Dear Mr. Holt, from The Climax Blues Band,
I must admit it got the best of me from the start of Steve Wright all the way through to ''Serious Jocking'', and time was drifting, but I feel that I have got to the bottom of why you couldn’t get it right you couldn’t get ''ri ...i ...ight''.
Firstly, unless I have not understood correctly, it would appear that at the time you hit the road and made your getaway you were a bit under the weather, very fidgety, and sufferng from a presumably rare strain of Californian pyrexia.
I travel a lot on the M4 to see my son in Wiltshire, my sad delta music crescendo-monickered friend, and can categorically assure you that all junction indicators are not self-illuminatory, but are instead layered with encapsulated lens sheeting which bends and returns all beams back towards their original source.
It therefore stands to reason that in your state of disorientation, bought on by L.A. Fever and a restless feeling, you kept on looking for a sign in the middle of the night to take you through the night but couldn't see the light simply because you have neglected to turn yours on after starting up your vehicle.
I started searching for a better way to bring this very obvious solution to your attention, my maudlin twelve bar pinnacle homaging reader, but similarly to yourself, have sadly been unable to do so correctly.
Dear Mr Philpott,
Well I woke up this Mornin’ and found your letter claiming to have gotten to the bottom of why we ‘Couldn’t Get It Right’. Well let me put you right; ''This Rock had got to roll'' and in doing so rolled around the world in a rather small and uncomfortable van.
Trundling daily across countries in order to entertain the fans of our music we eventually found ourselves amidst the vastness of the continent of The USA and this is proof in itself that we indeed made our getaway. In New York City for instance such was the hospitality, we almost died; imagine being dropped off at a gig in a limousine only to be left alone afterwards in the early hours to catch a yellow cab back to the hotel. We were left stranded; that neglect took away our pride.
Our excursions across North America eventually had us arrive at The Whisky a Go Go on Sunset Boulevard in LA where I believe we caught our fever, a dark and dingy little club with wall to wall freaks who offered every kind of mind altering mixtures and potions, a den of iniquity that was thoroughly enjoyed I might say, However when it got to loading up the van with our gear, we were all flying and looking forward to finding our night's bed and breakfast. This was to be in the town of Phoenix, yes! the one in Arizona, Such was our itinerary of an agent who I believe used a dartboard to source our gigs.
So with lights fully illuminated and a full tank of gas we set off down a dark and dusty road on a very Stormy Monday in search of the great city in the Arizona desert.
Now after a good four hours sitting on our arses listening to Joe Walsh, driving in the middleo f the night and lost, we decided to try and find any hotel/motel to rest our weary chemically enhanced heads. We saw an Illuminated sign Further on up the road; it was a Holiday Inn, it was the sign in the middle of the night we were looking for, but it was on the other side of the five-laned Interstate, rather larger than the M4 by the way. We got off at the next available exit, Went down to the Crossroads and tried to do a u turn, but we ended up Rollin’ and a Tumblin’ away from the sign, we just tried and tried to make the hotel but we couldn’t see the light, in fact every turn we made was wrong , we just couldn’t get it right, Our LA fever was affecting our Sense of Direction , decisions as to which turn to make caused confusion amongst us all, we got down so deep we almost drowned, so we tried to make another getaway On the road again, eventually realizing we were low on gas and lost in the darkest Arizona desert and with restless feelings it felt safer to stay put until daylight come and we want to go home.
This was pre- mobile phone era, so we stopped and spent the night on the side of the road contemplating the Phoenix gig that night and our next massive drive to Sweet Home Chicago, I should have been a road sweeper I thought, all I had to do was Dust My Broom and the Thrill had gone anyway, Oh Well its a memory I’ll never forget.
Couldn’t Get It Right ? you’re right, Steve’s Right, we couldn’t! Must have Been Born under a Bad Sign.
Hoochie Coochie Holt