Crash Landing for the Super Starr
‘Teen February 1975
Mrs. Starkey’s son, Richard was in a peeve – I swear he all
but pouted. Now, it’s not the most
unusual occurrence in the world to see a star in a petulant huff. What fun is there after all, in being famous
if one can’t publicly drum one’s little heels on the floor in order to stand
the world to attention?
But from Richard Starkey, possibly better-known as Ringo
Starr, this was odd behavior indeed.
I mean, isn’t his image that of being the jolliest in the
land? The another-for-peace
ex-Beatle? Naïve of us to assume that
image and reality are all of a piece.
Oh and it all started out as a splendidly silly Hollywood
happening. In order to publicize his new
album, “Good Night Vienna” Ringo was, we were informed, going to have his
effigy placed atop the Capitol Tower (Capitol’s the company that distributes
his records) along with that of his favorite science fiction character, Gort
the robot, and a spaceship. Well, fun,
fun, fun. Except it didn’t quite work
out that way. Here’s what, in fact,
transpired.
We arrived as we’d been bidden, at the Tower at about midday
of a fine California Saturday and congregated in one of the studios where
sandwiches could be scoffed and Ringo’s album blasted from some speakers. “Ringo will be arriving in a few minutes,”
said one flunkey in the awed tones one should reserve for the Second
Coming. “He will answer questions for 20
minutes and then leave.” Okay, in a few
minutes Ringo did indeed arrive, looking – let it be said – like an English
rocker straight out of good old ’64.
Hair greased back in a pompadour, dark shades, a general air of sulky
insouciance.
Sulky, as it turned out, was the motif for the day. Still, he was pleasant enough as he stepped
up on the dais sporting his “beware. I’m
manic depressive” button. But wouldn’t
you know, the very first question as a zinger?
A girl from a TV station, desperately earnest (you could
tell she was earnest by the way she hauled her eyebrows together) wondered
aloud, “Isn’t this all a bunch of hype” or slighting words to that effect.
Now, come on. Agreed,
agreed, it’s not the most tactful question in the world. It’s perhaps somewhat on the level of
attending a party, stuffing your face on the grub, drinking the booze then
challenging your hostess, “Just who’re you trying to impress?”
But still. Maybe
Ringo’s response was, shall we say, the teeniest bit overdone. Like, he glared. (Ringo glare? You ask astonished. Ringo glared). In very prickly tones he ticked off the
reporter to the effect that it was all just a party, where the heck was the
hype, and if she didn’t like it…
She was an irritating reporter, it’s true, but she sure had
the courage of her convictions. She
persisted. What was the point, she
asked, of spending all this money, time, media stroking simply to promote an
album?
Ringo got angrier.
Even quite insulting. By now we
were firmly on the side of the questioner, mainly because the sycophants that
cluster around stars had decided to display their solidarity and were urging
him on with all manner of nonsense rah-rah-rah’s.
One man, with an actual sob in his voice, even ventured to
say how incredibly honored we all felt (speak for yourself, we muttered) at the
fact that Ringo was actually standing before us that day.
The pits. He’s
talking about a drummer in a one-time great, but now de-funct, rock band who
can sing other people’s songs okay but not terrific, and he’s got a sob in his
throat, yet. Has the world gone totally
crazed, we wondered? Because he wasn’t
alone in his worship. No way. Adults long past, one assumes, the first
blush of adolescence actually cheered his speech. There are times one’s ashamed to be a
so-called grownup.
More questions followed:
had he and his wife, Maureen split?
Well, not exactly. But she was in
England with their three children and he was in Los Angeles with and we quote
“a lady who takes good care of me.”
Howzzat for tasteful? To which
other Beatle was he closest? John. Would he settle in the U.S.? Not really, because although the tax
situation is pretty grim in Britain right now, it was his home. And there were things that money couldn’t
buy.
He was wearing an earring.
Some clod wondered what was its significance. We can’t blame his at this point for getting
tetchy, because it was truly a silly question.
And tetchy is precisely what he got.
“Why does everything have to have significance?” he huffed.
“I mean, it’s an earring, that’s all.
What’s the significance of this jacket?
It’s a jacket.” Did the
manic-depressive mean anything, asked one reporter taking his life in his
hands. “Yes” admitted our star. “It means I’m manic-depressive.” Why did he call his album “Goodnight
Vienna? “It’s the name of a song John Lennon
wrote for the album, plus it’s the name of an old song Ringo likes, plus it’s
the way the people in the north of England have of saying that they’re about to
split. “and,” he informed us, “after you
finish an album, that just how you feel.
Like you want to take a trip to Mars just to get away.”
Then he bade us all a “Goodnight Vienna” and left.
Later, we were told, his effigy was indeed hoisted to the
top of the Capitol Tower. He and buddy
Harry Nilsson then retreated to an executive’s office and toasted each other in
brandy.
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