I posted a salute to David Cassidy on his birthday a while back, and there was more response to it than I expected. I hadn't thought there would be that much overlap between Neil's fan base and David's, but what do I know? I just play piano here. My motto is "give 'em what they want," so here I an item from the Chronicles, published in the PBI during a tour of England in 2008.
In his heyday, David Cassidy was a much bigger star in England than in America. He set attendance records at Wembley surpassing those of the Beatles and Rolling Stones, even though the Partridge Family series had not yet aired in the UK.
Several years ago, Mr. Cassidy wrote a tell-all autobiography for the UK entitled C’mon Get Happy, which included this interesting comment about his band, and the way he claims they got happy:
“The musicians could be really great at home, but as soon as they walked through the airport metal detectors, they’d turn into animals. I’d watch their behavior go from ‘Bye, honey’...to sitting in some hotel room...with peanut butter on their (private parts).”
Actually, most of the fun seemed to be had not by his band but rather by Mr. Cassidy himself, at least during my brief stay on his tour, and bassist Reinie Press's stay, for that matter, but what do we know? I also notice that Ron Tutt's name is found in the book, but with no mention of peanut butter at all—it was only in reference to Ron's having drummed on David's recording of "Fever."
As far our tour is concerned, let me say this: since I personally consumed many sandwiches utilizing the ample supply of peanut butter always found in Diamondville Hospitality Suites, I assume and profoundly hope and pray that that peanut butter was only used in manner intended by the Sunpat company (the only peanut butter available there), and not in any manner referred to in David Cassidy's book.
But the reason for my harping on this is that Mr. Cassidy subsequently published a SECOND autobiography in England, which one would hope would clear up any inaccurate peanut butter references in his FIRST autobiography. (It's unfortunate that the title "I Led Three Lives" had already been used, else David might have been able to complete an autobiographical trilogy.)
His second work was titled Could it be Forever? Without any spoilers, I can assure you that the answer would be "no."
Here is the money quote from volume two:
When the (Madison Square Garden) concert was finished, I ran off the stage and two burly security men wrapped me in an army blanket and threw me in the trunk of a Toyota. They sent limousines out which fans followed, while the Toyota headed off, unnoticed, in another direction. By the time the fans realised they'd been tricked, it was too late; I was gone.
About four blocks later, we stopped. I hopped out of the trunk and got into the back seat. All the hotels in Manhattan were swarming with fans looking for me; none of the good hotels in Manhattan would take me any more, although my band still stayed in them. I, on the other hand, was driven instead to some dump out in Queens, a cheap motel, where a room had been reserved for me under an alias. Fifteen minutes after starring in the most publicised concert in the world, I was dropped off—still wearing my white jumpsuit, which was drenched in sweat—at a shabby motel. I didn't know where I was. I had no money and no clothes except for what I was wearing. I stayed in the bathtub for an hour and a half, alone. I waited for someone to call or come and get me. I didn't know where anybody was. I understood why Marilyn Monroe couldn't get a date on Saturday nights. I lay there and thought, What am I doing this for?
I rhetorically am replying "David! What about the smiling faces? What about the spiritual journey? How about hiring a better road manager?"
Once, after a show at the Merriweather Post Pavilion, near Cleveland, I commented to Mr. Cassidy, "David, there wasn't a dry seat in the house tonight."
Coincidentally, I was able to use the exact same line on one of our tours, following a totally rain-soaked performance outdoors at Hampden Road in Glasgow.