Once in a very great while, you meet somebody who is so outgoing, so friendly, so funny, warm and charming you feel as if you've known them forever.That's the way it was with Edward Joseph Mahoney, better known in rock 'n' roll circles as Eddie Money.
His first album had come out and he was heavy into doing all the promotion/publicity stuff that accompanies it. One of those gigs was a free, morning show at Santa Monica Community College, where he did a set at about 9 a.m.
I was set to do an interview afterward and we met up, along with Columbia Records publicist David Budge, at Harry's All-American Bar and Grill in Century City.
It was a pretty cool joint, a couple blocks from the record label office and a lot of interviews took place there.
The restaurant/bar had barely opened when we got there.
Eddie was all over the place, a ball of energy. His fingers tapped the table to an invisible beat rolling through his head, he was smiling, enjoying the life of newfound success.
"Can I bum a smoke?" he asked.
"Sure," I said.
Back then, of course, you could smoke in restaurants. And, like most of the other rock 'n' roll guys I met, none of them ever had their own cigarettes.
"So, we go into the studio...Bill Graham (the legendary rock 'n' roll concert promoter and manager who was handling Eddie's career) sets it up...Bill's a great guy...Know him? He likes the way I dance...Bill was a dancer, too, ya know?" Eddie begins. "Man, it was great. First thing we did was empty all the water out of the water coolers and fill 'em with Stolie and lemons."
Stolie?
Yeah, Stolie. It was short for Stolichnaya, a Russian vodka that was new to the market and sort of the mother's milk for that generation of rock stars.
"How long did the album take?" I asked.
"I dunno," he said. "We just kept goin' 'til it was done."
"Stolie, eh?" I asked.
"Yeah...Hey (he said summoning a waiter), a bottle a Stolie, 'kay?" he said.
Budge was driving Money around, so he took it easy on the vodka. Eddie and I, on the other hand, were sampling generously from the bottle.
"Yeah...I come from Brooklyn. My old man was a cop," he said. "I did it for awhile, but I gave it up. Wanted to do the music. Besides, I was always the first one over the wall, know what I mean? And they were always on me to get a haircut."
So, he moved to Berkeley, set up a band and started gigging the Bay Area, which was still a tough nut to crack, even in the late 1970s.
The bottle's about half empty -- or filled, depending on point of view -- and Eddie's in overdrive.
"They're playin' my record on the radio...I'm travelin' all over the country...singin' my songs...playin' my music...I got five girlfriends all across the country...and I'm gettin' paid for it," he says, arms flailing, eyes wide as he relates his transition from little dives and clubs to progressively bigger gigs.
The Stolie is cool and smooth -- over ice with a twist of lemon.
The stories get longer and louder.
"Got another smoke?" he asks.
"Sure, here you go," I said, passing him a Winston.
A woman at a nearby table waves her hand to clear the cloud of smoke, looks over and explains that we're being a "little too loud" for her liking.
"Hey, baby...it's rock 'n' roll...we're doin' an interview...Just havin' some fun," he says, trying to calm her a bit.
"Yeah? Who are you?" she shoots back icily in an obvious attempt at a putdown.
"Me? I'm Freddy Foodstamps...the next big thing...you'll love me," he says.
She turns away, shakes her head and cuts into a grilled something ion her plate as he goes on.
"Yeah...Bill's takin' me to Europe soon...introducin' me over there...should be a blast," he says. "They don't know me there yet, but they will."
There's maybe a quarter of the bottle remaining when a waiter comes over and starts whispering in Budge's ear. I'm not quite sure exactly what was said, but I got the impression we were about to be asked to leave. We'd been there about 90 minutes or so, had insulted at least one customer and were roaring about the volume of a 747 on takeoff.
Budge said something to the waiter who grudgingly nodded and went away. I think he reminded the guy how much money he and Columbia Records spent at his establishment and that it might not be good for business if we were tossed out. Although the publicist in Budge also knew that if we were, it would make for a decent note to send out to the media about his new client at the label. Either way, it works, right?
Bottle's empty. Stories continue. But, time is not on our side. Eddie's got other interviews to do. About time to go.
"Yeah...here's my phone number in Berkeley...that's where I live now," he says. "Got a little place over a store on the street there...my neighbors are all cool...my TV's hot, but I know a guy who can fix it if it breaks...but I'm not there much right now...Bill's takin' me to Europe to introduce me over there, ya know?"
So, we part, shake hands. A really great interview, even if my notes are a little bit scrawly and smudged with Stolie stains.
About a week later, my telelphone rings at work.
"Hey, Ed...just saw the story...thanks man...it was great...Bill likes it, too...We're goin' to Europe, ya know...Bill wants to get me known over there..." he says. "We're gonna take the story with us. This will help. Thanks, man."
But, before Europe, there are a couple other gigs coming up. He has a date opening for a beleaguered Foghat, which he blows away with his opening set, at The Forum. Then he has a date at Universal Amphitheatre, which was a very cool outdoors venue at the movie studio once upon a time, where he kicks some major ass. The next day, Graham had booked him as one of the acts on a big stadium show at the Oakland Coliseum, headlined by the Rolling Stones.
Now Graham, the wizard promoter that he was, worked it out with Stones manager Peter Rudge to have Eddie come out and jam on saxophone on a couple songs with the band during the stadium gig.
"Awwww, man!" Eddie said later. "I was up there with the Stones! It was unreal, man!"
Like a lot of guys from that era, he had his share of addiction problems, but has pulled through.
He's married with five kids, including a daughter who sings backup for him now.
But, he's still gigging.
Of course he is.
He's a survivor, a tough-as-nails kid born in Brooklyn and raised on the streets of New York.
And, even though it might take him a little longer to climb the fee, I'll bet he's still the first one over it.
