Wednesday, 1 August 2012

MICHAEL DES BARRES: Sex, Drugs and Chick-Fil-A

The music business is dead, and like a phoenix from the ashes, passion-filled music is very much alive

It took me three months to get a drum sound in 1977. Those heady days of rock ‘n’ roll excess, when music was in the hands of rock stars with vast fortunes and very tight trousers.

I was on the mighty
Led Zeppelin’s label Swan Song. My band was Detective, and we recorded our first album at the legendary Record Plant in Los Angeles -- as famous for its hot tubs and Jacuzzis, its private rooms and tales of depravity, as much as its magnificent roster of rockers. All at thousands of dollars per hour.

In those ravaged rooms of Babylon, occupied by cocaine-filled delirium where Brian Wilson sat in a sandbox and the Stones rambled way past midnight has been replaced by a Starbucks and God forbid, a Chick-Fil-A.

Making an album in those days was of course, very different than it is now. This was the ‘70s. In the ‘60s, there was more freedom in that the phenomenon of rock ‘n’ roll was in the early stages of a revolution that would rock the world, and we were flying by the seat of our velvet pants.

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