It's impossible to be a classic rock fan and not know these women by name. Pamela Des Barres has made a literary career out of writing five books worth of sexploits involving the likes of Jimmy Page, Mick Jagger, Keith Moon and many more musicians from the 60s and 70s.
Cynthia Plaster Caster is legendary for collecting plaster molds of rock star cocks such as Jimi Hendrix and Wayne Kramer of The MC5. She even inspired one of my favorite KISS songs, "Plaster Caster". Everyone needs an angle in showbiz and Cynthia definitely found hers and has been, uh, milking it for all it's worth.
Sweet Connie Hamzy is immortalized in the Grand Funk Railroad song "We're An American Band" and has seemingly fucked more musicians than Napster. Seriously, my brain was melting after her recent interview on Howard Stern. This woman dropped more names than a crackhead cutting a plea-bargain with a vice cop. Connie is one of those groupies who apparently has no quality control meter in her head, just a lot of rock star/road crew/event staff spunk.
The two surprises in the film were Tura Satana, an old flame of Elvis Presley who went on to cult movie immortality in Faster Pussycat! Kill! Kill! and Cassandra Peterson, who had flings with Tom Jones, Elvis and Jimi Hendrix and then went on to TV immortality as Elvira-Mistress Of The Dark. For some reason, these two women didn't come off quite as desperate for attention to me as the others. Maybe because they were too realistic about their careers and their future endeavors to think that anything serious was to happen between their dalliances. I guess they just chalked it up to being in the right place at the right time and don't try to convince the audience (or themselves) that they were muses involved in some spiritual meeting of divine souls, which, rather pathetically, is something the other girls seem to revel in.
What I came away with from this documentary was sadness for these women more than anything. The majority of the interviewees seem to suffer from delusions of grandeur. They genuinely believe four decades after their affairs in the drug-fueled world of Seventies arena rock that they were important contributing factors to the bands' creativity. Yet, if that were true, why were these relationships so fleeting and seemingly without any lasting commitment from the men? Were any of these women ever invited to the musicians' actual homes and included in their "normal" lives with family and friends? What was the appeal of jumping from one tour bus to another assuming this would lead to stability and yet never realistically pursuing it?
I felt particularly sad for Connie,a woman in her mid-fifties who lives alone in a house cluttered with posters and memorabilia of every musician she has had sex with. Trust me, she has so many souvenirs she could be on a rock and roll episode of "Hoarders". And I get the feeling she is not singular in this aspect. I deeply suspect there are thousands more like her in complete denial or utter disbelief that they will end up like lonely old spinsters from the Free Love generation.
In the interest of full disclosure, I have in-laws and close friends in the music business. A handful of them spend their lives in constant motion encased in a crypt on a tour bus (if they are lucky, a car if they aren't)nearly twenty two hours a day for months at a time. It's not that glamorous.
Neither is hanging out backstage. I've done it a lot. It's fucking boring. You are forced to sit on a smelly couch in a smelly closet next to smelly people with little or no food, drinks or entertainment. Like a road trip with your parents to Walley World in 1981. I swear to God for years I've been plotting a lawsuit against Motley Crue for false advertising in their music videos.
Yet this is the life that was chosen by them and I can say the same for the groupies, past and present, young and old. I genuinely try not to come off as judgmental and sanctimonious on this subject. I truly love musicians and their work and understand the personal sacrifice that goes into that job day and night. But, I guess, from my perspective, I don't see the glamour and prestige and the magic that typical fans see when a live band plays a song they love.I'm almost jealous of them for that. I still get the hair on my arms standing up now and then, but it's in the subtle things now, like a wink or a nod between members when a bum note slips out,or when a song gets an unexpectedly huge reaction, or maybe even no reaction at all.
It's in that moment that I feel like I'm involved with the band personally. I'm just so eternally grateful this moment of clarity occurs from the comfort of my seat and not the caps of my knees.
You're trying not to come across as judgmental?
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