Big Stars, Ordinary Situations!

I've met a lot, but the most ordinary one was when I saw Harrison Ford. He was buying a fake wallet off a street vendor. I didn't say hi but I thought, "Lord, he could afford a real one, couldn't he?"

I will always believe that I saw Izzy Stradlin riding on a bicycle down the Uxbridge Road. I saw A-Ha waving to their fans once. I definetely saw Vic Reeves in Ealing coming out of HMV and getting into a car with darkened windows. My friend thought he saw J. Mascis sitting on a bench once. Another friend has spotted Mark Morris (I think that's his name) from the Bluetones in the supermarket a few times.

What's a "fake" wallet, Ally? Just like a brown slab, that you can't even open up, and has no pockets?

(*LOL*)

Perhaps Harrison Ford was just buying the replica wallet to terminate it.

Happened just on Friday, actually: In a nutshell, I've been trying to worm my way into being able to contribute to TIME (where I work as a News Desk editor) for a while now. Some friends on the "inside," so to speak, recommended that I try for the NOTEBOOK section, which is the 4-5 page section in the front filled with little news items and "milestones," etc. So, two weeks ago I went to the Notebook meeting, and felt like the red-headed step- child with an extra chromosone, as it was a very cliquey and competitive vibe. Demoralized but undaunted, I went again at the beginning of last week to try again. As fate would have it, Joey Ramone had passed away the previous Sunday. The first thing discussed at the Notebook meeting was the idea of getting someone of note to write a eulogy for him. Now, 'punk rock' being one of the ONLY areas of arguable expertise I can claim to have, my ears perked up. Names were bandied about. I chimed in saying, "well, howabout Bono?," which was met with largely blank stares. As I duly informed them, despite preconceptions to the contrary, Bono is a huge Ramones fan, and had been playing "I Remember You" (from the Ramones' LEAVE HOME album) live and had called Joey at the hospital, etc. etc.. So, they said, "well, if you can swing it, take care of it, but have someone else if you don't get him. So, I was off and running.

I had calls out to Springsteen (who said no), Lou Reed (who mulled it over, then said no), David Byrne (who said no, very late), and Stephen King (another big unlikely Ramones fan, who told me "no," while I was busy transcribing Bono's stuff). Names that were vetoed for being "too obscure": Joe Strummer (!!!), Dave Grohl (too obscure? He was on fuckin' Letterman!).

In any event, the rest of the week was a hellish miasma of phone calls to passively cooperative publicists and WAITING. At the *LAST POSSIBLE MOMENT* I got a call from the man, who proved to be thoughtful, talkative, apologetic, gracious, and a real gent. I only needed 250 words, but he's a talker....so he gave me upwards of 1,600. Most of which shan't see the light of day. Check out the edited version of the eulogy on page 30 of the stateside edition (with "smartkids" on the cover), or check out the longer version here:

http://www.time.com/time/sampler/article/0,8599,107223,00.html

My favourite star encounters are the ones where the star behaves exactly like you'd expect. My best one was Nick Cave, who acted like Nick Cave to the extent of taking the piss when he came into the bookshop one day. He came up to the counter. Hold on I thought, you look a bit like Nick Cave.

"Have you got any true crime books?" he said. I pointed him in the right direction.

My co-worker whispered to me, that's Nick Cave. I thought it was, I said. Nick found a true crime book for 50p, came back, looked very serious.

"Have you got any Bibles?"

As a young lad, coming home from school one afternoon and about to cross the road (The Avenue, London SW4), I looked up and was astonished to see a white Rolls Royce stopped a few feet away from me with Marc Bolan at the wheel, accompanied by Gloria Jones (or it may have been the other way around...but whatever it really made an impression on me).

More mundanely, I once sold a soft porn magazine to Phil Oakey while working in a newsagent in Bayswater.

And finally, while eating an ice-cream at a garden centre in Alexandra Palace a few years ago, it dawned on me after about five minutes that the nondescript looking woman at an adjacent table was Louise Wener of Sleeper.

I, what's the word, *encountered* London-mayoral loser Frank Dobson and Tom Hanks on Hampstead Heath last summer. It's fun to tell this story as if it was some kind of megastar cottaging three-way (esp. to those who know this park for its superior cruising facilities) but actually it was on different parts of the heath, though only minutes apart, and no bodily fluids (or even bored glances) were exchanged. It was just a nice day for a walk.

On leave from the army, at Cecil Sharp House in the summer of 1969, I was researching a few folk dances for the annual village carnival in Hindhead. Imagine my shock when a group of rather scruffy-looking young hippies came in to do some research. Can't remember the name now. It'll come to me. There was a young cove by name of Hutchings who seemed quite settled in the head - he later recorded a rather charming version of "Sir Roger de Coverley", I recall - but it became clear that these people did not appreciate our beautiful folk tradition, rather they were in it only to make some money in the "pop" business. When another young man - name of Thompson, I think - mentioned their fondness for the songs of Bob Dylan, I was already distressed, and when the woman among this group - name of Denny, I recall - mentioned that they had recorded one of his songs in French, I became deeply disturbed. Really! How dare these people appropriate a song as beautiful as "The Lark In The Morning" when they could combine a dishevelled, tuneless "protest" singer with the language of the shiftiest, least trustworthy people in Europe? I was shocked to the core. That moment still lives with me, and there are many people I instinctively dislike and suspect because of it.

These are the only famous people in the "pop" world I have met. Thank you for reading this reminiscence. I hope it did not sound too old-fashioned.

I must now go to bed. I have a meeting with the new young people's group - Youth In Support Of Hunting (YISH) tomorrow morning. Perhaps some of you are members, or are at least aware of it?

I ran into Edwyn Collins in a lobby when he was in town on tour.

I did say hi and complimented him on his album at the time (Gorgeous George -- not actually a favorite but since I have a big soft spot for Orange Juice I thought I would say something nice). Cottoning on that I was a fan, he asked if I was going to the show that night. It seemed impolite to give an honest answer, so I lied and said of course.

In a non pop related sighting (since Ally brought up Harrison), I saw Jerry Seinfeld when I was in LA. He just seemed like one of those obnoxious LA morons because he was showing off his blue porsche to some pony-tail man. Gross.

Sometimes it seems like every street in New York is a set. I passed Jeff Goldblum the other day in SoHo. It was kind of 'so what?' He was very tall, and gave me a quizzical look. But my heart still skips a beat when I meet people whose work I've admired. Recently, David Byrne and Blonde Redhead, for instance.

Alleged Gallery in the Meatpacking District is a good place for starspotting. Recently they had a show by Susan Cianciolo called Run Restaurant; a sort of childish Japanese cafe made of flimsy plywood.I was having lunch there with Claudia of the Magnetic Fields, and in walked Bjork. (Like all famous people she looked like a slightly older, more paranoid version of herself.)

A couple of minutes later I was in the gallery bookstore showing Claudia Index magazine, telling her how embarrassed my girlfriend was that her breasts looked so big in the photos they'd run of us, and I suddenly realised that the big bald guy next to me was Michael Stipe.

If a bomb had gone off, what a tragedy for modern art!

Is Stipe big? My impression was that he was fairly slight.

Encounters, encounters -- uh. Well, I was walking down Melrose for the first time in 1989 and my then-roommate and LA native was saying, "You have to get used to seeing famous people around." Two seconds later Ric Ocasek came dancing by me with a Super 8 camera and a friend filming something random before dashing down the street. I reflected upon on this later.

i walked by stipe in athens when patti smith was playing the forty watt. he wasn't any taller than me., although he was very hairy and frowny. as opposed to shiny and happy. then i went back to the comic store and heard many funny stories about him, including his preference for somewhat younger men, and the time in a bar a person who shall remain unnamed decided to send over a drink for him and a shirley temple for his date.

I was once standing outside the old Keith Prowse concert ticket shop at the top of Monmouth St. in central London, browsing the gig listings, when Jim and William Reid ambled up alongside me. I was a massive JAMC fan at the time (we're talking 'Never Understand' era), but I couldn't resist pointing out to the brothers that for one of their upcoming gigs the shop had 'em listed as 'Jesus And The Mary Chain'. They didn't see the funny side of it... And I once served Thurston Moore, who was looking for a first edition of 'High Fidelity' (are SY mentioned in it?) TM was one of the few 'famous' people (along with the afore-mentioned Nick Cave) who look just like their rock star image in the flesh. Thurston is a GIANT of a man, with just about the biggest hands I've ever seen. David Bowie, by contrast, is a real short-arse...

I went to see "Dumbo" at the Phoenix cinema* in Wallasey Village some time in the early 70s with my parents - on the row next to us were Paul and Linda McCartney and however many kids they had at the time (Stella, presumably?). What a Man Of The People, eh? Taking the little ones along to a Wirral fleapit when he could've just bought the print off Disney himself.

(* - closed in 1983 after failing to land "Return of the Jedi". Shame.)

I never tire of telling this story. Oh hang on - I just have.

I did get a few "famous" (well....) type folks coming in the record shop I worked it. Best was thurstom moore from snc yth, who bought a copy of "trout mask replica" and one of the kiss solo albums. He was quite pleasant Most mundane was the drummer & bassist from ride (I didn't recognise them - another customer pointed them out) Before I started work there, they'd had the smiths in, and johnny marr had spent a whole lot of money on who knows ehat. Apparently the store owner had been present, and hadn't wanted to take a cheque from marr.

A couple of months ago, I saw the old bass player from ultrasound sitting in the head of steam pub in newcastle. Does that count? No, thought not.

Oh, several close friends were at the o-arse-is gig at newcastle riverside where someone got up and punched noely g. they saw the band outside afterwards, and the way things transpired was NOT how it was presented in the press @ the time, I can tell you! x0x0x

there's something very reassuring about thurston moore buying 'trout mask replica'. and in public too! i dunno, i guess i always assumed he was born with it or something.

Perhjaps he liked it so much he was buying it twice?

IIRC, it was an oroginal pressing he was buying for one of his friends.

x0x0

My mother and I once ran into Tracy Chapman at the Minnesota Museum of American Art. That was odd, because I wanted to leave her alone but my mother insisted upon following her around past all of the exhibits. There are also pictures somewhere around the apartment of my wife and I with Bonnie Raitt and John Lithgow after an Arts First concert at Harvard. Perhaps the most amusing star-encounter story I've heard was from a friend who sang in the Glee Club who told me that Rivers Cuomo auditioned for most of the campus choirs and a capella groups, but didn't get into any of them. (This was, of course, right after everyone and their mother was singing "Buddy Holly".)

My wife has a very entertaining history of accidentally dissing famous people. The best story comes from her freshman year of college, where a young suitor from Dorchester took her out to a local nightclub to meet these five scruffy-looking friends of his. She was singularly unimpressed. One of the five off-handedly mentioned that they were a singing group. My wife said, "Really? I am a singer, too. What do you guys sing, pop, classical, or what?" The group became EXTREMELY miffed and stalked off while the suitor hung his head in shame.

The year was 1989. The five rebuffed singers were New Kids On The Block.

Late going to a reading in Portland in 1989, I rush through the door into the auditorium and bump straight into an old beardy guy. Look up to apologise and - doh! - it's Allen Ginsberg.

I once sat in the next cubicle to Van Morrison as he grunted his way thru a really big shit - anyone whos insides smell that bad must be medically dead.

Michael Stipe is tiny, very slight and shorter than me. He's also MEAN AS FUCK. No wonder Buck went insane.

And I didn't realise this was meant to be pop star sightings, I forgot about that when I wrote about Harrison Ford and his knock off wallets. Momus is right, the streets of NYC are basically one big movie set, or at least a tv show set. The most ordinary experience I had was seeing Jessica Simpson and whats-his-face from 98 Degrees (aka Jessica Simpson's ugly boyfriend) gone jogging together. Neither were very good, she stopped twice on one block to catch her breath. Not that I'm better, but still. I also sat on the subway and chatted with James King for about a half hour when the subway got stuck, and while she's not a pop star she did date Kid Rock so that's pretty close. Those are the most ordinary ones. The best one is still Harrison Ford, or perhaps getting into an argument with Damon "Freddy Krueger" Albarn.

My cousin used to date Madonna's brother. And since Fred isn't answering I'll answer for him: Fred saw Isaac Hayes once. He was giving fitness advice to someone, talking about how he "eats right". I find that pretty funny.

Note: This excludes all NYC sigthings/encounters because NYC is cheating. As many say, its not even a thing to see famous folk there.

Back in 1994 in Athens, GA, Michael Stipe carded me at the door of the 40 Watt Club. It was 2 days after my birthday and he said, "Happy Birthday". I was quite excited being a huge REM fan and all (well, the old stuff at least) but things got really weird when, inside, my then-girlfriend notified me that he was "checking me out" rather intensely. I looked and he was! Oh dear, my adolescent hero was scoping me out! Freaky!!

Last year, my band was playing in Minneapolis and Joe Strummer came to the show (he was playing at another venue that night). He came backstage for some heavy drinking and picture taking sessions. He was extremely nice and toasted to boot. I geeked out and had him sign my guitar. The weird thing is that we had soundchecked that evening with "Captial Radio One", so when he showed up, we tried LIKE HELL to have him get up onstage so we could back him for a version. He declined nicely though saying that he didn't want to "steal anyone's thunder."

I once sat next to Adam Franklin of Swervedriver in a pizza joint. It took me a while to recognize him because he had very recently shaved off his dreads.

Hmmm... Will Oldham lives about 2 blocks from my girlfriend. Does that count?

Gee, it's disappointing that Thurston Moore bought High Fidelity. (I don't think SY are mentioned in it.)

Lt. Col., would you happen to remember which Dylan song it is that Denny sang in French?

Fame - it's all by association - so... My sister once saw Morrissey outside a restaurant in LA. She said it looked like he was trying not to show that he knew that she recognized him. She didn't say anything. (Why did he end up in LA of all places? It's so wrong!!!)

My sister and I once saw Billy Crystal outside a shopping center in LA waiting for his car. Of course, we had nothing to say to him.

I was working at a shop when Billy Corgan bought OK Computer. It was 2 p.m. on, like, a Tuesday in an empty Barners and friggin' Noble.

Apparently by last year he had taken to covering the windows of recording studios with aluminum foil so people couldn't watch him work. That's not terribly ordinary, I suppose, but it's awfully funny.

One of my friends hit one of Weezer with her car. Just rolled into the guy, but knocked him down. It wasn't the drummer or Rivers or Matt Sharp, it was the other guy, who I think is out the band now.

My monitor speakers were purchased from the drummer for Kid Rock, when she lived in Cleveland Ohio and worked in a music store.

I saw Sally Timms at a show once in Cleveland, apparently she drove from Chicago to check out Andre Williams. I would've bought her all the fake wallets in the world, yes I would, if I only could.

That's it. If I ever get a band together, I'm calling it Fake Wallets.

Youn: sadly I would not happen to remember. I have a (much!) younger friend who might just.

But I don't tire of hearing it, Mike.

I once accompanied Dudley Klute on 'Very Funny'.

Darn you, Mike, you got to McCartney before me! I saw him in Soho last summer, chatting to a busking saxophonist. Well, he wasn't busking at the time - it would be the height of rudeness to keep playing while Paul McCartney was talking to you, wouldn't it? I wanted to hang around and see what sort of contribution he'd make to the bloke's caseful of coppers, but didn't want to gawp either, so I kept walking.

My Dad's had rather a good celeb-spotting career. He was in a cafe in Spain and turned around to see Salvador Dali sitting at the next table. Not pop, but quite good. He's also been on a plane with N- Sync.

I am discounting all Camden Market experience, for the same reason that NYC is cheating.

Stuart Murdoch carried our keyboard down the back stairs of the Garage. He was there to fuss over his girlfriend's band, who we supported.

His help in manhandling our incredibly unwieldy Vox Continental does not entirely make up for the fact that he was bloody rude to "everyone except the support band and the soundman" during soundcheck.

You will all now laugh at me for being a "stereotypical Belle and Sebastian fan" and make rude comments according to your own pre- prejudices despite my own personal tastes. But that's OK, I'm used to it.

But nothing in what you say makes you sound like a stereotypical B&S fan, save the fact that you know who Stuart Murdoch is.

Jaz Coleman's lived hereabouts for the past ten years. Through the 90s, drive up Parnell Rise and chances are, there would be Jaz, strolling along the sidewalk, dressed head-to-toe in black, including toe-length heavy black coat and black hat with dandy purple feather attached. All this under the sweltering heat of a Summer sun... [Insert "honouring the fire" joke here.]

On quite possibly the same day as kate refers to, i was sitting someplace in notting hill, casting smoldering carnal looks at what i fondly imagined to be a fetchingly coiffeured gamine sitting in the corner. only to be informed after some time had elapsed that the object of my attention was in fact howling mad murdoch. imagine the disgrace. i have since visited an optician. & stopped drinking vodka before lunch.

I played hockey with Dennis Leary and Tim Robbins. I slide tackled them both at some point or another.

I played softball with the Brothers Quay in Clissold Park once (tho I think the words "big" and indeed "ordinary" are both under strain here).

I spilled beer on Kim Gordon once. She got all pissed and acted just like you'd expect a Calvin Klein model/art snob would. I run into Thurston Moore everywhere, he never does anything interesting. I saw Steven Spielberg sitting on the steps of McCusker's Market in Shelburne Falls, MA once. It was roughly equivalent to spying ET in Nova Scotia.

revive!!!

Julian Casablancas stepped on my wifes foot as he was snaking through the crowd so he could see the moldy peaches from the audience. he grabbed her shoulders and apologized then tripped again on his own feet and fell into me all smiles. I AM NOW GAY!

I ran into Kevin MacDonald of the Kids in the Hall at a Sugar concernt at the now defunct Concert Hall in Toronto. I was kinda drunk and inititated a rambling conversation for five or six minutes, a conversation I soon forgot.
I also got drunk with Bob Pollard while watching a KISS concert video on television.

It was the opening night of Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers, and my friends and I had been standing in line for a couple hours when we spotted Robin Williams, dressed in what looked like pajamas, come up to the box office and ask if there were any tickets left. Of course, it being the opening night of a Lord of the Rings movie, it was already sold out, but I'm pretty sure he got in anyway.

i reacall an early-90's scene at a backstage bar, at the Rock Summer festival in Tallinn:

there's Fish, the ex-Marillion chap, standing at the bar, about to order,
and above his head there hangs that little black menue/table, in two languages, with chalked-on names of food and their prices, including this peculiar item: "FISH = 10.-EEK"

(that sum's leass than 1 USD, btw)
i'm sure the man must've spotted the conspicuous line in the menue himself, but unfortunately i did not notice the moment he spotted it

I sold Bruce Springsteen a cup of coffee in Asbury Park.

* Incident 1
Herbie Hancock's drummer gave me his mangled drumsticks.

* Incident 2
A drunken (and possibly high) Lee Greenwood asked me if I wanted his autograph. I declined.

* Incident 3 and 3.5
Julio Igelisias thanked me for bringing in a box of little water bottles, then he went back to absently chewing on a peice of lunchmeat. As I left the dressing room, I bumped into Jose Jose as he was heading for his. He nodded curtly and said " 'scuse". I saluted and moved on to my next boondoggle.

Har har har har har har!!! I had totally and completely forgotten about the Stuart Murdoch incident! Argh! That keyboard! How I hated it! It sounded lovely but it weighed a ton and left weird black GOO all over yer hands. Stella slimed Murdoch. Tee hee hee.

I served Shawn Colvin her morning coffee at least twice a week for a year. She wasn't very pretty in the morning.

i once was standing outside the NEC after a depeche mode gig in 93
and suddenly the side door opened and out flew andy fletcher
livid red, furiously angry, with his hands around someone's *neck*.
he said 'you shut your mouth you f-ing c- !!' and then was
hastily bundled back inside by heavies.

it was a shock i can tell you, he was meant to be the really nice one
and they were my fave band at the time.

About 4 months ago at the trendy London club Nag Nag Nag, a well-dressed silver haired man spoke to me in a soft, slightly camp northern voice and asked me if i had any drugs. As I declined he put his arm round me and commented on my hair, and it was only then i noticed that i was being chatted up by none other than Neil Tennent of the Pet Shop Boys. After about 10 minutes of what can only be described as being flirted with, his friend appeared and he asked if i wanted to share his taxi. I again declined. He left, dejected. I didn't really think he was chatting me up until my friends all commented on his 'body language' and how he kept rubbing my back. Weird.

Also, IanSPACK to thread for his disturbing Cabaret Voltaire story...

Is there even such a thing as a Cabaret Voltaire Story that ISN'T disturbing.