The musician. The dreamer. Will he make it to the top? Or will he fly too close to the sun?
The singer. The screamer. The man with those “James Brown” moves. He lays it all on the line. Will it work out?
The drummer. The scribe. The heart and soul. The passion. Can he keep the beat even when things are all going wrong?
The band. The little group of musicians who could. Eddie kickin’ and screamin’. Rusty keeping the train going. How exactly does a number one hit get made?
The United States. California. Hollywood. The Sunset Strip. Gazzarri’s. The place to be.
Jim Morrison. Frank Zappa. Keith Richards. Mick Jagger. Paul Newman. Milton Berle. Wolfman Jack.
“It’s this generation’s American Graffiti — it’s Happy Days slammed into Resurrection Boulevard.”
Producer & Owner at the Marcelli Company in Hollywood, CA
Sometimes my life feels like a dream. I’ve done so much, seen so much. Did all that really happen?
I know it did, but sometimes I just want to think back and make sense of it all.
And so I remember…