Orbit Magazine, June 1998
Dream a Little Dream of Corey
by Dick Valentine
A couple of months ago, the Electric Six (formerly The Wildbunch) went to Los Angeles to do some recording. Frontman Dick Valentine kept a diary while out there and Orby has found one entry that stands out.
After finishing in the studio, my friend Aliyah picked me up and drove me to the Martini Lounge on Melrose to see…(gulp)…Corey Feldman! I recall the ride there being a complete euphoric blur. My favorite song in the Electric Six (formerly The Wildbunch) catalog pays homage to him and I've often broken down on stage during this particularly emotional number.
After all, every one of us has loved and lost like Corey. And to think I'm going to be in the same room with him, watching him perform! I was as excited as a little girl.
We pulled up to the Martini Lounge and there were a good hundred people lined up outside. Apparently E! Entertainment Television was putting on the concert for a show called "True Hollywood Stories" which I guess is a "Where Are They Now?" sort of thing. As we stood in line, I made two observations: 1) The only way I could distinguish the Martini Lounge from our very own Motor Lounge was that Paramount Studios was right across the street as opposed to Roosevelt's Bar; 2) Everybody in line was as excited as I was.
When we got in, I'm embarrassed to say, my first instinct was to start scoping the crowd for Corey Haim. After a few minutes of searching, it was apparent he was pulling a no-show. I then noticed that E! had a couple cameras set up close to the stage and I instinctively shot up to the front of the stage, hoping I might get caught on tape with Corey. If that in fact happened, I could then proudly link myself to Kevin Bacon in three steps, via The Lost Boys and Flatliners.
The show started about five minutes after we got there and it was apparent that Corey was all about showmanship. His band came out one at a time, kicking into a new age-meets-Silk Stalkings intro with the drummer working his chimes and cymbals effectively against the jazz odyssey bass solo and heavily-effected guitar ambience. I might add Corey's band, known as The Truth Movement, was comprised of a Latino drummer, a Cuban bassist, an Asian guitarist, and two black-chick singers. The Truth Movement was essentially an embodiment of Corey's message of harmony and togetherness amongst us human beings and they provided a very effective visual compliment to his white ass.
When I first saw him, Corey definitely carried with him an aura. He entered from the right of the stage wearing a white suit, white hat and killer shades. He face was stern and focused--he was a man on a mission. He approached the microphone, whipped out a harp and began to play a line that didn't even come close to working with the groove that his band was already laying down. I had decided that, standing so close to the stage, it would be classless of me to be laughing the whole time, so I meant to look the part of a sincere fan. Unfortunately, this harmonica move of his floored me and I never recovered.
The show basically went without a hitch. He knifed his way through his set, showing off dance moves to rival the King of Pop (his eighties idol), and peeling his clothes sensibly and tastefully to eventually show off his rippled bod (no joke). He stressed the importance of his messages and made us all do a bit of soul-searching as he asked the musical question, "Is there any love left in the universe?" He looked triumphant during his encore of "It's So Simple (We Can Make a Change)" and he left the stage with a strong peace sign right at the camera. He drank only water while on stage and his arms sported the full compliment of healthy veins. Corey Feldman was back, baby!
When the show ended I instinctively snatched one of the set lists from the stage. I tracked down someone from the E! crew--some girl fresh from college in Iowa I'm sure, with that shiny exciting-job-in-L.A. glow about her. I told her that I collected autographed set lists from rock stars and would be stoked if Corey could add his signature to my collection. She did me even better.
"You can come back and ask him yourself if you like. He's very approachable."
Very approachable. That made sense. License To Drive was almost ten years old by now.
From here on out, the minutes were like nanoseconds. I've met a few famous people before, but this was entirely different. I almost hyperventilated as I suddenly found myself in the green room of the Martini, just two feet from Corey Feldman himself! There were cameras, lights, paparazzi….
His girlfriend was all over him--she was a good foot taller than him (as was I). He was grinning ear to ear, playing it up with the camera crew, his girlfriend and his band........ And there was me, Dick Valentine, in the middle of it all. Detroit rock chump in way over his head.
I had enough sense to wait until the cameras stopped rolling before I made my move, but otherwise I was a star struck zombie. I shot towards him, hand extended, "Corey, great show!""
He was a bit taken aback, but he came right back with that raspy voice that we all grew up with. "Hey, thanks a lot."
"You gotta sign this set list for me, man."
"Sure. What's your name, man?"
"My friends call me Jackson."
I watched as he signed it. "To Jackson. Peace out. Corey." He added a quick drawing of the peace sign.
"Thanks. Great show. By the way, I'm a booking agent from Chicago. If you guys wanna come out that way I could hook you up. It would be awesome." I felt myself grow beet red upon this lie. I was crumbling. He was gonna know I was pulling his chain.
However, to my surprise he looked like a kid on Christmas morning. "Yeah, man! That would be cool! I mean, we just started doing this again and I don't know exactly what everybody in the band wants to do, but....yeah!"
"Okay. Lemme go to my car and get my card. Thanks, man!"
Upon that I flew out of the room, grabbed Aliyah and got the hell out of there. We paced around the block for about a half-hour. Should we go back in? If we did, we'd have to keep fibbing and that might get us in trouble. But there was the constant reminder that we had a unique opportunity here, one not afforded to us on a daily basis and we shouldn't blow it. In the end, however, we calmed down and sane heads prevailed. We came to the same conclusion: Corey Feldman is a loser. He is a terrible actor and he is an embarrassment to musicians and performers everywhere. Let's go get some beer.
Later on in the evening I'm in line at a liquor store at LaBrea and Sunset when I do a double take. The man in line next to me is none other than teen idol Matthew Perry! He's looking all Harry Dean Stanton in the facial hair department and his eyes are sporting a nice healthy glaze. He bought a pint of tequila and I know he went home alone for some quality introspection. I watched him as he unlocked The Club from the steering wheel of his Alfa Romero and I began to laugh as I'm picturing a brisk November evening in the year 2005 and the marquis at the Martini reads "Matthew Perry and the Electronica Revolution."
Orbit Magazine, June 1998
Dream a Little Dream of Corey
by Dick Valentine
A couple of months ago, the Electric Six (formerly The Wildbunch) went to Los Angeles to do some recording. Frontman Dick Valentine kept a diary while out there and Orby has found one entry that stands out.
After finishing in the studio, my friend Aliyah picked me up and drove me to the Martini Lounge on Melrose to see…(gulp)…Corey Feldman! I recall the ride there being a complete euphoric blur. My favorite song in the Electric Six (formerly The Wildbunch) catalog pays homage to him and I've often broken down on stage during this particularly emotional number.
After all, every one of us has loved and lost like Corey. And to think I'm going to be in the same room with him, watching him perform! I was as excited as a little girl.
We pulled up to the Martini Lounge and there were a good hundred people lined up outside. Apparently E! Entertainment Television was putting on the concert for a show called "True Hollywood Stories" which I guess is a "Where Are They Now?" sort of thing. As we stood in line, I made two observations: 1) The only way I could distinguish the Martini Lounge from our very own Motor Lounge was that Paramount Studios was right across the street as opposed to Roosevelt's Bar; 2) Everybody in line was as excited as I was.
When we got in, I'm embarrassed to say, my first instinct was to start scoping the crowd for Corey Haim. After a few minutes of searching, it was apparent he was pulling a no-show. I then noticed that E! had a couple cameras set up close to the stage and I instinctively shot up to the front of the stage, hoping I might get caught on tape with Corey. If that in fact happened, I could then proudly link myself to Kevin Bacon in three steps, via The Lost Boys and Flatliners.
The show started about five minutes after we got there and it was apparent that Corey was all about showmanship. His band came out one at a time, kicking into a new age-meets-Silk Stalkings intro with the drummer working his chimes and cymbals effectively against the jazz odyssey bass solo and heavily-effected guitar ambience. I might add Corey's band, known as The Truth Movement, was comprised of a Latino drummer, a Cuban bassist, an Asian guitarist, and two black-chick singers. The Truth Movement was essentially an embodiment of Corey's message of harmony and togetherness amongst us human beings and they provided a very effective visual compliment to his white ass.
When I first saw him, Corey definitely carried with him an aura. He entered from the right of the stage wearing a white suit, white hat and killer shades. He face was stern and focused--he was a man on a mission. He approached the microphone, whipped out a harp and began to play a line that didn't even come close to working with the groove that his band was already laying down. I had decided that, standing so close to the stage, it would be classless of me to be laughing the whole time, so I meant to look the part of a sincere fan. Unfortunately, this harmonica move of his floored me and I never recovered.
The show basically went without a hitch. He knifed his way through his set, showing off dance moves to rival the King of Pop (his eighties idol), and peeling his clothes sensibly and tastefully to eventually show off his rippled bod (no joke). He stressed the importance of his messages and made us all do a bit of soul-searching as he asked the musical question, "Is there any love left in the universe?" He looked triumphant during his encore of "It's So Simple (We Can Make a Change)" and he left the stage with a strong peace sign right at the camera. He drank only water while on stage and his arms sported the full compliment of healthy veins. Corey Feldman was back, baby!
When the show ended I instinctively snatched one of the set lists from the stage. I tracked down someone from the E! crew--some girl fresh from college in Iowa I'm sure, with that shiny exciting-job-in-L.A. glow about her. I told her that I collected autographed set lists from rock stars and would be stoked if Corey could add his signature to my collection. She did me even better.
"You can come back and ask him yourself if you like. He's very approachable."
Very approachable. That made sense. License To Drive was almost ten years old by now.
From here on out, the minutes were like nanoseconds. I've met a few famous people before, but this was entirely different. I almost hyperventilated as I suddenly found myself in the green room of the Martini, just two feet from Corey Feldman himself! There were cameras, lights, paparazzi….
I had enough sense to wait until the cameras stopped rolling before I made my move, but otherwise I was a star struck zombie. I shot towards him, hand extended, "Corey, great show!""
He was a bit taken aback, but he came right back with that raspy voice that we all grew up with. "Hey, thanks a lot."
"You gotta sign this set list for me, man."
"Sure. What's your name, man?"
"My friends call me Jackson."
I watched as he signed it. "To Jackson. Peace out. Corey." He added a quick drawing of the peace sign.
"Thanks. Great show. By the way, I'm a booking agent from Chicago. If you guys wanna come out that way I could hook you up. It would be awesome." I felt myself grow beet red upon this lie. I was crumbling. He was gonna know I was pulling his chain.
However, to my surprise he looked like a kid on Christmas morning. "Yeah, man! That would be cool! I mean, we just started doing this again and I don't know exactly what everybody in the band wants to do, but....yeah!"
"Okay. Lemme go to my car and get my card. Thanks, man!"
Upon that I flew out of the room, grabbed Aliyah and got the hell out of there. We paced around the block for about a half-hour. Should we go back in? If we did, we'd have to keep fibbing and that might get us in trouble. But there was the constant reminder that we had a unique opportunity here, one not afforded to us on a daily basis and we shouldn't blow it. In the end, however, we calmed down and sane heads prevailed. We came to the same conclusion: Corey Feldman is a loser. He is a terrible actor and he is an embarrassment to musicians and performers everywhere. Let's go get some beer.
Later on in the evening I'm in line at a liquor store at LaBrea and Sunset when I do a double take. The man in line next to me is none other than teen idol Matthew Perry! He's looking all Harry Dean Stanton in the facial hair department and his eyes are sporting a nice healthy glaze. He bought a pint of tequila and I know he went home alone for some quality introspection. I watched him as he unlocked The Club from the steering wheel of his Alfa Romero and I began to laugh as I'm picturing a brisk November evening in the year 2005 and the marquis at the Martini reads "Matthew Perry and the Electronica Revolution."