STACK #239 September 2024

MUSIC FEATURE

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SHAKE SOME ACTION IGGY, NEIL, JEFF and BRIAN – 12 HOURS OF LOS ANGELES CRAZINESS Words Stuart Coupe

O ver the years I’ve often reflected on a career hanging around artists – interviewing, writing, sometimes managing and promoting them. I always come to the conclusion that, for sheer off-the-dial intensity and surrealness, nothing will ever top the hours I spent in Los Angeles a few days before Christmas, 1995. I was in America on the Sony Music dime to see Bruce Springsteen on his Ghost of Tom Joad tour in Philadelphia, and had also caught a Silverchair show in that city before heading to

OK – Iggy and Neil done. I then headed back to the hotel. There, I received a message that an invitation to hang out with Cypress Hill was on the cards. With their notorious consumption of the green stuff, anything could have happened if that had gone ahead. Maybe it was for the best that it ended up falling through? Instead, I had a chat on the phone with Jeff Buckley. I remember his soft voice and friendly, unpretentious tone, and his gentle, thoughtful answers to my questions. Then I went for a walk, returning to find a series of messages saying that Geffen Records had managed to secure me an interview with Brian Wilson.

New York for some interviews, and a whistle-stop in Toronto to interview Noel Gallagher. But LA was really where it went nuts. Seriously nuts. It all began with me heading to the famous Chateau Marmont, where I was scheduled to have breakfast with Iggy Pop. As you do. I’d interviewed Iggy a few times and, as I walked into his room, I knew it was OK to start the interaction with: “Iggy, you look like sh-t.” Which I did, because he did. He laughed. The night before, he’d been at a party for Lemmy from Motorhead’s 50th birthday. That explained everything. The interview was a typically hysterical encounter. Iggy is a very funny guy. From there I caught a cab to Neil Diamond’s studio and office. I admired Diamond as a Brill Building songwriter and had spent many hours listening to Hot August Night . But I wasn’t reverential. This wasn’t Leonard Cohen, Joni Mitchell, or Bob Dylan – all of whom I’d met in person, interviewed and been in total awe of. Diamond had a new album out. That didn’t overly excite me. What excited me even less was that, before I was introduced to Diamond, I was told I needed to sit in the studio and listen to the album. Not once.

Yes, THE Brian Wilson. Could I be at his home in… 45 minutes? I didn’t drive. And I had no idea where the Wilson residence was. Everything in LA seemed a long way away. How long would it take to get there? How much would it cost? I raced up to my room, grabbed my cassette recorder and notebook, raced downstairs, and sprinted out of the hotel lobby. There, I frantically hailed a cab (never the easiest thing to get in LA), spluttering Brian’s address to the driver between half choked gulps of breath. Thirty-five minutes. This was a ‘F-ck me’ moment of some magnitude. Brian Wilson! I hoped we were going in the right direction. Were we going in the right direction? Half an hour to go. There was Iggy and Neil and Jeff – but this was Brian Wilson, creator of some of my favourite music in, like, forever. The Pet Sounds guy. Should we run the lights? Run these lights! Twenty minutes to go… And we arrived. But I’m out of space for this month. Tune in to Shake Some Action next month for the full encounter with Brian Wilson. It’ll be worth the wait. Trust me.

Not twice. But three times. I had a fix on this album after a few minutes of the first play through, so this was tantamount to extreme torture. Fortunately, Diamond himself was thoroughly affable and fun to chat with. I liked him a lot. Sitting in a room in his office, we ate meatball and noodle soup and talked about motorbikes, poker, Frank Sinatra, and a bunch of other stuff. for Lemmy from Motorhead’s 50th birthday. That explained everything. The night before, he’d been at a party

to be continued

82 SEPTEMBER 2024

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