ELP's Media Rep suffers Blunders

Welcome back my friends to the chaos that never ends. In this second entry of a three part posting on Progressive Rock's Emerson, Lake and Palmer (see previous posting; ELP lands in the U.S), let us return to my nightmare of blunders.

Before you can run a record up the charts there must be ground breaking activity consisting of individual sources believing in it's potential. The prescribed formula for chart success consists of putting together a team of enthusiastic media people combined with the support of key radio stations. This integration of activities can snowball into key momentum thus resulting in a regional chart breakout. Or at least that's the job they were paying me to perform. As an up-and-coming promo notable and after having been associated with the development of several groups, I was seeking to rise above mediocrity and move from lightweight status and elevate to a heavyweight contender. And this was my opportunity and I planned to make the most of it.
Following my results of an uneventful media reception in Shreveport, by now I'd been thrown into ELP's doghouse. But there was no dwelling in yesterday because at sunrise we were off again and flying to Birmingham, Ala. for the next concert. After arriving and checking-in the hotel, I managed to arrange a telephone interview with WSGN Radio. Of course I didn't tell band members the interview was to be replayed later on Sunday morning's special programming. Not necessarily considered your prime time for rock listeners. But with all things considered, this was their first U.S. release and their first U.S. tour. At the time, this interview was an small accomplishment but later considered a huge opening into their future.

In Birmingham the afternoon passed quickly and at 4 o'clock we departed the hotel for a sound check rehearsal that proceeded smoothly. After that, we returned to the hotel for dinner where I dined with drummer Carl Palmer. He was no doubt the friendliest member of the group and I found him to be very pleasant and congenial. At dinner we chatted briefly when he informed me that he too was a Pisces, something we both had in common. During our conversation Palmer discussed his experiences as the drummer with The Crazy World of Arthur Brown and The Atomic Rooster. Both groups had received some American radio airplay and were somewhat familiar amongst US audiences. After dining, I was exhausted from a hectic travel schedule and returned to my hotel room. I was hoping to catch a brief nap before the concert and laid down and fell asleep. That's when I woke-up three hours later and discovered I'd slept thru the entire concert. At this point, I was in a heap-of-trouble. It's very safe to assume that I wasn't stockpiling any popularity points with Emerson, Lake and Palmer.

Later that evening, I didn't dare venture out of my hotel room or into the lobby bar fearing I might run into band members. Needless to say, I was too embarrassed to show my face. But the next day and by some unusual and unexplained circumstance, the road manager informed me that he had a message from bandleader Greg Lake. Gulp! I took a deep breath and listened carefully. He said, "Greg isn't mad at you for not attending the concert last night and realizes your time is very important." He continued, "You're not expected to be everywhere the band goes and he understands that Atlantic Records has many groups and you're probably very busy." Was I hearing him correctly? Does this mean there won't be any complaint calls to my home office? Apparently so, and without offering an explanation in my defense, I smiled and boarded our plane to Memphis for the next gig. Sometimes saying nothing is the best thing to do.

Circumstances began to change in Memphis where I'd made advance preparations to cater to every whim of the band. First, there were the unique arraignments made with First Tennessee Bank to post a greeting to the band on their giant billboard sign at the entrance gate to the city. As we departed the airport in the limo and approached the billboard stating, "Welcome to Memphis - Emerson, Lake and Palmer," band members began to smile with approval. Plus, local radio station, WMC-FM 100 began programming the track "Lucky Man" at that very same moment and suddenly my report card went from an F to a C minus.

Later that evening I hosted a party for the band in the luxury suite at the Rivermont Hotel. The gala event was attended by all media members that included all radio and retail heavies, newspaper journalist, plus an impressive mix of local celebrities. The suite was located on the hotel's top floor which included a grand piano and perfect for entertaining. The vibe was ideal for a gathering of Rock's elite. When the super-trio arrived at the party, every one gathered for introductions. But that's when the party started to get wacky. Keith Emerson, apparently irritated and suffering from eye allergies, refused to sit at the piano and play because of his circumstances. This created confusion to onlookers. As he turned and walked away, suddenly Keith Emerson approached his road manager and began an expletive laden tantrum for not arranging to have a piano staged in his room also.

If that wasn't enough drama for the evening, picture this; In the center of the suite was a large coffee table. Upon that table someone had served-up a healthy amount of cocaine into an empty ashtray. The party favors were placed there by a guest and offered for all attendees to partake. As people began gathering around the table and without observing the goodies placed in the ash tray, I promptly put-out my cigarette into it's bowl and proceeded to dump the entire contents into the trash. At that moment, several guest began to howl with disapproval and serve-up a few choice words for my dimwit blunder. It was the beginning of a long night.

Well, "from the beginning" I'd felt like a "nutrocker" plus it appeared I was always under the "knife edge" from my "trilogy" of mistakes. It appeared there'd be no "hoedown" for me and I guess you could "c' est la vie" to this "lucky man." I just wanted to apologize to band and say, "Still...you turn me on."

Keith Emerson photo by Jorgen Angel

Emerson, Lake and Palmer land in the U.S.

Keyboardist Keith Emerson of ELP playing a analog synthesizer.

It seemed like only yesterday when my ears were still ringing from an exhausting 10-day concert tour with YES. The year was 1971 when early one morning my phone rang with a new assignment. As I glanced at the alarm clock and sat-up in bed while searching for paper and pen, the instructions began. Only this time, it was my itinerary for touring with an untested new band on the release of their debut album. I was told it was for a group who were the opening act for tour headliners Uriah Heep and Wishbone Ash. I listened carefully to the name of the band I was to represent, when told it was Emerson, Lake and Palmer. Hmm… It didn’t seem to beckon as a sellout concert and sounded like a yawner to me. But little did I know what was on the horizon. Actually there was something very important developing here whereas I was informed of the band’s manager, Dee Anthony, who was also Peter Frampton’s personal manager. He was one of the most powerful managers in the business plus he had the reputation of being a notorious fire-breathing dragon. As the story continues, Peter Frampton was riding the album charts at the time with his A&M Records blockbuster “Frampton Comes Alive” and manager Dee Anthony had established enormous creditability from the success of this multi-Platinum album. So, as you might have guessed, that was about the time when Anthony stormed into the Atlantic Records offices in New York and demanded the record label promote his new group Emerson, Lake and Palmer with the same marketing muscle that had been assigned to Atlantic’s latest super group, YES. And with the phone still stuck-in my ear and listening to my instructions, I could feel the tension in my manager’s voice. There’s only one way to respond when staunch directions comes to you from the home office in New York, you simply roll-up your sleeves and pack your bags.

On the airplane in route to meet the band in Shreveport, Louisiana, I put-on my headset to my cassette player and listened to an advanced copy of their self-titled album, “Emerson, Lake and Palmer.” I scanned through their media kit biographies while hearing familiar sounds on their tape similar to King Crimson. When I turned-up the volume, a powerful ballad accompanied with tasteful keyboards caught my attention. The song was titled “Lucky Man” and soon to be released as their single. I thought to myself…this is going to be very interesting. By the time the plane had landed, I thought my I'd done my homework.

After arriving in Shreveport and making several calls, radio stations KEEL-AM and KWKH-FM weren’t overly excited to interview the band or meet with the trio. They felt a gathering wasn’t necessary being they were newcomers and without a hit record. Plus, the entertainment writer from the daily newspaper was unavailable while covering an assignment with the local rodeo. This awkward media snubbing didn’t do much for my creditability. Especially when I downplayed the situation and offered the excuse, “Hey guys, you got to remember, we’re only in Shreveport.” Big mistake. Strike One.

This absence of interviews left tensions between us whereas our first day was entirely without appointments. Yet I made the most of it by becoming the desiginated entertainment director. But after becoming bored by spending most of our afternoon stuffing quarters into the vibrating hotel beds, I decided we should venture out the hotel to get a beer and catch some entertainment. Problem was however, Shreveport was located in a dry-county and didn’t allow the serving of alcohol. Dang. There we were with a thirst for action and stuck in the middle of Podunk. So, we decided to depart the hotel in search of reality. But when departing the lobby, that’s when the band immediately stopped in their tracks. Vocalist Greg Lake glanced around the parking lot and asked, "Where's the Limousine?" That's when I confessed that I hadn’t made arrangements to have a limousine escort us. Only my rental Ford sedan. Strike two.

Across the river and only a short distance away lies Louisiana’s version of Sin City, Bossier City. Located there on the main strip were wall-to-wall nightclubs. We popped-in a local hot spot only to find the club almost empty except for a few traveling salesmen. Sitting in the corner of the room and mounted on a small stage was a piano player singing tunes of yesteryear. Somehow he noticed four newcomers with long hair entering the bar when he leaned into his microphone and asked, “Yall in a band?” “Wanna’ come-up and play?” Foolishly, and after breezing through my media kit earlier in the day and while still trying to memorize individual’s member’s first names, I looked over to Keith Emerson and asked, “Hey Greg, you want to go up and play?” His face turned angry red, as he responded, “My name’s not Greg, I’m Keith Emerson.” Opps, Strike Three.

The following morning a complaint phone call was placed on my behalf to the Atlantic office in New York. Strangely enough, I was not reprimanded for my day of chaos. But instead I was reminded that I still had another 2 weeks on the road with the band. I was starting to sweat bullets. Stay tuned.