travels with narge
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The following are additional excerpts from Narge Silvers' bestselling memoir...
Bobby (Dylan) actually wanted to go electric as early as 1963. We were both playing the Newport Folk Festival and "Blowing In The Wind" had just gone to #3.
Literally five minutes before taking the stage, Bob decided he wanted to play the song electric, and asked me to plug in his amplifier. I located the nearest outlet only to find it was already full.
Literally five minutes before taking the stage, Bob decided he wanted to play the song electric, and asked me to plug in his amplifier. I located the nearest outlet only to find it was already full.
I ran hither and fro, looking for a device allowing multiple cords to plug into one socket. Finally finding this type of connection, and with but two minutes remaining, I plugged Bob Dylan's amplifier cord into the outlet and, to my horror, realized his cord had three prongs, whilst the outlet only accepted two prongs. Unable to find an adapter in time, Bob played "Blowing In The Wind" acoustic like every other performance he'd given before.
It was a full two years later, in 1965, that Bob Dylan finally got to play his electric guitar before a shocked and hostile audience. If they only knew.
It was a full two years later, in 1965, that Bob Dylan finally got to play his electric guitar before a shocked and hostile audience. If they only knew.
Paul (McCartney) and I have always been extremely competitive. If he came up with a good line, I'd try and top it. If I wrote a good song, he'd try and write a good song too. Or lift mine. We're like brothers that way. If I fancied a girl, he'd chat her up. This back and forth has always gone on. Who'd get the last laugh? Who'd have the final say? Who'd be remembered in the end?
I recall one time he rung me up and said, "I'm working on a song. John's quit and I'm rather stuck for another line. Have you got any ideas?"
I asked what he had so far. He replied, "The party's on/The feelin's here/That only comes/This time of year." I told him I couldn't help.
Another time it was, "Narge, I'm in quicksand. Can you help? Here's where I'm at right now: Coming Up, Coming Up, Yeah/Coming Up Like A Flower/Coming Up I Say." Again, I begged off, saying I had a headache and probably wouldn't be very good inspiration.
This sort of teeter totter cannot last. Something has to give. I'd nearly broken years before when I was in the studio at Saville Row doing the final mix down on "The Day After Two Days Ago." I invited Paul over for a listen.
"Well, what do you think?" I asked.
"I like it. The melody is catchy, the lyrics are smart, it's relevant... I quite fancy it," he replied.
Not one month later, before "The Day After Two Days Ago" had come out, Paul released "Yesterday" to an adoring public. My "relevant" work is still in the "can" somewhere.
Paul is a real piece of work. Just ask any Beatle. But his lovely wife Linda, well she was just a real piece! I bit my knuckles over that woman. I don't know how many nights she'd ring me up to pour her broken heart out. Paul had done this, or Paul had said that. "And I don't want to fake playing the organ on stage anymore," she'd say. One time, she confessed through her sobs that she didn't even know what "Jailer man, and sailor Sam" even meant. It was torture, and couldn't I do something? Well I did do something, and we'd best leave that outside on the mat.
Once Linda passed, I was inconsolable. I was a mess. It was then that I snapped. I hated Paul for who he was. I hated Paul for what he was. For what he'd done to her. For what he'd done to me. I would have revenge.
The Little Blue Man Group has sold more albums than The Singing Brakeman, The Blue Yodeler, The Kingston Five, and Roger Whitaker combined. We have dozens of female groupies in Camelot. Some are nice, some are are very nice, and some are simply ape shit crazy. Heather Mills is ape shit crazy.
Claiming a compassionate heart, she organized a 5K run to help children who'd lost limbs in Bosnian mine fields. All very well and good, except that the run was set up through a mine field. Carrying a flag stating "Less Is More," she hadn't gotten 10 yards when she stepped on a mine and lost her own leg. Now, forever known as the "One-Legged Mine Sweeper," Heather Mills is a whirling dirvish. She would do. She would do just fine.
Not 14 months after Linda was laid to rest, Sir Paul was knighted by the Queen in Buckingham Palace. All of England was a buzz. Not since Princess Diana was seen with an overweight Frenchman has the British commoner been so excited.
Once more the phone rang. It was Paul. "I'm being knighted, you've just got to come. ...Yes I wish she could have been here, but she's gone. ...Of course I'm lonely. ...Anyway, just come, and I'm told you're welcome to bring a date."
I did bring a date. A one-legged date. Once in the receiving line after the ceremony, I walked up to Sir McCartney. I offered my hand of congratulations and simply said, "Paul, I'd like you to meet Heather Mills."
I recall one time he rung me up and said, "I'm working on a song. John's quit and I'm rather stuck for another line. Have you got any ideas?"
I asked what he had so far. He replied, "The party's on/The feelin's here/That only comes/This time of year." I told him I couldn't help.
Another time it was, "Narge, I'm in quicksand. Can you help? Here's where I'm at right now: Coming Up, Coming Up, Yeah/Coming Up Like A Flower/Coming Up I Say." Again, I begged off, saying I had a headache and probably wouldn't be very good inspiration.
This sort of teeter totter cannot last. Something has to give. I'd nearly broken years before when I was in the studio at Saville Row doing the final mix down on "The Day After Two Days Ago." I invited Paul over for a listen.
"Well, what do you think?" I asked.
"I like it. The melody is catchy, the lyrics are smart, it's relevant... I quite fancy it," he replied.
Not one month later, before "The Day After Two Days Ago" had come out, Paul released "Yesterday" to an adoring public. My "relevant" work is still in the "can" somewhere.
Paul is a real piece of work. Just ask any Beatle. But his lovely wife Linda, well she was just a real piece! I bit my knuckles over that woman. I don't know how many nights she'd ring me up to pour her broken heart out. Paul had done this, or Paul had said that. "And I don't want to fake playing the organ on stage anymore," she'd say. One time, she confessed through her sobs that she didn't even know what "Jailer man, and sailor Sam" even meant. It was torture, and couldn't I do something? Well I did do something, and we'd best leave that outside on the mat.
Once Linda passed, I was inconsolable. I was a mess. It was then that I snapped. I hated Paul for who he was. I hated Paul for what he was. For what he'd done to her. For what he'd done to me. I would have revenge.
The Little Blue Man Group has sold more albums than The Singing Brakeman, The Blue Yodeler, The Kingston Five, and Roger Whitaker combined. We have dozens of female groupies in Camelot. Some are nice, some are are very nice, and some are simply ape shit crazy. Heather Mills is ape shit crazy.
Claiming a compassionate heart, she organized a 5K run to help children who'd lost limbs in Bosnian mine fields. All very well and good, except that the run was set up through a mine field. Carrying a flag stating "Less Is More," she hadn't gotten 10 yards when she stepped on a mine and lost her own leg. Now, forever known as the "One-Legged Mine Sweeper," Heather Mills is a whirling dirvish. She would do. She would do just fine.
Not 14 months after Linda was laid to rest, Sir Paul was knighted by the Queen in Buckingham Palace. All of England was a buzz. Not since Princess Diana was seen with an overweight Frenchman has the British commoner been so excited.
Once more the phone rang. It was Paul. "I'm being knighted, you've just got to come. ...Yes I wish she could have been here, but she's gone. ...Of course I'm lonely. ...Anyway, just come, and I'm told you're welcome to bring a date."
I did bring a date. A one-legged date. Once in the receiving line after the ceremony, I walked up to Sir McCartney. I offered my hand of congratulations and simply said, "Paul, I'd like you to meet Heather Mills."
About two months before he passed, I visited Bert (Jansch) in his Hightower flat. His wife of 30 years had recently left, and he was utterly devastated. Drinking heavily, I very nearly didn't recognize him.
Through the tears, he played and sang part of his latest work: "Hurricanes come and hurricanes go / But mostly I just love the way you blow."
"This one's for Dehlia," he said. Begging off, I let myself out.
Through the tears, he played and sang part of his latest work: "Hurricanes come and hurricanes go / But mostly I just love the way you blow."
"This one's for Dehlia," he said. Begging off, I let myself out.
Disco in the eighties was difficult. Not for the music, as much as a contentious legal battle with Geffen Records. It seems the High Court would eventually find that our album, "Weekend Night Sweats," was lifted from the Bee Gees' "Saturday Night Fever." We never quite got over that one.
And although it is true we were deeply hurt, I did not, as was widely reported, wish Barry Gibb ill health.
And although it is true we were deeply hurt, I did not, as was widely reported, wish Barry Gibb ill health.
My older sister Sarah was legally blind. Our family was poor, by Covington Downs standards, and we were forced to purchase a service dog who was also blind. It ended very badly, as one would imagine. Of course, this was the inspiration for the Little Blue Man Group ballad, "Train."