Devils & Blue Dresses: My Wild Ride as a Rock and Roll Legend

hurtful part of the meeting to Susan and I made time for us to be together before returning home. Then I went back to New York and rejoined Sarah.
    I took the big band to England, hoping to get something started there with the help of Robert Stigwood, but we weren’t allowed to perform because of an immigration snafu that required the exact same number of British musicians to go to America at the exact same time. I attended a party hosted by The Who guitarist Peter Townshend, and was interviewed by the British press whose only repetitive question was, “What is it like to sound black?”
    Peter tried to convince me to take Jeff Beck back to America with me. I had no doubt that once there, Jeff would leave me and try to start his own thing, but I entertained the idea. I had already jammed with Jeff in England at a small club where his singer was so intimidated by my presence that he stood at the rear wall of the stage and sang the entire set with his eyes closed. His name was Rod Stewart. So, I asked Jeff if he would like to come back with me and he seemed interested until I asked what size tuxedo he wore.
    I thought it would be interesting to see whether or not my brother Marc could handle someone like Stigwood, so I arranged for him to spend the evening at the country estate. The next day my brother told me he spent the entire evening being chased about by the old queer and that “Stiggie” begged him for sex and even attempted to rape him. I figured my brother would, under his free will, decide if he wanted that lifestyle, but I was infuriated when I heard of the attempted rape.
    Robert Fitzpatrick had arranged the big band and me to be the entertainment for a Schlumberger family party. This family’s money came from extensive oil interests. The guest list included, among many notables, Generalissimo Franco, Premier of Spain along with two truck loads of troops; Grace Kelly; and “Hank the Duece,” a.k.a. Henry Ford II. Susan and I enjoyed a little of Lisbon before going into the hills to the winter home of the oil baron.
    Right away I had an argument with the lady of the house because she wanted to hide our speakers behind thick velvet drapes. She said they were ugly and I told her that her guests would not be able to hear us if she had her way. People, no matter what station in life, are pretty base and at the end of the evening nearly everyone was drunk and acting foolish.
    I remember sitting at a bar in Manhattan with another wealthy Portugese national, Jamie Matheus, of the famous wine concern out of Portugal. Jamie was crying on my shoulder about how difficult it was to be wealthy, but not famous. I advised him that I thought it was more difficult being famous and having no money. At least that evening we could still both laugh about it.
    I returned home and was to have a meeting with Mr. Fitzpatrick, at which time he was going to listen to the album I had been creating while being put on ice by Mr. Crewe. I fully expected a private meeting where we could talk about his thoughts or criticisms. That would allow me to make changes where need be. Perhaps what happened next was due to my ignorance of the artist’s responsibilities in regard to product, seeing as how I had spent my successful years being steered by Mr. Crewe.
    In any case, Mr. Fitzpatrick said to bring my album and meet him at a trendy club on the East Side. We met and he asked me to select any song from my album. I selected one, which was a basic R&B tune that had not yet had a final mix, because I was expecting feedback from my manager. Fitzpatrick had the DJ play the song for the entire gathering of patrons and then followed it with “Street Fighting Man” by the Rolling Stones.
    I was embarrassed for many reasons, but the biggest embarrassment I felt was my ignorance of how the game was played. It was like being tossed from a speeding car onto the freeway and having to survive being hit by the onrushing vehicles. Another fact that was lost on me was the change away from the music I so loved. My album was what I considered to be an R&B triumph. The truth of the hour was that it wasn’t only Mitch Ryder doing R&B that the public no longer craved, it was R&B in general that had now lost favor with the record-buying public. The meeting left a permanent scar on my ego.
    The months passed slowly and Premier Talent released me. Mr. Fitzpatrick was now supposedly in charge of getting bookings. I had an English road manager at this point