A Stray Cat Struts by Slim Jim Phantom Read Free Book Online Page B

like to imagine that John Lennon came up against this type of thing all the time and would have appreciated the rebellion against the stuffy old guard. Maybe something similar happened in this exact place. I like to think he would have thought that doing the gig was more important.
    That night, we had another sold-out show of complete rock-and-roll abandon. Nothing more was ever said about it. I always liked those old theaters. They sounded good and had the perfect-sized stage for the Cats.
    I hadn’t thought about this one in a while, but true pal and Sex Pistol Glen Matlock told me this was a great punk rock story and that I should write it down. He would know.
    On the way to Australia, we stopped in Los Angeles to do a little recording for the next album and to try to drum up some interest in the USA. Our record deal excluded the States, and we really wanted to get something going there. We had traveled a little bit in the States during the Stones’ tour but not on the West Coast. It was my first time in LA, and I loved it right away. Still do. There were palm trees, convertibles, beaches, and blondes, exactly like on television. I knew that someday I would wind up there. We had a couple of shows booked at the Roxy again, mainly to keep the expenses going—although I never remember anyone talking about money or being paid, especially on those kinds of shows. The whole thing somehow just kept going one more day.
    We stayed at the Sunset Marquis in the days before it was a posh place. It was a functioning rock hotel with little kitchens in the rooms and a laundry in the basement, always a plus. It was staffed with young people and older eccentrics who had seen it all. We fit right in. Over the next couple of years, we would stay there a lot, and most days there were adventures in and around the Marquis. There were always a few bands staying there, and everyone would walk up to the Strip to see other bands playing at the Roxy or the Whisky a Go Go. I had some fun times at the Marquis with the Pretenders, who were pals from London. They played a landmark show at the Santa Monica Civic Auditorium that was the talk of the town. The Clash were there, too, and we met Graham Chapman from Monty Python, who was very friendly and looked at us like we were a comedy act. There was no bar at the place back then, so everything was brought in. Everyone left their doors open for “hall parties,” and someone always had a poolside room for easy access outdoors—and eventually someone was in the water, on purpose or not. There was always booze and powder, but I don’t ever remember a dark vibe. There were plenty of local girls who loved hanging with the bands, so good, clean rock-and-roll fun was had by all. Brian and I would jump into the pool with our clothes on to announce our arrival, and besides a few regular customers looking alarmed, no one ever really gave us a hard time.
    The night before the Roxy shows, we were taken to the Rainbow, a legendary rock-and-roll watering hole and restaurant. We were welcomed by the staff there, including Mike and Tony, the tuxedo-clad, fast-talking, friendly but intimidating Italian maître d’s who were right out of a movie. The waitresses were all either California blondes or Goth girls with neon tans, who waited for nighttime and never took advantage of the LA sunshine but were rock chicks all the way. It was dark and packed with musicians and guys who wanted to be in the band who’d come from all over the world to get here, record company types, girls looking for fun, and a few shady characters for added ambiance. It was and still is a one-of-a-kind place. One night Brian and I were standing around with drinks in hand, soaking the whole scene up, when we were approached by a silver-haired, very tough-looking older guy who was a cross between Vito Corleone and Popeye.
    â€œAre youse da two kids who’s gonna be workin’ for me tomorrow?”
    We looked