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| Monkey Woman |
I found in the Observer review of Howling At The Moon (the Walter Yetnikoff autobiog') this other crazy story:
"Within a few years, he was... wooing such groups as the Rolling Stones to his label, after a race with Mick Jagger to see who could first calculate French VAT rates on the back of two cocktail mats. (Yetnikoff lost, but the Stones still signed.)"
http://observer.guardian.co.uk/review/story/0,6903,1163724,00.html
Winning a VAT rates calculation race on cocktail mats! You gotta love Mick!!! 
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| Monkey Woman |
According to Sundevil at Shidoobee, who's read the book, there's only a few Stones-related stories in Howling At The Moon, but here's two from the 1st chapter:
http://www.thebookplace.com/bookends/be_fiction_howlingatthemoon.asp?TAG=&CID=
"I hung up and looked over my littered desk - memos, calls-to-return slips, copies of the soon-to-be-released Rolling Stones CD, Steel Wheels, reminders that Jagger was looking for me. Jagger could wait.
Mick required far less hand-holding than Michael [Jackson]. Signing the Stones, though, had required a full frontal assault worthy of General Patton, one of my heroes. The final battle exploded at the Ritz Hotel in Paris back in '83. After months of relentless pursuit, I had them. All they had to do was sign when suddenly at 3 A.M. Mick goes mental and calls me a 'stupid motherfuckin' record executive.' I lose it. I reach for his throat. I have a vision of punching out all ninety-eight pounds of him. I stop myself, envisioning tomorrow's headline - 'Yetnikoff Kills Jagger.' Jagger relents, signs and from then on it's wine and roses. It was Mick - wily and witty Mick - who later that year plotted with my girlfriend, the one called Boom Boom, to throw me a surprise fiftieth birthday bash where Henny Youngman emceed and Jon Peters, Barbra Streisand's boyfriend and my pussy-chasing buddy, made his famous claim as the man who brought the fine art of cunnilingus to California."
  
More of the same:
"'You got a half hour to get to your doctor's,' Eileen replied, ignoring my shtick, 'but you better talk to Jagger first. He's furious.'
'Why?'
'You never returned his call.'
'He's under contract. He can wait.'
'Alright. When you get back, it's Jagger, then California, then Japan. You promised Mike Ovitz you'd get to him today.'
[...]
'Listen here, mate,' said Mick, 'when I signed with you it's because I wanted your personal attention. You bloody well promised I'd have it. Well, calling you for two days without hearing back is hardly personal attention. I haven't seen a promo budget on Steel Wheels and ...'
'Mick, I've got a few problems.'
'You're paid a fortune to solve problems. I'm hardly sympathetic. You still haven't given Keith enough attention.'
'Keith Richards gives a shit about me?'
'There's not an artist anywhere who doesn't want attention from the label boss. Besides, Keith still sees you as my man. Now he needs to see you as his man.'
'Fine. Tell Keith I'll come to his house and listen to blues records all night. We'll have a pajama party.'
'You're joking, but that's the right idea. That's what Ahmet did.'
'Ahmet would strip naked and jump into the Seine if you said so. Ahmet had his nose so far up your tushy he couldn't breathe.'
'Ahmet has genius. You don't understand him.'
'You don't understand me. We need to talk another time.'
'Now's the only time. The street date is less than a month off. I haven't seen a promo budget.'
'You've seen the ads. They're beautiful.'
'But how much bloody money are you putting into the ads?'
'A fortune. Such a fortune that the Japs are calling me crazy.'
'Crazy like a fox. You're the guy who got me to write that lousy song for that lousy movie you produced. I can't even remember the name.'
'Ruthless People.'
'It was a clunker.'
'It made money.'
'Everything you promote makes money. You're the greatest promoter since Colonel Parker.'
'Does that make you Elvis?'
'I hope to Christ not. Elvis was a financial moron.'
'I wish I had a few morons like him on my label.'
'So you could fuck them out of royalties?'
'So they wouldn't fuck me, like you do, with your London School of Economics education.'
'This is a brilliant conversation, Walter, but I still don't know the size of the budget.'
'Same as the size of my dick, Mick. The more excited I get, the bigger it gets.'
'I want you excited, I want that giant CBS cock up the arse of every radio station and record chain in every major market around the world.'
'I'm asking you, Mick, to defer this conversation. I'm not feeling so good.'
'Am I to feel sorry for you?'
'If I told you my liver's about to blow, would that elicit sympathy?'
'I presume you're kidding.'
'Wish I were.'
'Dear God, Walter,' said Mick, his tone suddenly changing, 'you best take care. I know doctors in Switzerland who perform miracles. They brought Keith back from the dead.'
'I'm not quite dead yet, but close.'
'Let me know if you need names. I'll do anything I can.'
The Jagger conversation did me good. Banter always did me good. I got turned on by the sound of my own bullshit. I felt my bravura coming back. I wanted a drink, but hesitated. What about pot? The doctor said nothing about pot. Pot takes off the pressure. I found a joint stashed in the top drawer of my desk and lit up. Felt better immediately. Fear started to subside."
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| Monkey Woman |
More Yetnikoff gossip (extract from the book):
" One of my first meetings with Jagger had been in a swanky Parisian restaurant ordering wine that cost more than the GNP of certain countries. We were both bombed, or at least I was. You could never tell with Mick. He liked to give the impression of inebriation while retaining control.
I'd flown over as part as my relentless campaign to sign the Stones. It amused Mick to see record execs chasing his skinny ass around the world. He was a skilled negotiator who never lost sight of his advantage as a pop icon. His image as the prancing prince of rock belied the side of his character that had seriously studied economics. When it came to numbers, Mick was sober as St Augustine.
After the caviar, truffles, escargots and wine, we were onto the brandy.
"You have a reputation, Walter," said Mick, "as being King of Contracts. They say you can read a 50-page legal document in five minutes and know exactly what's right and what's wrong. Is that true, mate?" "I can speed-read."
"And what about foreign royalty rates? Do you understand them?" "It's my job."
"And what about the value added tax in France?" "It's a bit tricky."
"Shall we have a go at it? Let's set up a scenario. Let's presume a certain royalty rate and a certain number of albums sold. From there we'll calculate the Vat in France. Are you game?" What could I say? This was my territory. I had to take him on. We both began scribbling on our cocktail napkins. Two minutes later he had an accurate reading of the French tax while I was still fumbling. He grinned. "You need a bloody bookkeeper, Walter."
"You're hired," I said. "
http://www.themusic.com.au/howling/index.php+mick+jagger+walter+yetnikoff&hl=fr&ie=UTF-8 |
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| glencar |
Yetnikoff seems to have a photographic emory for 15 year old phone conversations. You'd think all that cocaine & vodka would've killed a few cells. |
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| MrPleasant |
quote:
glencar wrote:
Yetnikoff seems to have a photographic emory for 15 year old phone conversations. You'd think all that cocaine & vodka would've killed a few cells.
Never underestimate the pow-pow-pow-pow-power of positive
the pow-pow-pow-pow-power of positive drinking
Some people ruin their drinks with ice
and then they, they ask you for advice
They tell you, I've never told anyone else before
And then some people drink to unleash their libidos
and other people drink to prop up their egos
It's my burdon, man, people say
I have the kind of face you can trust
And some say liquor kills the cells in your head
and for that matter so does getting out of bed
When I exit, I'll go out gracefully, shot in my hand
The pow-pow-pow-pow-power of positive drinking
The pow-pow-pow-pow-power of positive
The pow-pow-pow-pow-power of positive
the pow-pow-pow-pow-power of positive
the pow-pow-pow-pow-power of positive drinking
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| Monkey Woman |
Let's say it's probably more "creative memory" than "photographic". Se non e vero, e ben trovato as the Italians say. If it's not strictly true, it's well told. |
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