Long time no post, dear readers, and I'm afraid that's not changing any time soon. Life is always getting in the way, and until I can kick my chronic overcommitment tendencies, this blog is on indefinite hiatus. Having said that, if anyone wants to get in touch with an idea for a post or an interview, or simply wants to tell me how much they miss my posts (!!), I can be reached via the email in my profile. Hopefully, I'll be back in Holy go-go boots land soon... Thanks for reading and stay groovy!
"Like most workers we managed to get away from the office at 5.30 p.m. Imagine the scene: a large room, lavatory-like atmosphere, filled with pushing men, no seats, no tables, everything stripped for action. There is a large clock on the wall, invariably set fast, because the police come around at 6 p.m.
"There is a big staff on for swill time: skilled barmen and barmaids, all equipped with the latest pluto taps on plastic hoses, designed for dispensing beer at frightening speed. Time moves past so quickly. It is twenty to six, now ten to six, the bar is 10-deep with crushing bodies, all thrusting handfuls of glasses towards the barmaids: 'Here', 'Here', 'For Chrissake here!' It is like penetrating the crowd behind the goals at a football match. Getting the precious cargo back to your possie is incredibly hazardous. Your mates help, of course, and you try to pass the glasses overhead. Beer rains."
Keith Dunstan, describing the ‘six o’clock swill’ at a Melbourne pub in the 1960s When I first visited Melbourne on holiday in the 90s, I was gob-smacked to discover that there were one or two establishments where you could buy booze around the clock. As in 24 hours a day. For a Perthie like myself, at the height of her gleefully irresponsible drinking days, this seemed like some amazing sci-fi Utopia. Little did I know then that my home state had its own alcohol-related claim to fame: resisting the temperance movement’s push for heavily restricted pub opening hours early last century, even as most other states around the country fell into line with a supposedly more civilised six-o’clock closing time. Victoria was one of the first states to start closing its pubs early, in 1916—and one of the last to return to later opening hours. It wasn’t until February 1966 that Victoria reinstated the 10pm closing time, ending the notorious phenomenon known as the six o'clock swill more than 10 years after its perennial rival New South Wales (and almost 30 years after Tasmania!).
Swill time at an unidentified Melbourne pub. Look at that smashed old codger to the right!! (Photo: Herald Sun.)
These days, a night out at the pub with your mates is practically a sacred tradition in Melbourne, where there’s a pub to cater for every kind of punter—from hipsters to bar-flies, families to foodies, sports nuts to rock’n’roll fans—which makes it hard to process the fact that the city was once so far behind the curve when it came to licensing laws. And this in a decade when it led the country in so many other respects.
More Melbourne swilling. Who'd be a barmaid? (Photo: Herald Sun)
Meanwhile, pub-goers continued spewing out (spewing being the operative word) into the city’s early-evening streets until 1966, in what journalist Reg Leonard called a “daily demonstration of piggery”.
Not quite the Prohibition (but not pretty, either)
As the opening quote from local journalist Keith Dunstan* describes so vividly, the six o’clock swill occurred when men would rush straight to the pub after work to knock back as many beers as they could stomach in the hour or so before closing time. Not surprisingly, the consequences of all these pushing, shoving hordes sculling beer like it was about to go extinct were a little unsavoury!
“At 6.15 p.m. we are all out on the footpath. Two characters over yonder are chundering into the gutter. Constitutions that have not known food for five hours need to be strong to handle five beers in 20 minutes.”
So much for temperance and moderation. The six o’clock swill was an excuse for high-speed, drunken debauchery.
Civilised sipping
Of course, people's tippling options weren’t completely cut off once the clock struck six. Folks could drink in restaurants, on the sly in some Italian-run cafes, and – if these gorgeous photos are anything to go by – in hotel cocktail bars.
Drinks at the Bar, Savoy Plaza Hotel, Spencer Street, Melbourne, 1965. Photo: Wolfgang Sievers
Cocktail bar at Menzies Hotel, Melbourne, Australia, 1965. Photo: Wolfgang Sievers (copyright NLA)
Note the presence of women in these pics: being banned from drinking in pubs around Australia until the 1970s (except in specially designated ‘ladies’ lounges,’ and only then if they were accompanied by a man...unless they were willing to risk their reputation), they clearly found other ways to partake.
So groovy! Cocktail bar of the Southern Cross Hotel (not sure who the photographer was)
Liquor-free live music
Although pubs are one of the main places to catch a band in Melbourne nowadays, this has only been a thing since the 1970s (the golden era of pub rock). Back in the 60s, gig-going was a teetotal experience, with bands performing in wholesome suburban town halls and unlicensed clubs. As inconceivable as this sounds now, I reckon it would've been fine. I mean, who needs booze when you’re being treated to acts like The Spinning Wheels, The Pink Finks, Normie Rowe, The Mystrys, The Strangers et al? I suppose some punters might’ve smuggled hipflasks in, or done their drinking beforehand (or indulged in another kind of intoxicant), but hell, the music itself would’ve been like a contact high!
The Spinning Wheels were busy! (ads taken from an old copy of The Livin' End)
More booze-free good times
Post script No system is perfect, of course, and extended drinking hours at pubs and clubs have been linked to a spate of horrifying late-night coward-punch attacks in recent years. Fact is, Australia’s had a chequered relationship with liquor since the earliest days of European settlement, when rum was traded as currency. But with Aussies’ booze consumption currently on a downward trajectory, maybe the problem will solve itself? *(Incidentally, in 1968 Dunstan authored the tellingly-titled book, Wowsers: being an account of the prudery exhibited by certain outstanding men and women in such matters as drinking, smoking, prostitution, censorship and gambling)
How's this for a cavalcade of talent? Fifty years ago to the day, the Go-SetNational Top 40 was a whole lot more killer than filler.
All the usual suspects are there: The Yardbirds, The Kinks, The Beatles, The Animals, The Who, Nancy Sinatra, Lee Hazlewood... ahem, Engelbert Humperdinck and Harry Secombe...not to mention some fine local hit-makers such as Normie Rowe, The Cherokees (although I confess, 'Minnie the Moocher' leaves me colder than this frosty Melbourne winter's day), Lynne Randell and Ronnie Burns. But only two bands have more than one song in the chart: The Mamas & the Papas and--of infinitely more interest to this blog--The Master's Apprentices! Since June marks the third anniversary of singer Jim Keays' death and a half-century since The Masters' classic self-titled debut album came out, it seems only fair that we consider the group's domination of the hit parade in late-June 1967 a little further... First cab off the rank is their stormin', riff-tastic debut single 'Undecided', still going strong in 22nd spot after 13 weeks burning up the Top 40 (where it peaked at number 13). To think the band whipped it up in a mere 15 minutes to fill some recording space is a convincing argument that true art is the product of inspiration rather than perspiration. Rock'n'roll simply does not get better than this. Icing on the cake is, of course, the flipside, 'War or Hands of TIme', an anti-Vietnam protest number with a distinctly freakbeat-y sound.
** NB: BE SURE TO READ THE VIEWER COMMENTS. THERE'S SOME REAL HISTORY IN THERE.** Meanwhile, The Masters' snarlin' follow-up 'Buried and Dead' comes in at 33. Released in May 1967 ('Undecided' came out in October 1966), this gold-plated punker is significant not only for being a dance-floor favourite, but also for being accompanied by one of the country's first purpose-made music videos. As Jim Keays recalled in his memoir, His Master's Voice:
"We had tried a new approach with 'Buried and Dead' by making a film clip for the song. We'd seen a few of them made for overseas acts so we filmed one in a couple of hours at a park in St Kilda. As far as I can remember, it was never shown on TV but I'm pretty sure it was the first proper film clip made by an Australian artist."
Hmmm, I'm not so sure about that (what about The Loved Ones doing 'The Loved One' in Approximately Panther? Or The Black Diamonds' clip for 'I Want, Need, Love You', made for the ABC TV program Be Our Guest? Or even the long-lost 'Witch Girl' video by Holy Go-Go Boots Batman's favourite masked weirdos, The Mystrys?)...but it's certainly an early, and groovy, example of the artform, and here 'tis: (Incidentally, as a Southsider, I'm DYING to know which St Kilda park they filmed it in so I can go and soak up any residual genius vibes that might still be floating around. I don't recognise the location from this grainy footage.) By the time of the Top 40 above, The Masters Apprentices had finally made the move from Adelaide and had been living in Melbourne for some months, gigging up a storm at legendary venues such as The Thumpin' Tum, Sebastians, The Biting Eye and Catcher. (If anyone out there was lucky enough to see them in action, please share your memories in the comments section! Meanwhile, our little 'pipe bending ears' will have to be content with the records...)
And the Australian Top 40 fifty years later? Don't get me started. Suffice it to say, the lame-arse bunch of performers currently populating the charts (as evidenced HERE)--combined with the disturbing news that sales of electric guitars are plummeting--simply reinforces my belief that rock'n'roll's glory days are well and truly over...or am I just a grumpy Gen Xer? Wait! Don't answer that.
As readers of this blog would know, it focuses primarily on the music, culture, architecture and fashion of 1960s Melbourne (or Batmania, as it came so close to being called once upon a time). However, for this post, I’m making an exception – one I think you’ll understand once you start reading. After all, in many ways, it does fit the remit: the decade is right, and there are go-go boots galore! But this time, instead of Melbourne, the action takes place in Los Angeles… That’s right, folks, today our time machine is taking us to La La Land, back when it was one of the most movin’, shakin’ places on the planet. Our guide is dancer, actress and all-round groovy chick De De Mollner—who was not only there when it was all going down, but was movin’ and shakin’ with the best of ‘em.
Shindig! 65: look out for it at your local newsagent
Best known for being one of the Gazzarri Dancers on iconic 60s teen music show Hollywood a Go Go, De De was friends with many of the era’s most influential musos (from Frank Zappa to Sonny Bono, The Byrds to Buffalo Springfield), as well as some of the hippest movie folks (Jack Nicholson, Dennis Hopper, Roman Polanski), artists and other countercultural types. I wrote an article about her for the latest edition of British music magazine Shindig! (issue 65, out now in the UK), but since my word count could only accommodate so much from our interview, I’m posting the overflow here. It’s simply too fascinating (and often funny) to remain unpublished! Put it this way: De De calls it how she sees it. With the exception of some necessary background info, I won’t be duplicating anything from the article, though: so please be sure to grab a copy of the mag if you can track it down (not so easy here in Oz). Consider this a companion piece to the magazine article, rather than an alternative to it.
De De Mollner in action on the set of Hollywood a Go Go (photo: Time/Life)
Gazzarris-a-Go-Go
Like the Shin-diggers on rival Los-Angeles-produced show Shindig! or the Hullabaloo Dancers on the NYC-based program of the same name, the Gazzarri Dancers were the resident dance troupe on Hollywood a Go Go. De De and her long-time best friend Mimi Machu were the first two girls recruited, after being spotted on the dancefloor at popular Sunset Strip nightclub Gazzarri’s -- by the club’s owner Bill Gazzarri himself. Gazzarri pointed them out to his friend Al Burton, HAGG’s producer, who invited them to dance on the show, which was in pre-production at that stage. Obviously recognising star potential when he saw it, Burton didn’t even make De De and Mimi audition.
Where it all started: Gazzarri's Supper Club
As it happened, the two friends were the only members of the troupe to last from the first episode (which went to air in Southern California on KHJ-TV in December 1964) to the very final show, which screened in February 1966. Other key Gazzarri Dancers included Jacqui Landrum (who also choreographed many of their routines), Dale Vann and June Fairchild: all of whom are well worth a Google search in their own right. Meanwhile, plenty of other girls appeared on the program for shorter stints of time. “We went through a lot of people,” De De reflects. “That’s how it is: there’s always one arsehole in every group. You can’t get six people together without one being a weirdo! There were always girls coming and going, who never clicked, so we just had a little clique of our own. Then I brought in Jacqui – she became a really good friend of mine; I lived with her for a while. I don’t think we had any problems after that.” Hot dawg! This video showcases the Gazzarri Dancers as they get down to Thee Midniters on episode 34: De De is the first girl featured As default leaders of the Gazzarri Dancers, De De and Mimi called the shots. If a girl pissed them off, she was out. Unlike the heavily stage-managed, commercially driven world of entertainment TV today, the dancers were left virtually to their own devices as far as choreography, outfits and internal dynamics were concerned. Explains De De: “It’s so interesting when I think of it now. We really did whatever we wanted. It was amazing … People ask me, ‘Didn’t you do a lot of photo shoots and stuff?’ No, we didn’t do anything! No-one was promoting us on that show at all. These days of course, we’d have our own line of clothing but then, we had nothing.” She’s right. Watching Youtube videos of the Gazzarri Dancers in action, it’s impossible not to be struck by their marketability. For one thing, they’re total foxes – although not in a dollied-up, artificial way. These gals are wild, spontaneous and natural; even in men’s clothing (which they frequently wore) they’re still sexy as hell. Not surprisingly, they got mountains of mail from admirers and had fan clubs around the world after the program was syndicated not only nationally but internationally. The clip below, one of Hollywood a Go Go's most viewed Youtube videos ever, goes some way to explaining the Gazzarri Dancers' global appeal. The most Hollywood a Go Go’s producers did to capitalise on the girls’ growing popularity was to give them higher billing in the opening credits. Very few promotional photos seem to have been taken, which is both mystifying (given their obvious photogenic qualities) and frustrating. Still, their ‘untamed’ vibe, and HAGG’s low-lit, nightclub atmosphere in general, ensured that the show got banned in some places! “I think it came through the TV that we were crazy!” De De laughs. “We never thought of ourselves as wild. But we did think of ourselves as way beyond anything that was on TV, that’s for sure. Instead of trying to be some hotsy-totsy go-go girl in a miniskirt or something, we were just out there! No-one had ever seen this kind of thing before; some people couldn’t handle it.” But far more folks dug it. “I’ve had people who watched the show and saw us dancing, they say ‘We just feel the energy’. And that to me is so great, because that’s all it was. It was so real; it was so unconscious. You’ll never see me do anything for the camera – you’ll never see any of us doing anything like that. It was simply us dancing our guts out. You look back on the videos now and they’re so cool, and you think, ‘Why were people so freaked out?’”
To get an idea of just how different the Gazzarri Dancers were to the other shows’ go-go chicks, check out their head-flinging, hair-whipping wig-out to Sandy Nelson’s ‘Drums a Go Go’ below…how they didn’t break their necks or dislodge an eyeball or something is anyone’s guess.
A constellation of stars
Of course, the Gazzarri gals weren’t Hollywood a Go Go’s only drawcard: let’s not forget the artists themselves. De De and the gang got to dance alongside performers as diverse and talented as Ike & Tina, The Walker Brothers, Chuck Berry, Sam the Sham & the Pharaohs, Jerry Lee Lewis, Freddie Cannon, The Rolling Stones, James Brown, Bo Diddley, Dee Dee Sharp (whose “Mashed Potato” clip is extra-noteworthy for De De’s astoundingly cool mashed potato moves!), Fontella Bass, The Turtles and a long, illustrious etcetera. Anyone who’s watched footage from the program would have noticed that, more often than not, the Gazzarri Dancers look like they’re having their own party, almost oblivious to the artists they’re backing. One of the few exceptions is—unsurprisingly—Chuck Berry, who makes it his mission to flirt with some of the girls during his performance of ‘Maybelline’.
So did that incorrigible lady-killer try it on with De De? “I can’t even remember Chuck Berry!” she says. “I remember dancing with him but I don’t remember hanging out with him or even talking to him. I guess I was just somewhere else – I don’t know what I was doing!” Fact is, De De was into a different scene. “My boyfriend was Michael Clarke from The Byrds, and I was more into that. The Byrds, The Buffalo Springfield … these were all people I knew in Hollywood... I was really into The Lovin’ Spoonful; people like that. Dylan was an idol to me. That’s where I was at the time, totally into that.”
De De (centre, rear) at a Byrds gig at The Trip, Sunset Strip, around 1965 (photo courtesy of De De Mollner)
One guest on the show who did make a lasting impression on her was the Duchess, guitarist with Bo Diddley’s band (not to mention all-round inspiration and style icon). “She was fantastic! I remember when they came on, I thought she was the greatest. She WAS the greatest! I remember thinking, ‘Oh my god, this woman’s too cool for me!’ Totally ahead of her time. And there were very few people like that. A lot of them were just flash in the pan, but then there were people like Bo Diddley … rock solid, totally great.” 'Let the Kids Dance', complete with big-talkin' intro from host Sam Riddle
In the Shindig! article, De De talks about becoming friends with Tina Turner after meeting on the show, as well as the time she hung out with The Rolling Stones backstage at the TAMI Show several months before they appeared on Hollywood a Go Go. Asked who her favourite Stone was, she replies: “Mick, of course.” Turns out the reason for that came a few years post-HAGG, when they crossed paths in London out celebrating Cat Steven's hit song ‘Wild World’. At one point, De De and Stevens’ girlfriend Patti D'Arbanville were sitting on the hood of his new black Citroen quaffing a bottle of champagne when they were approached by the cops, presumably to be reprimanded. “When they saw Mick, they said ‘have a nice day’ and we kept on going!” she recalls.
Squares beware!
De De is on record as describing the host of Hollywood a Go Go, Radio KHJ DJ Sam Riddle, as “a big joke” and “so unhip it hurt”. (See what I mean about calling it like she sees it!). But when I ask why she thought he was so square, she reveals that her opinion of him has softened. “I didn’t get along with Sam Riddle because I really thought he was a square – and he was, basically. But the more I talk to Randy, who was in The Challengers and has become a good friend of mine [The Challengers were one of the show’s most regular acts, along with house band The Sinners]… he’s told me a lot about Sam that has made me think differently about him.” Unbeknownst to De De at the time, Riddle “was instrumental in getting a lot of the talent on the show. He did a lot of stuff that I didn’t know about which was really cool, so I think I was probably a little hard on Sam. He just wasn’t as hip as us!”
Well, come on: not too many people were as hip as the Gazzarri Dancers! De De laughingly agrees: “No-one was as hip as us – we started it all, babe – we were there and we knew what was going on!” The video below confirms it... Always ahead of the curve, never afraid to push the envelope, De De’s high-spirited exploits back then read like a Russ Meyer movie script. OK, so she never killed anyone, but there’s a touch of Faster Pussycat, Kill Kill! in some of her stories, mixed with a dash of Beyond the Valley of the Dolls. In the Shindig! article, she reminisces about:
almost causing a riot walking down the street in a Mary Quant mini-skirt
raising hell with Mimi in their pre-HAGG days: two gorgeous teenagers, accompanying older men to swanky restaurants, excusing themselves after dinner to go to the ladies…then doing a runner!
cruising Sunset Boulevard in her fastback Corvette on the hunt for cute boys to take home for the night (when she wasn’t doing that, she and Jacqui Landrum—who also had a Corvette—would race each other around the Hollywood Hills)
dancing on Hollywood a Go Go under the influence of LSD (still legal at that point).
“A lot of people have said to me, ‘You’re lucky you weren’t killed’, but I never had any trouble. I was very daring obviously: I was running all over the place and did everything. I was probably lucky that nothing bad ever happened,” she reflects.
Lock up your sons! De De circa 1968. (Photo: Henry Diltz)
Speaking of LSD, here’s a tantalising teaser: “I turned The Beatles onto acid for the first time.”W-T-A-F?! De De was tripping at a party, and The Beatles were there. They noticed something was up, and asked her about it. “The next morning, I woke up and they asked, ‘What the hell’s going on?’ I told them I’d taken this stuff. And they were like, ‘Can you bring us some?’ Only John Lennon really wanted it. So I went back and gave it to him. I never talked to him again but I know he took it. Ringo became one of my neighbours later but he wasn’t even involved in this. That’s all I can tell you…” Make no mistake: young De De was at the heart of the rock’n’roll storm—and loving it. But did her parents have any idea what their feisty, fearless daughter was getting up to? “None whatsoever. No idea,” she says. “I’d left home at 18, and I was going to college, then I moved to Hollywood to do the show … They had no clue. I didn’t really talk to my parents for 10 years because I was very political at that time, and they voted for Nixon and I couldn’t handle it. Later, we became very close again and I took them all over the world. My dad [Art Mollner] was a gold-medal winner in basketball in the Olympics in 1936—that was Berlin, that was Hitler—so I took him around the country to raise money for basketball. We played basketball all over.” All’s well that ends well, then.
Life after Hollywood a Go Go
And speaking of endings, Hollywood a Go Go’s finale came without warning in February 1966. One Saturday morning like any other, the dancers turned up to tape an episode and were told it was to be their last. No reason or explanation was given. “We had no idea it was going to end at that time,” De De recalls. Fortunately, this final episode (number 58) is on Youtube in its entirety: one of only two full episodes to have come to light (the other is episode 6). Following the show’s demise, the girls formed a dance troupe they named The Movement. My article goes into more detail about that: suffice it to say, this was no ordinary dance troupe. Instead, it was politically motivated and, sadly, too radical even for those radical times. Eventually, frustrated at not being taken seriously, girls decided to disband. De De then got into movies—a logical progression, really, since she was tight with Jack Nicholson (even living with him for a time), Harry Dean Stanton, Warren Beatty et al. In fact, before any of these now household names were famous, they’d been mad HAGG fans!
Go-going, go-going, gone...
Easy Rider and movie mayhem
Perhaps the most beguiling anecdote from De De’s cinematic adventures is how she was almost in legendary 1969 epic, Easy Rider. “I was actually in Easy Rider but got cut out! I was cut out when they took the film away from Dennis Hopper and Peter Fonda, and put Jack in because there was no story. You know, it went on and on and nothing happened. The only thing they really had was the ending where they’re both killed, but they had no storyline…”
De De's easy-riding buddies, Dennis Hopper, Jack Nicholson, Peter Fonda
It’s well documented that the film blew out to four, even five hours, before being whittled down to the 95-minute version we’re all familiar with. So there must be loads of extra footage floating around out there, right? (To get an idea of what ended up on the cutting-room floor, check out the Wikipedia entry about Easy Rider, which even mentions De De’s scene in passing). “I did this scene where I was at a drive in with another guy, and I was making out with the guy, then Dennis and Peter drove up next to us. So I’m making out with the guy but I’m looking at Dennis…and all of a sudden, I say ‘Wait a minute’ and get out of the car I’m in, and into the car with the two of them. It was a great scene, believe me. And I saw it – I went in and saw the thing! But then they took the whole film away from Peter and it got cut out.” So close and yet so far! One can only hope it turns up one day, along with all the other lost scenes. “I always wondered where that footage went,” she remarks. “Lots of times they’ve said they have extra footage from Easy Rider and I think ‘Where is that scene?’ I’ve never seen it again.” De De has nothing but fond memories of Dennis Hopper. “I just adored Dennis—he was crazy, of course, but great. These were the people I grew up with, they were my friends… All of them were like 10 years older than me. Great times.” Then there was Jack. “Jack Nicholson was one of the greatest people I’d ever met. He changed my life for sure. Definitely. He taught me everything I know about film. My nephew, who’s like my son, is a film-maker now. When he was little I took him to see all the films Jack had taken me to see….Cocteau’s Beauty and the Beast, Visconti’s Death in Venice. Or Roman Polanski (who’s a very good friend of mine): he made so many great movies, but Cul de Sac is by far my favourite film of all time. Jack turned me on to all these people.”
Roman Polanksi and Jack Nicholson larking around on the set of Chinatown
And how’s this for an explosive disclosure? “I have many stories about Jack and Roman, but I don’t think I’m going to be talking too much about them. I’m very upset that Roman can never come back to the United States. I know exactly what happened at Jack’s house, but it had nothing to do with Roman. It’s just unfortunate it all played out the way it did.” (Well! That’s certainly a different perspective on an infamous incident that’s been rehashed so many times it’s practically Hollywood mythology. I suppose I could’ve asked for more info, but somehow it didn’t feel right...)
Anyway, De De’s acting career continued in Europe, when she moved there for several years after Easy Rider. One of the biggest names she worked with was French Nouvelle Vague director Eric Rohmer, but once again, her moment in the spotlight was sabotaged. “I was on the movie set for Claire’s Knee. My boyfriend at the time was a guy called Pierre Cottrell and he was the producer of the film… but I was taken out of that film too!” Another near miss!
Ready, boots? De De circa 1968 (photo: Henry Diltz)
The dark side of a decade
As a decade that will forever be associated with some of history’s greatest music and art, not to mention its grooviest fashions and revolutionary social changes, the 1960s are extremely easy to romanticise (guilty as charged!). And certainly, De De recognises what a golden era it was. “But when you’re living it, you don’t know that. You think, ‘Oh yeah, this is what life is.’ But now, thinking how it all went down … oh my god, it was such a special time!” But it wasn’t all peace, love and flowers. On 9 August 1969, disciples of Charles Manson slaughtered five people (including Roman Polanski’s actress wife, Sharon Tate) at 10050 Cielo Drive, quite near where De De was living with Mimi and Jack Nicholson. De De remembers being completely freaked out.
RIP: Sharon Tate at the house in Cielo Drive she shared with Roman Polanski
“Rudy Altobelli, whose house it all took place in, was one of our best friends, and I’d been over to his place many times,” she says. She’d even met Charles Manson when record producer Terry Melcher took him to a party there. “Rudy couldn’t stand Manson, and he kicked him out. So Manson just added that house to the list of people he wanted to get back at.” Of course, by the time the four Family fuckheads turned up to wreak revenge, Polanski was renting the house from Altobelli … and the rest is history. After the murders, De De and Mimi went into their garden and screamed for half an hour, to see if anyone would hear them if something similar ever unfolded at their place. “No-one came. So Jack bought a gun. We were terrified because these were our friends that had been killed, and we had no idea who’d done it.” Then, less than a week later, came Woodstock—another low point, in De De’s opinion (for different reasons, obviously). “By the time Woodstock hit, that was it,” she says. “Carloads of people were coming in, they had no idea what was really happening.” What had once been the counterculture was now well and truly mainstream, idealism had given way to imitation, and she was over it.
Some of the Woodstock hordes
“It just became way too much. I went to Europe at that time, ‘cause I didn’t want to hang out here.” Her disillusionment was fuelled further by witnessing firsthand how growing fame was affecting her friends. "Bob Dylan was a friend of mine – he went insane because people were just looking at him like he had all the answers. All of a sudden people are coming to him and asking ‘What are we gonna do?’ and he’s like ‘Are you kidding?!’ He told them whatever they wanted to hear; he made up every fucking lie he could get his hands on!” Jack Nicholson also copped it badly as his star rose: “Jack was the most gregarious guy I’ve ever met; he’d talk to everyone. But the more famous he became…he’d just put those dark glasses on and that was it, he never talked to anybody. What can you do? All of a sudden you can’t go outside without thousands of people screaming at you. And the more people that know you, the worse off you are. There’s always someone who’s gonna have some weird fixation about you, it’s really scary.”
What a difference half a century makes
One of the remarkable things about the Hollywood a Go Go videos available on Youtube is how fresh and timeless they still feel. Yet at the same time, they’re a vivid reminder of how much has changed in the 50 years since the show folded: musically, culturally, politically. So what does De De think of the current music scene compared with that of her youth? Is there anyone around today that she enjoys listening to? Brace yourselves, readers… “I must say I’m not crazy about the music of today,” she observes. “I really loved Amy Winehouse but she’s dead. So I don’t know who I like; I can’t think of anyone who turns me on. That’s why I’ve gotta listen to the old music. It’s sad, ‘cause I’m waiting for somebody who might be great. But these people are so…creepy. I can’t get behind them…Justin Bieber…they just make me sick. I thought I might like Coldplay but they’re way too boring!” Couldn't have put it better myself...
No caption needed
Fact is, you can take a girl out of the 60s, but you can’t necessarily take the 60s out of the girl. Even today, De De wears her radical heart on her sleeve; not surprisingly, she loathes US President Trump, and is stumped as to how such a world-class “idiot” came to power. “I don’t know how it happened!” she exclaims. “That’s one of the big mysteries I talk to all my friends about. We have theories … but I really have no clue. I feel so bad.”
Similarly, the relentless pursuit of money so prevalent in Western society today dismays her. “I grew up with such a free, wonderful experience, and now it’s just all kind of muffled—it’s all about money. It was not about money then: nobody even knew what selling out meant. Jack would never do a commercial – he’s never done one in his life. It’s integrity. I mean, you have your art, why do you have to sell out? Money isn’t everything, believe me.”
De De these days: on the beach in Puerto Vallarta, Mexico, where she now lives
Afterword
So there you have it: De De Mollner uncut! But this (admittedly lengthy) blog post is just the tip of the iceberg. Can’t you just imagine what a wild ride her memoirs would be? Sadly, De De is reluctant to put pen to paper. “I wrote a synopsis once, of a book I wanted to write with all these vignettes. I’ve had some crazy stuff happen, and have a lot of funny stories about people who are famous. But after I reread it... I don’t know …I’m talking about Warren Beatty, we used to play tricks on him … at the time, I thought it’d be fun to write, and I showed it to people and they said I should write it, but…” She trails off. She does let slip, however, that she might be persuaded to change her mind if she were to co-write a book with her old heart-breaking, go-go dancing partner in crime, Mimi Machu. “I’d love for Mimi and I to write a book,” she says, “but we don’t talk at all anymore. Our friendship just didn’t work out.” I haven’t gone into much detail about De De’s friendship with Mimi here, as it’s covered quite extensively in the Shindig! article. In a nutshell, the two girls shared an incredible bond from the age of 11, and were pretty much inseparable until it all imploded. Understandably, De De still grieves the loss of such an important, formative friendship. “It was devastating. I feel really bad about it but there’s nothing I can do. I’ve given up on ever getting back what we shared,” she says sadly. “I spent at least 15 years of my life with Mimi every day, and it’s really hard not to be able to talk to her. There was a great friendship and then there was a total jealousy thing about Jack.” De De explains that she tried to resurrect their friendship a few times, to no avail. She’s aware that Mimi lives in Hawaii these days and is doing fine, but doesn’t feel she can reach out again after her earlier attempts failed. “She knows where I am if she ever wants to get hold of me, and I’d probably deal with it again. Because there’s not much time left now.”
Thanks a million to the wonderful De De Mollner for being so generous with her time and memories. Thanks also to my buddy Bags for suggesting that I interview De De and running the idea past her for me. You might also like... Dreaming of Denise Mystery girl: Jan Stewart
Like they say, good things come to those who wait, and this blog series on legendary Melbourne record label Planet Records is no exception. I’m just sorry this instalment has come so long after the second – life has a habit of getting in the way, I’m afraid.
(Note: for any readers who’ve found themselves here by chance and would like to check out the previous instalments, you’ll find part one here and part two here.) This time, I’ll be focusing on the label’s more rockin’output, which is why I’ve christened this post...
ROCK'N'ROLL PLANET
The controversial case of the Elvis Presley sleeve
Last post, I mentioned Planet’s historic all-Australian rock’n’roll album, Rock’n’Roll Party, but even before that was released, the label had been making inroads into the rock’n’roll universe with some cool 45rpms.
Peter McLean
By late 1957, label honchos Bob King Crawford and Marcus Herman were slowly phasing out 10” records in favour of 12” albums and 7” singles. Among the first of the 7-inchers was Peter McLean and the Henri Bource All Stars’ cover of ‘Hard-Headed Woman’ (b/w ‘Don’t Ask Me Why’), released in November 1958. Both songs featured in the Elvis Presley flick King Creole, screening in Australia at the time; and had appeared on a single by the King himself earlier that year to coincide with the film’s US release. Never one to let an opportunity slip past unexploited, Bob approached the local distributors for Paramount Pictures and suggested that “it’d be great promotion and publicity for the film if we had Elvis on the cover of the single we were going to release.” In exchange for an image, Planet would promote the film’s Aussie release on the record cover. “And they OKed it,” Bob laughs. “The Colonel would’ve shot them all!”
If you own this record with this sleeve, you're sitting on a goldmine!
Within a matter of days, the distributor realised their mistake and demanded the cover be withdrawn. Marcus thinks they got an official legal letter; Bob can’t remember. Whatever the case, the single was already in the shops by then (nobody ever accused Planet of lying down on the job, after all). So rather than recall it, they simply didn’t print up any more of that particular cover. In other words, some copies were sold with the original sleeve, which has since gone on to become an incredibly rare and sought-after piece of Elvis music memorabilia! Kinda like that notorious Beatles ‘butcher’ album cover with all the bloody, beheaded dolls. Not even Bob or Marcus have a copy. Asked if it was a hit, Marcus replies, “I wouldn’t say it was gigantic, but it was popular.” (Melbourne readers would be advised to check their older rellies’ record collections pronto…) Have a listen here: Dig that honking sax and rockabilly guitar! And check out this Prestodisc of the same song:
Foxy flexi: a one-sided Prestodisc cardboard record!
PETER McLEAN
One of Planet’s main rock’n’rollers, 'Frantic' Peter McLean not only played a starring role on ‘Hard Headed Woman’ and the Rock’n’Roll Party album, but also had several other releases out on the label, including a spirited rendition of Jackie Wilson’s ‘Reet Petite’ and a swinging take on Tex Ritter’s ‘Jealous Heart’ (both with Henri Bource, who I wrote about in the previous instalment, and his All Stars).
Peter channeling his inner square
In the effusive sleeve liner notes on the back of his 1958 7” Planet EP, Sincerely, McLean is described as having ‘an intense magnetic appearance onstage,’ which ‘seems to place the audience in a spell, whilst his voice does the rest.’ You'd never guess it from the cover photo, but I guess we'll have to take their words for it...
And speaking of Elvis…
“Malcolm Arthur was incredible too,” reflects Bob. “He was our Elvis.” A fair comparison: singer/guitarist Malcolm Arthur was a cute, self-taught rock’n’roller with a wild live reputation, whose sold-out gigs rang with the cries of adoring female fans. He was part of the Melbourne bill when Fabian toured Australia in 1959, along with The Thunderbirds, and would later go on to portray the King in a huge Elvis memorial concert staged by Bob in 1979 at the Sidney Myer Music Bowl.
Malcolm Arthur circa 1959
While Malcolm only released one song with Planet Records – a cover of Johnny Restivo’s 1959 hit ‘The Shape I’m In’ (it appeared on a 7” single he shared with Peter McLean, whose ‘Jealous Heart’ was on the flipside) — he was a regular performer at Planet’s popular lunchtime concerts at Melbourne Town Hall (more about those a bit later). Later, with his band The Knights (which featured Laurie Allen among its members), he had a single out on Marcus’s post-Planet label Crest Records. ‘The Shape I’m In’ is very similar in tempo to Restivo’s hit, and kicks off with the same rollicking piano intro, but doesn’t have the same clean, bright production or mannered rockabilly vocal. Personally, I reckon Malcolm Arthur and the Henri Bource All Stars’ version has more feel: his vocal is sweet and natural, the guitar tone is rich and warm, and Bource’s sax is cool as ever. Mixed into the recording, we hear girls screaming and shrieking excitedly: a playful allusion to the reaction the singer used to cause among his female fans at concerts! Legend has it that Malcolm Arthur and the Henri Bource All Stars recorded another single for Planet, ‘I Fall Apart’/’Nature Boy,’ but sadly that was never released.
For someone who was so popular back in the day, frustratingly little information exists online about Malcolm Arthur. “He’s still around,” Marcus says. “I think he did something a few years ago with some new songs, but I’m not sure.”
Other notable Planet rock’n’rollers
BALWYN'S FINEST, THE BLUE BOPS Shooting stars in Planet’s rock’n’roll galaxy—fleeting yet unforgettable—The Blue Bops are probably the coolest (if not only) group to have come from the somewhat staid Melbourne suburb of Balwyn. Thanks to a record-collecting friend of mine, I own a copy of their only single on Planet (from late 1959), and it’s a right little cracker. The A-side is a rocked-up version of Nat King Cole’s 1950 smash, ‘Mona Lisa’, and on the flip, their high-energy rendition of Fabian’s hit ‘Tiger’ leaves the original in the dust.
Named after Gene Vincent’s ‘Blue Jean Bop’, The Blue Bops were comprised of the fabulously named Bruce Lee on vocals and bass, Geoff Somers and George Hopkins on guitar, and Ron Haydon on drums. On each side of the single, the label features a photo of two members: the same guy (I think) on the right, accompanied by what looks to be a different guy on the left each time. Sadly, that leaves one member whose face is lost in the mists of history. It's a mystery why this band weren't bigger, or why they never at least gained some kind of obscure legend status over the decades. Though both tracks are covers, The Blue Bops attack them with such youthful spirit and personality, they take them to another level.
Propelled by Haydon’s unstoppable train-beat drums and played faster than Fabian’s original (which sounds like lounge music in comparison), ‘Tiger’ is pure F-U-N! Lee’s vocals are dynamic, the guitars are all tone, and the song is even interspersed with hilarious ‘tiger’ growls, contributed by one Marcus Herman! Just to top it off, the guitars surge in volume during the brief outro – talk about ending with a bang. Regrettably, this scorcher of a tune isn't on Youtube, so you'll have to take my word for it. The Blue Bops weren’t the first to give 'Mona Lisa' the rock’n’roll treatment: Carl Mann got there first in March 1959 with his rockabilly rendition for Sun Records, and Conway Twitty did it about a month later, topping the Aussie charts in the process. But The Blue Bops sure put their own stamp on Nat King Cole's classic.
Closer to Twitty’s version than Mann’s, but different enough to make me wish they’d been around for longer and released more records, The Blue Bops’ take on the song is a bit more up-tempo, and enhanced by some killer guitar-work. Like so many Planet productions, it sounds really live and immediate: exactly the way rock’n’roll should be recorded. THE MYSTERIOUS JOHNNY GUITAR First things first: despite their near-identical names, Planet’s Johnny Guitar sounds nothing like the American blues and soul singer Johnny Guitar Watson! He does have a lovely rich voice, though, which he put to fine use on his one-and-only Planet single, ‘Raindrop’ b/w ‘My Baby Dolly’ (1959). Clocking in at just over a minute and a half, ‘Raindrop’ is a chirpy doo-wop number, featuring layers of harmonies and what sounds like a xylophone solo (!) in the middle. It goes like this: The flipside ‘My Baby Dolly’ transcends its awful title with some cool understated guitar, great backing vox and a swinging rhythm. The ever-reliable Henri Bource and the All Stars provide instrumental backing on both sides, with the help of The Moontones. Johnny Guitar is credited as the writer of both tunes. Though his real identity was not widely known at the time, it turns out that Johnny Guitar was actually a recently arrived British migrant named David Langdon. Post-Planet, he ended up playing in Malcolm Arthur’s band in the early 60s; he was also a guitar teacher at some stage (so at least he lived up to his name).
THE EXPLOSIVE BEVERLEY DICK Last but not least in this cavalcade of interplanetary talent, we have pioneering rock chick, Beverley Dick.
Described by Johnny O’Keefe as Melbourne’s best female rock’n’roll singer, Beverley “came initially from the country music scene,” remembers Bob. Having honed her skills in talent shows and church concerts since she was a child, she joined popular country-and-western group The Trailblazers in 1957 at the tender age of 17. The Trailblazers appeared weekly on radio station 3XY, where they’d squeeze into the tiny studio (there were more than 10 of them) and perform live over the airwaves. The Trailblazers Stage Show album was released on Planet in 1958, and boasts a typically striking technicolour cover.
(I should mention that the album—as well as the Blue Bops and Johnny Guitar singles —was recorded at Planet’s flash new HQ at the Eastern Market on Bourke Street near the corner of Exhibition, where the label had moved in 1957 after outgrowing Marcus’s parents’ place.) Planet stalwart Henri Bource was the first to recognise Beverley’s rock’n’roll potential, and asked her to take part in the Rock’n’Roll Party LP. Here she is singing one of the medleys, spanning ‘Be Bop-A-Lula’ (which, interestingly, isn’t even adapted to suit a female point of view), ‘We’re Gonna Teach You to Rock’ and ‘All Shook Up’. Bev's singing voice is cool, with none of those gurgling, semi-operatic stylings so common to female rockabilly singers these days. In fact, her vocals have just enough of an edge to suggest that she might’ve been something of a belter in concert. And what do you know? One reviewer who saw her perform observed: “She had such a soft little voice when announcing her numbers, but brother, when she started to shout (sorry, sing), I was intrigued by the change in her.” A genuine, ahem, trailblazer for Aussie women in rock’n’roll, Beverley held her own among the big boys, even touring regional Victoria in late 1959 with JOK, The Delltones, The Dee Jays, Lonnie Lee and Malcolm Arthur. How much fun would that travelling roadshow have been?
Is it just me, or does Lonnie Lee (left) look like he's in love with Bev? Malcolm Arthur is on the right
Sticking it to the majors: radio domination and lunchtime concerts
Planet Records practically owned the Melbourne music scene in the late 50s, and not just because of their quality product. They also reaped the rewards when the major record labels got too big for their boots and ended up alienating the city’s radio stations.
“The major record companies had decided in their wisdom that they were going to charge all the radio stations a fee every time they played one of their records,” explains Bob. “We’d had such a bad time with the majors that when they approached us and said Will you join us? we said No, we’re going to go with the radio stations!”
From the very beginning, the major labels had clearly felt threatened by the indie upstarts and done everything they could to make Planet feel unwelcome. “They instructed their agents-come-salesmen that they were not to display our records,” Bob recalls. “And they did standover stuff. Initially they were selling our records under the counter, but we were outselling most of the stuff anyway.”
“History repeated itself with my Crest label later, with a major English company sabotaging us to put us out of business,” Marcus adds.
There was even a mysterious fire at their Eastern Markets HQ: nothing was ever proven but, as Marcus remarks wryly, “It was very suss.”
Anyway, when Planet opted not to join the majors in extorting the radio stations, “We had so much airplay it was unbelievable!” Marcus exclaims. With the predictable result that the majors “hated us with a passion,” says Bob. Ha! Suckers.
Planet had a particularly good relationship with radio station 3UZ, partnering with them to stage huge fortnightly lunchtime ‘Rock’n’Pop Concerts’ at Melbourne Town Hall. For Planet, these shows were a brilliant promotional vehicle for their artists; for 3UZ, which broadcast them live, they were a handy way to poach their rival 3DB’s teenage audience.
Marcus says the concerts, which started in April 1959 and went for two years, “were sell-outs every time. We’d pack the Town Hall.” It was two shillings (20c) to get in, and “We’d have two shows: one at 12.15, and the other was at 1.15,” says Bob. Sure beats aimlessly trawling the shops on your lunchbreak or wasting money on some overpriced CBD sandwich!
Malcolm Arthur driving the chickybabes wild at one of Planet's lunchtime concerts. Photo: Laurie Richards
“Almost all the top rockers except Johnny O’Keefe appeared, including our artists too,” Marcus says. “We’d usually have a Sydney artist as the headliner. But our artists more than held their own in terms of the excitement they created. So it was a great way to get them across to the public.”
Non-Planet artist Col Joye performing at a lunchtime concert Photo: Laurie Richardson
Among the Planet performers regularly on the bill were Peter McLean, Henri Bource and the All Stars, Malcolm Arthur, Margie Mills, The Moontones, The La Ronde Brothers, Jack O’Leary and Barry O’Dowd. 3UZ DJs Brian Taylor and Geoff Haynes acted as MCs.
According to Bob and Marcus, the shows weren’t as hard to organise as you might expect. They’d rehearse the night before, and while Marcus hints that “there were some huge egos,” he hastens to point out that “they’d all respect each other. It was just egos as break-outs, not all the time. Someone would think, Oh I can do better than that.” Healthy competition, then?
“Mostly they were just so pleased to be there,” says Bob.
Full-blown bobby-soxer hysteria was the order of the day. “The staff of 3UZ, even the management linked hands with us to keep the girls from tearing the guys down off the stage!” laughs Marcus. “We all had to act as our own security team!”
And the girls went nuts: just a typical audience at a typical 3UZ lunchtime concert. Photo: Laurie Richards
Incredible to think these concerts pre-dated Beatlemania by a good five years. “We had to check the girls too, to make sure they weren’t too overwhelmed,” says Bob. “The management used to complain they had to clean the seats after the shows!”
Right. That sounds like my cue to wind up this post…
In the next, and final, instalment of the Planet Records story:
More lessons for aspiring independent record label mavens, including:
