MEMORIES OF LOS ANGELES…AND OTHER THINGS

John Kaye (whose great rock and roll novel The Dead Circus I reviewed not so long ago) pointed me to his series of articles in the Los Angeles Review of Books more than a month ago. Took me this long to get my act together and read his latest installment. Mea culpa on that. Figured it would be eye-opening and it is…Haven’t had a chance to read the other installments but I guarantee it won’t be another month before I do.

Meanwhile, please click over there and prepare to be enlightened/entertained. Trust me, beyond Kaye’s quality as a writer (which could probably make any set of memories interesting), these are not your average boyhood reminiscences!

(Oh yeah, and buy those books he’s written!)

 

MY NEW FAVORITE SCENE…FROM ANY BOOK EVER (Found In the Connection: Rattling Loose End #32)

THEDEADCIRCUS

I’m gonna be ripping Greil Marcus a new one here pretty soon (make that another new one and don’t worry, he’s once again earned it), but first I have to thank him for recommending John Kaye’s The Dead Circus (his recommendations are like his insights–he’s wrong a lot, but, when he’s right, he’s right enough to make it worth all the angst).

The novel is one of those attempts to plumb the depths of “the Sixties.” My meat, then, and I’d never heard of it until I was perusing the notes of Marcus’ latest.

But it’s not just any old attempt at said theme: It’s a really good one.

I’m about two-thirds of the way through and–except for the laughably rote “serious” sex scenes (Doesn’t anybody know how to write something besides a schlock-porn fantasy? I mean, normally, I have such low expectations I don’t even care how clunky the “aren’t-I-such-a-slut!” scenes are or how many times a word like “throb” is deployed. The eyes merely glaze. But in a novel this good these scenes are real groaners.)–it’s consistently compelling to say the least.

The core of the novel is an attempt to unriddle the mystery of Bobby Fuller’s death (a subject I touched on here). From there it goes literally everywhere, with the Manson Family figuring prominently….but nothing so far has touched my favorite scene, which happens on page 6.

The scene has an off-duty cop (an L.A. native who will soon be investigating Fuller’s “suicide/accident” and will be haunted by it for twenty years) and his brother, sitting in PJ’s on the night the Bobby Fuller Four began their legend-making stint as the house band. At a table between them and the stage sits Nancy Sinatra. The brother (named Ray Burk) recalls a disastrous single date he had with Nancy when they were seniors in high school–a date which ended with him passed out at a wild party and her having to walk home because she couldn’t get a ride. Sitting in PJ’s–in a scene where Fuller’s manager has just been warned by a local mobster that “Frank” doesn’t like what’s going on between Bobby and his daughter–Ray Burk remembers:

At school on Monday Ray saw her in the cafeteria and tried to apologize, but she moved her head in denial, continuing to talk to her girlfriends as if he weren’t there. Then, just when he was about to give up, she turned her face toward him, and he could see the hostility in her stony eyes.

“Ray Burk,” she said, her icy smile only making his anguish worse, “you have no idea how lucky you are.”

“I don’t?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because I didn’t tell my dad.”

A few pages later, a future Manson girl is backstage, telling an unknown starlet named Sharon Tate that she’ll definitely be a movie star…

Really, I can’t wait to see how it ends.

Like this…

or this…