This week’s instalment is, again, from the early Seventies. An old bandmate comes to visit, and gets introduced to Canyon life…

Stan the man. I haven’t thought of him in a long time. He was Lickety Split’s drummer, and also their fixer, a bit older than the rest of them, the guy that held it all together on and off stage. If there had been mobile phones in those days, he’d always have been on one. As it was, he was always in phone boxes, arranging the next gig. The others used to call him SuperStan, as in, “Hey, SuperStan! How are you no’ wearing your underpants outside your trousers?”

No wonder he fell out with the new management regime of bloodsuckers that moved in after the hit single. He was an unpaid manager before then, really. There was some bloke called Billy G, but he was always pissed.

Anyway. There he was, on my doorstep in L.A., looking off back down the track when I opened the door.

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