Massachusetts. It can't happen here.
(23:46):
That's what Bobby kept repeating to himself silently, over and
over in his head. It can't happen here. Bobby looked
out at the crowd of thousands from where he stood
at the edge of the stage. His happy, go lucky
outlooked to could dive his throat down to a pit
somewhere at the bottom of his stomach. He pondered in
early toke from the contraband choint he had been handed
through the gate that night, just to take the edge off.
(24:09):
And then around ten thirty that night, Janice walked on
stage a bottle of JM B Scotch in her hand.
Where the Southern Comfort usually was, it was impossible to
tell where her long strands of hair ended and the
long stringy feathers she wore began. Moments later, the guys
in the full tiled boogie band followed, and they plugged in,
(24:29):
counted off, and roared to life. Bobby gradually settled down
as all was forgiven by the audience, and Cambridge defaulted
to having a good time, the best time, and the
last time too. That night would be the last time
Janice Joplin would ever play Cambridge, the last time Janice
Joplin would ever play anywhere. Two months later, people will
(24:53):
be waiting for Janice to show up again like they
often did, only this time she'd never show m Paul
(25:30):
Rothschild was in love with Janice Choplin, her laugh, her smile,
her easy, breezy, funk at all attitude towards life, how
she took zero ships from no one, the way she dressed,
with all those countless feathers and beads and bengals, hanging
and flowing and flowering in every direction. He had known
that he was in love with her for quite some time,
(25:51):
all the way back to when she fronted Big Brother
and he tried to woo away with a solo deal
on Elektra. Now in the middle of at to making
a name as the unofficial fifth member of The Doors,
he had signed on to produce Janice's second solo album
and her first with the Full Till Boogie Band as
her backup. Even though Rothschild was in love with Janice.
(26:12):
He was also a professional first and the love struck
puppy second look Janice. He told her one day, I
really love you very very much, and I'd like to
be with you, but let's funk on tape. He was
worried just about as much as he was smitten. He
had spent some time with Janice while she was making
her last record, I got them old Cosmic Blues again, Mama,
(26:33):
and he knew she was fighting some demons. He knew
she was holding onto addictions. He saw the marks on
her arms, the bags under her eyes. He knew where
she went when she disappeared for a few minutes or
a few hours at a time. His moments, like those
that the colorful, expressive Janice he loved would find herself
consumed by a dark cloud and he would lose sight
(26:55):
of her temporarily, he wouldn't recognize it. When Rothschild his
first approach to produce janice new record in he initially
refused because he was worried. He was ready to write
her office and once talented junkie assumed to be has
been to consume with bullshit to be worth his time.
He loved her, and because he loved her. He couldn't
(27:16):
bear to be a party to what was surely her
downhill slide. Her voice was shot. All the touring, the smoking,
the drinking, and the drunking had just ravaged the sound
of her voice. She even asked Rothschild to accompany her
in her shows and stand on the side of the
stage with a stopwatch. Tired, she said, I'm tired of
(27:36):
my voice hurts and my body aches, and I know
that every night I only have thirty five good minutes
in me thirty five minutes flat. After that, I turned
into a pumpkin. She placed the stopwatch in his hand
and folded his fingers on top of it. I want
you to stand over there on the other side of
the curtain. In the minute the show starts, I want
(27:57):
you to start to stop watch, she told him. When
I turn around to look at you, I want you
to flash me how many minutes I've got left. Rothschild
was kept up at night wondering what would happen if
Janice went over thirty five minutes. Janice convinced Rothschild to
sit in the producer's chair for her latest sessions, and
Janice appealed to the part of Rothschild that was in
(28:17):
love with her. She told him not to worry. She
told him she was turning things around, that she was
pulling herself together, that she needed the support of people
like him to help her over the next hill, to
walk that next mile. Rothschild couldn't resist. Just being around
her was intoxicating. It was everything he wanted a recording
session to be. That would get the chance to funk
on tape after all. But as good as the sessions were,
(28:41):
Rothschild couldn't help but remain worried. He knew there was
another shoe out there somewhere, ready to drop. He'd seen
it before with friends who were lost or addicted, friends
who had sworn up and down that they had gotten clean,
that there was nothing to worry about. Because there was
always something to worry about. Rothschild had to do more
than just produce. He had to step in to intervene.
(29:03):
He had to give a ship. But that just led
to a new thing to worry about, and that despite
his help and his love, in his steady, well meaning direction,
that would all be too late. Um, Jake Brennan, and
this is the twenty seven gold all right, This episode
(29:32):
of the seven Club is brought to you by disgrace Land,
the award winning music and true crime podcast that I
also host. Disgrace Land is available only in the free
Amazon Music app. To hear tons of insane stories about
your favorite musicians getting away with murder and behaving very badly. Nirvana, Prince,
Jerry Lee Lewis, The Grateful Dead, The Rolling Stones, Cardi
b In, many many more. Go to Amazon dot com
(29:54):
slash disgrace Land, or if you have an Echo device,
just say hey Alexa play the disgrace Land podcast. The
twenty seven Club is hosted and co written by me
Jake Brennan. Zeth Landi is the lead writer and co producer.
Matt Bowden mixes the show. Additional music and score elements
by Ryan Spraaker and Henry Anna. The twenty seven Club
is produced by myself for Double Elvis and partnership with
(30:16):
I Heart Radio. Sources for this episode are available at
Double Elvis dot com with the twenty seven Club series page.
Our previous seasons on Jimmy Hendrix and Jim Morrison are
available for you to binge right now wherever you get
your podcasts, and if you're likely here, please be sure
to find and follow the twenty seven Club on the
I Heart Radio, Apple podcast or wherever you get shows,
(30:38):
and if you'd like to win a free twenty seven
Club poster designed by the man himself, Nate Gonzalez, then
leave a review for twenty seven Club on Apple podcast
or hashtag subscribe to twenty seven Club on social media,
and we'll pick two winners each week and announce them
on the Double Elvis Instagram page that's at Double Elvis.
Give that a fallow. So get out there and spread
(30:58):
the word about the twenty seven Club. Talk to me
per usual on Instagram and Twitter at disgrace Land, pod
Rock Corolla. What's up for your is
Host
Jake Brennan
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