Hollywood - Thin Lizzy

Heavy sounds from Phil Lynott: Leslie Crowther's son-in-law and the first Chieftan of Celtic cock rock, headed back to the ashes on a liquor-slicked highway.

I'm currently reading Kenneth Anger's Hollywood Babylon, a trawl through the scandals that marked the early years of Hollywood.

From Errol Flynn's two-way-mirror and Rock Hudson and his Japanese houseboy to Von Stroheim's closed-set bordello scenes, the behaviour of Hollywood stars during the golden age of cinema prefigured rock 'n' roll morals by more then thirty years.

I love everything about Hollywood. From Sunset Strip to Cahuenga Boulevard, in monochrome and technicolor; Cinerama and VistaVision. I love romantic comedies set on cruise ships and animated versions of Bible stories with talking camels. I love Night of the Juggler and Werewolves on Wheels. I love Rudulph Valentino and Rae Dawn Chong.

I've just written the treatment for Crocodile Dundee in Space.

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Babylon - New York Dolls

C'mon boys! Trash Rock with one foot in Danny La Rue-esque vaudeville and the other in a shiny red patent leather cowboy boot with a python in it's trousers and a needle in it's arm.

One of the more lurid stories in Hollywood Babylon concerns silent movie actress Marie Prevost who, when the introduction of talkies curtailed her cinema career, drank herself to death in a one room L.A. bedsit with only her loyal dachshund for company. In 1937 police broke into her apartment to discover that the dog had outlived Marie by a good few weeks; the sick puppy had chowed-down on it's Mistress. Bad dog.

It may be un-British of me but I hate dogs and Marie Prevost's sad death has made me hate them even more.

In fact, I hate all animals... my all-time favourite sandwich is prawn mayo, heavy on the prawns. For one pound sixty I can kill and eat hundreds of little animals.

(For a better view of the carnage, prepare the creatures on a Scandinavian-style open sandwich).

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Manifesto & Book News

If it's ever been on K-Tel or Ronco, it's in. If it features hand claps, cow bells, syrupy orchestration, walls of sound, wrecking crews, sha-la-las, toothy teen idols, candy-based metaphors for carnal acts or lyrics about hugging, squeezing and rocking all night long, it's in.

Save the tin when you're finished



> Martin Lampen (latest book news, contact details and other stuff)

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