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

to be a part of a project they later called “Mad Dogs and Englishmen.” I didn’t fear Denny, and if he was indeed trying to contact me, I apologize. I did fear Prager. The only part of Prager’s letter that was true was the statement that I no longer had an interest in a recording career, at least not with him.
    Here was a powerful, successful man who was obviously trying to harm me and I struggled with the distasteful question of why? What had I done to him that would cause this behavior toward me? When he first sought me out it was obvious to everyone that I was foundering and about to go under. I hadn’t approached him making claims to be a super star or the chance to be back on top. That notion was decades away. I hadn’t approached him at all. To the contrary, I was so close to finally getting out of the business, so bruised and beaten, that the only roadblock to that end would be the one final crushing blow that I was most certainly now receiving.
    Prager called himself a genius of sorts: a guy at the top with good connections. So, it made sense to me that he was experienced enough to know what my value in the market place was worth. If the long list of rejections by various recording companies was true, it should have come as no surprise to him. But he wasn’t finished with me yet.
    Prager continued to deride and bait me with his sarcasm and said if I sent him some new music he would make one final attempt at getting me a deal. The money had been shut off, but Kim had been saving a little behind my back and she hesitantly offered it to me for the studio I had booked.
    I only had enough to cover one hour at a nearby studio that was being run by a legendary Detroit engineer named Danny Dallas. I walked into the studio completely at a loss where to begin, and sat down at the beautiful baby grand in the middle of the otherwise empty floor. Danny asked how I wanted to approach the session and I told him I had no idea, but to go ahead and start rolling the tape.
    I sat there for a long time with my head bowed staring at the keys and then I lifted my hands to the keyboard and began to play. I established the left hand bass line on a three-note pattern and added the minor key chords with my right hand in 4/4 time. I opened my mouth and began to sing and didn’t stop until the song was finished. When it was over, I just sat there and everyone was silent. I had never before in my life touched a keyboard. I also couldn’t remember the words or the melody I had just performed. It had all just appeared from nowhere.
    The song would gloriously outlive my experience with Prager and become one of my most cherished writings. I called it “Freezin’ in Hell.” There wasn’t anything extremely innovative about the lyrics, they were just a blues-type message with classical root notes underneath, but it was the way it came to life through the power of something beyond comprehension that made it special.
    I sent a copy to Prager, hoping that whatever offense I had brought to His Majesty, he was now ready to forgive and begin treating me nicely again. I wanted to hear back from him. He didn’t respond, so I called and finally got him on the phone. He said it was good but he wanted to hear more. Much more. He also said he was disgusted withmy behavior, my attitude, and my inability to produce. He said with no hidden sarcasm to keep in touch and let him know how I was doing. My heart sank and I went to Kim, broken and defeated.
    While all this was going on Prager had been promoting me as an important artist or actually, more cynically, as an artist who thought he was important. He sent this message and promoted this image to whatever segment of the industry that was willing to listen. There were a lot of humorous characterizations of my behavior and the dilemma I found myself in being played out and circulated within the industry. I became a joke. Some of my friends in Detroit were aware of what was going on and asked me why I had done this to myself. I had no answer.
    I was hurting emotionally, spiritually, and financially. Nameless people began calling my phone and threatening my life. The fear of my suspicions over Prager’s intentions and actions had driven me to get a prescription from a doctor for Valium to quiet my nerves, and I had also begun taking a powerful, halucinogenic street drug that was derived from THC, an animal tranquilizer.
    I forgot about my music and began writing a series of rambling discourses