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Terri Nakamura diary

The Beat Goes On

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First of an eight-part series featuring legendary rock band, The Kingsmen

Photo by Raphael during our stay in L.A. shooting ‘How to Stuff a Wild Bikini.’ Pictured L – R: Mike Mitchell, Barry Curtis, Dick Peterson, Lynn Easton, Norm Sundholm

As told by Dick Peterson, The Kingsmen drummer, 1963-present

When I was young, I found everything on the radio influences you.

The Kingsmen started as kind of a “hootenanny” group, with acoustic guitars and a stand-up base. And as that music changed — when the electronic stuff came in; The Ventures and surf music started to take off — then the band got electrified and did that for a while.

When the Wailers became popular in the Northwest and put out an album called “The Fabulous Wailers at the Castle,” it became an album that all bands from the day learned. Our band was sort of a butterfly that was being molded by all the influence around it. And then it gained its own recognition — and its own sound.

We recorded the quintessential version of “Louie Louie.” Because of our naiveté with regards to why kids were coming to see us (the lyrics of “Louie Louie” were allegedly obscene), we thought it was comical when the F.B.I. started to investigate us. I was 17 at the time.

I cannot believe we hit the road and had absolutely no clue what we were doing, especially regarding the business. We just had no clue. And the impact that “Louie Louie” was having nationally — we just didn’t even see it. We were playing a different show in a different town night every single night and we were really out of touch except for what people kept saying, you know — “What about the FBI? What about this word? What about that word? What about these lyrics?” We kept denying it. We thought it was funny. It was like, “You think it says WHAT? Are you kidding?” We were the bad boys of rock and roll, but we were naive and innocent.

We were on the road all the time and had to find ways to amuse ourselves. We destroyed a hotel room once, out of fun. It wasn’t because we were drunk or drugged out. No one’s been into that stuff. Our worst moment was, we shot up a hotel room. We had been on the road playing double days for six months—a morning concert in one city and an evening concert in another. It would often be a high school assembly in the afternoon, then a dance in the evening a hundred miles away. We were going crazy and wanted some time off.

We finally got a day off and were in a hotel — a Holiday Inn, actually. It was right across the street from a gun shop. So, someone, I think Jimmy (our road man) bought a dart set. Then it escalated and someone bought a pellet gun. Then it was like, “Let’s open the door and see how far away we can get from that target and still hit it. You couldn’t get very far, but hey! A 22-calibre rifle could shoot from further away! With the doors open and across the parking lot, we wanted to see if we could hit something. We didn’t know it destroyed anything until we went to check it out.

You know those cinder block walls? Yeah, oh boy. When we checked it out and Jimmy removed the target, the only place that was not hit was where the target was. We checked out and left. Our managers called and were angry with us. It cost us a little bit of money to repair things. There was not a sign on the highway that we didn’t hit with a pellet gun, bottles or bottle caps.

When you think of what we were making and how hard we were working, it came to almost $2 million per year. When we decided we weren’t going to play psychedelic music and it was time to leave the road, there was nothing left. Our handlers had taken everything. We had worked really hard for five years and had nothing.

We initiated a lawsuit when we suspected the record company might have victimized us. We knew our recordings were released on other labels and felt we should be receiving royalties, but without management or legal representation, we had no idea how to collect them. We went into the lawsuit not only for the royalties, but with the claim to all rights associated with the master recordings. Winning that case was earth shaking. All sorts of acts have filed and now own their own material. They’re making a fortune. We’re making a lot of money, but the problem is, it’s all going to the attorneys, still. We’re close, though.

It makes me feel great to have Rolling Stone magazine called “Louie Louie” the fourth most influential recording of all time, and I completely agree with them. Beside the cultural significance, I think for anyone who wants to play an instrument, you play “Louie Louie” and you would be encouraged. Here something that’s sold who knows how many millions copies, and it has three chords. Anyone in the world can play it.

We’re one of the few acts of that era that are still performing nationally. The Kingsmen have always just played, not arranged and practiced stuff. You could play the same song 10 times and it would be different each time. We don’t rehearse. We talk about rehearsing. It’s like, someone will say, “Do you know this song? Do you know what key it’s in?” I’ve heard it before and we talk about it and it’s fine. Our attitude is — have fun. •

Above photo © 2006 Richard Peterson

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Dick Peterson joined The Kingsmen in 1963 and has written a book,
“Louie Louie Me Gotta Go Now”

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Terri Nakamura is a professional graphic designer who loves social media, music and writing. Follow her on Twitter: @terrinakamura; Read her blog, Confessions of a Graphic Designer: http://seattledesigner.blogspot.com/ or find her connections on xeeme: http://xeeme.com/terrinakamura

© 2010-12 Terri Nakamura

Baseball Heaven

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(Originally posted March 1, 2012)

I’m writing this as I sit in my car in the Seattle Keiro parking lot.

The receptionist just told me David died at 7:40 this morning.

I don’t know how anyone can get used to watching the slow process of the body shutting down. I hope never to have to make that decision, but David could see the road he was on and wanted to get off, so he decided to stop dialysis a week ago.

For decades David, a bibliophile, owned a legendary bookstore in the historic Pioneer Square area of downtown Seattle. It closed 10 years ago, so it’s becoming a hazy memory for some. But in what I describe as the Golden Age of Pioneers Square, his shop was frequented by writers, artists actors, musicians and other creative and interesting people. Where else could anyone find a first edition of James Joyce’s “Ulysses,” but in David’s bookstore.

He was an amazing person who led an extraordinary life, and he was always surrounded by extraordinary people.

David was a devoted Mariners fan. He hasn’t been able to make it the past two years, but I hope he is getting ready spring training. He lived for it, and if he’s there, I know he will truly be in heaven.

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Note: in 2010, David was featured in an advertising campaign for Swedish Medical Center. Thanks to Larry Asher of Worker Bees and the School for Visual Concepts, for allowing me the use of the following ad and television spot.

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A story about David appeared on the front page of The Seattle Times, the day following his death:

http://seattletimes.nwsource.com/html/thearts/2017642033_ishii02.html

Tell Someone You Love Them

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Dear Ken,

I wish you were alive to read this.

When Phil sent me the email this weekend, I felt so sad that we hadn’t talked for a while.

Now it’s too late.

Why is it people always think there is time?

In September when you were diagnosed, I knew it was a bad thing. Two other friends have died of ALS in the past 5 years. I’ve never seen a more swift and destructive disease. So I knew how fleeting life could be, yet I didn’t call. Why?

I think in my mind, I believed you to be positive and strong, and that you would hang in there long enough to check off all the things on your bucket list. And I was SURE I would see you again.

Now I think of you doing what you most loved—camping, fishing, sleeping under the stars. Is that where you are now? I really hope so.

I’m going to miss our long conversations about everything under the sun. There is a handful of friends I can do that with, and you were one of them.

If  there a lesson to learn here, it’s this—life won’t wait. So when I’m THINKING of someone, I need to reach out instead of expecting there will always be time down the road.

Because all of a sudden, it runs out.

Sending a virtual hug from afar—

Love, Terri

The Good Samaritan

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Today was a beautiful, sunny day in Seattle, which isn’t in and of itself an odd thing. But being that it was November 3, it was a stunner.

This afternoon I had planned to attend a paper show sponsored by Neenah Paper. Every now and then, various paper mills put together shows and events for graphic designers, packaging specialists and others who specify paper for myriad projects.

In this case, Neenah chose BalMar, a very cool watering hole in an area of Seattle people refer to as Old Ballard.

Being directionally challenged, naturally I got lost. Even with an iPhone in hand (GPS was in another car) I managed to find myself near the Ballard Locks — clearly not near the venue.

I pulled in to a Taco TIme parking lot and was ready to walk in to ask someone where Ballard Avenue NW was? But I saw a guy walking on the sidewalk toward me, so I jumped out of my car and said, “Excuse me, but do you know where Ballard Avenue is?”

He took out his smart phone and started showing me maps, and tried to describe where I needed to go. But to be honest, I didn’t really “get” what he was talking about.

I asked him where he was headed? And he said, “No place in particular. I’m on a walk, doing a loop.” So I asked if he’d be willing to get in my car and show me?

He said “Sure. You don’t exactly look dangerous!”

So we drove back up the same street, looped around a one-way street (side note: there are entirely too many one-way streets here), and while we were driving I asked him (his name is Eric) if he’d like to go to the paper show with me since my other friend wasn’t going to be able to make it, and he said, “OK, why not?”

We found a parking spot not far from the destination.

I was planning to meet two members of the “Sansei Lunch Club,” but one of them couldn’t make it. As it was, I was arriving 15 minutes later than expected, so when Eric, my good Samaritan, and I jumped out of my car, Glen (one of the people I was going to meet) was walking toward us — paper samples in tow.

I introduced Glen to Eric, then told Glen the story of meeting Eric.

Glen looked incredulous, but knowing me, I don’t think he was terribly surprised. (I’ve been known to make friends standing in line at the post office.) Glen said he’d walk with us back to BalMar, and on the way I said, Hey, can I take a picture of you guys and tweet it later?

Glen suggested it might make a bit more sense if HE took a picture of me with Eric, and Eric agreed it did seem to make more sense. So Eric and I stood while Glen shot this:

Inside BalMar, we checked out the various new lines and products and viewed some terrific samples show the papers in use while chatting with the paper reps there. Then I noticed a promo for people with QR readers to enter to win a new car. So I entered, then asked Eric if he had a QR reader (he did) and encouraged him to enter, too.

I had this crazy thought: What if Eric wins the car?

There was a beautiful spread of food and and drinks, but knowing I had dinner plans, I drank my glass of water and was on my way — but not before giving my business card to Eric so I could email him this photo.

It was so utterly random, yet was one of the most fun things to happen to me in a while. It felt good to know perfect strangers can still trust one another, and for once, getting lost really made my day.