In honor of England’s World Cup semi-final appearance, here’s Part 2 of my St. John story: “Mark St. John: The Man Who Hated Oasis.”
Mark St. John “back in the day” (photo courtesh Deezer)
I recently learned that the song Wonderwall by the band Oasis has become the English soccer team’s unofficial anthem. It instantly reminded me of musician-manager Mark St. John, who was perhaps the greatest Oasis hater of all time.
In San Francisco, there are rumblings that the Pretties aren’t happy with me. In fact, the bus driver informs me that they’re contemplating flying me home. No, the Pretties haven’t uncovered my non-existent rock résumé. By not hanging out after Bumbershoot, I didn’t do myself any favors. Also, conspicuously, I didn’t sell any merchandise at the festival. Somehow, it was sent to the wrong location, so it wasn’t my fault.
But the fact remains: I’m taking up space. Also, sadly, I’m probably a drag to be around because I’m not exactly Mr. Happy-Go-Lucky. All in all, returning home doesn’t seem all too terrible . . . but I must stay. However, it’s not for rock ’n’ roll glory. Rather, it’s the fear of rock ’n’ roll disgrace. Getting booted after fewer than forty-eight hours would be downright embarrassing. Somehow, I must make these blokes like me. San Francisco is a make-or-break.
On Labor Day night, at Bimbo’s 365, the Pretties draw a nice crowd, and I’m quite busy selling Pretties vinyl 45s. Unfortunately, the band’s T-shirts have still not arrived. St. John, however, is exhilarated by the show and impressed that I’ve started a mailing list. Yes, I passed the test. At least for the time being, I’m staying with the band.
The Famous Whiskey-a-Go-Go
Bright and early, we’re heading down to Los Angeles to headline the fabled Whisky a Go Go. Phil tells me that twenty-five years earlier, Iggy Pop joined the Pretties on stage at The Roxy, another legendary Sunset Strip spot. He repeatedly ran into a wall, leaving a bloody mess. This is exactly the insanity that St. John craves. “The show is going to be hot!” he declares repeatedly. But as showtime nears, St. John’s enthusiasm wanes.
The Pretties are disappointed with the Whisky’s sound quality and the venue’s general indifference. I shouldn’t judge, though. Mere hours ago, I was deemed aloof. But that was eons ago. Now I get it: the Pretty Things are trying to make it in America, and this is their last shot.
Hours before the Whisky show, the Pretties have another situation they’re dealing with. One of their former members, Twink, the Pretties’ drummer for a few years about two decades ago, is on tonight’s bill as an opening act. Twink filled in for Skip after he abruptly ran off to marry a young French woman. Twink has essentially crashed his former band’s gig, and I overhear a few Pretties grumbling about it.
Bassist Wally Waller, a key contributor to S.F. Sorrow, is particularly peeved. Decades ago, Wally punched out Twink during a show. Twink is just one of several opening acts. I find one Freddie Mercury wannabe with a boa particularly amusing.
At the Whisky, where some bands pay to play, the opening acts don’t stop coming. As bands enter and exit, I drink “beverages” at my makeshift merch stand in the rear of the club and take it all in. I’ll learn later that it’s one of the few venues where I can hawk and watch the show. If you’re wondering about Skip’s marriage, it didn’t last. Perhaps it was doomed because neither spoke the other’s language.
Just before midnight, the Pretties take the stage for a not-quite-capacity crowd, which includes Slash and Gene Simmons. While the Pretties aren’t household names, they’ve influenced a who’s who, everyone from the Pistols to the Ramones to David Bowie, who covered not one but two Pretties songs (Rosalyn and Don’t Bring Me Down).
Despite the well-known attendees, the band pronounces the show a profound disappointment because of the poor sound.
After packing up, we roll out just before sunrise, and I sit up front with St. John. “God took a dump,” St. John theorizes, “and it landed in L.A.” In hours, I’ve gone from pariah to right-hand man.
Rock ’n’ roll. I dig it.
Stay tuned for Part 3 of Mark St. John: The Man Who Hated Oasis.
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Jon Hart is the author of Unfortunately, I was available, the undeserved sequel to Man versus Ball: One Ordinary Guy and His Extraordinary Sports Adventures.
