Misunderstood Masterpieces 4.01.08: Head
By Will Helm
411mania.com: Movies
April 1, 2008

...or, It’s What Everybody Wants AND What Everybody Needs

Hey, hey, it's Misunderstood Masterpieces! And this week I'm kicking off a trilogy of psychedelic rock movie musicals just in time for the 20th of this month. So turn on, tune in, drop out, and enjoy the show . . .

The first film of the trilogy finds its roots in a corporate response to the vaunted British Invasion of pop music in the early-‘60s. While The Beatles and The Rolling Stones were tearing up the charts and selling out venues around the world, NBC and Columbia Pictures wanted a little cut of the action. Influenced by the success of the Fab Four's films, A Hard Day's Night and Help!, these two corporate entities recruited a creative staff to develop a series – and a band – with folk musicians Peter Tork and Michael Nesmith and actors Davy Jones and Mickey Dolenz to star. Debuting in 1966, The Monkees – named after the titular "band" – was an unmitigated success, garnering critical praise, high ratings, and a couple Emmy awards. This success carried over to The Monkees live performances, as a band that was presumed by many music critics as "fake" sold out shows across the country.

The lauds and praises The Monkees garnered on stage bolstered their legitimacy, giving them the confidence to take more creative control over their show and their music. While this would create some great tension between the band and the producers, it allowed The Monkees to finally make the transition from "fake" band to real band. With this creative control came more experimentation, on television and musically, but, eventually, The Monkees came to an end, in September of 1968. This wasn't to be the last the world would hear of The Monkees, however, as they had a little movie up their sleeves . . . and that movie is 1968's Head. Supposedly stemming from a marijuana-fueled brainstorming session with the band, producer Bob Rafelson, and Jack Nicholson, Head is considered by many a direct, psychedelic response to the band's saccharine television show and life as a corporate commodity. Heavy stuff, to be sure . . . and too heavy for the general audience, as Head was a box-office flop (of course, the release two months after the cancellation of The Monkees didn't help) and was considered, for many years, a dark mark on the legacy of The Monkees. But, does Head deserve such a reputation? Or is it more a Misunderstood Masterpiece? Let's find out!

In my estimation, there's no better way to start a movie than with a close-up shot of a cop's hairy knuckles, and, thankfully, Head fulfills that requirement. Thanks, movie! While the cop does cop things, a bunch of people hang out at some sort of event, where the mayor of some nameless, generic town inspects his own personal mayoral guard, probably on hand to protect him from bubbly pop music. After making sure that he's well protected from the iniquity of modern music, the mayor steps up to a microphone inflicted with chronic feedback; after the mayor and the cop join forces to solve the feedback problem, the mayor finally gives his speech . . . to an empty bridge. Honestly, wouldn't it make more sense to address the audience, rather than the bridge? Eh . . . maybe that's why I'm not Jack Nicholson.

Anyway, midway through the dull, generic speech, Mickey (Dolenz), followed by his Monkee cohorts, run through the inaugural ribbon and onto the bridge. I guess the mayor's guard failed him . . . or they're all secretly fans of The Monkees. And, really, who isn't? Mickey, for reasons unexplained, comes to a precipice at the edge of the bridge and, remarkably, he jumps off into the cold, cruel water below. Oh well . . . movie's over. Or not, as Mickey is rescued by slow-motion effects and a couple of mermaids. Unsurprisingly, as per this movie's idiom, the arrival of the mermaids causes Mickey to go psychedelic, unless this is all some sort of expression of drowning and death. Heavy, guys; real heavy.

Thankfully for all, Mickey surfaces alive and, somehow, in his apartment, where some HOT CHICK makes out with him and the rest of the band. Nice to see The Monkees got themselves some HOT CHICK groupies. When the HOT CHICK comes to Davy (Jones), he proves that he's not just diminutive, but he also has super powers, as the passion of his kiss blows the doors to the apartment open. Something tells me those aren't the only doors that are opening . . . and I'm right as, after spending some time with Mike (Nesmith), the HOT CHICK leaves, much to Mike's chagrin. He shouldn't complain too much, however, as he's got a movie to make! And, in fact, the guys take the time to warn the viewer . . . before they all run off to lead a cheer for war and stock footage. Yay stock footage!

Somehow, The Monkees end up in a trench in World War II, where Mickey, probably a bit shell-shocked, refuses to wear his helmet. After a bit of bickering between the bandmates, Mike – who is obviously the alpha male of the group – orders Peter (Tork) to run off and get them some ammunition. Peter, probably against all better judgment – though setting a good precedent for the character – obliges and dives into an adjacent trench, where he's repeatedly tackled by legendary Green Bay Packer Ray Nitschke. Peter, remarkably, outsmarts Ray Nitschke by stealing his helmet; he later returns to the original trench with the ammunition and, once there, he completes the joke set up moments earlier when he gives Ray Nitschke's helmet to Mickey.

Now emboldened by Mickey's helmet, The Monkees make an offensive push from the trench . . . to a concert? Well, I guess if war is hell and a tour is hell, than a tour must be like war. It's like a mathematical proof for the rock and roll world. Anyway, at the concert, The Monkees serenade infatuated teens and black and white footage of Vietnamese. Unsurprisingly, the teens appreciate the music a little bit more, so much so that, after the performance, the teens rush the stage and tear apart mannequins dressed as The Monkees. Meanwhile, some unseen force changes the channel . . . someone with a very short attention span and an interest in buying a Ford from a dealership in Encino, apparently.

Through the helpful power of the unseen force's remote control, Mickey ends up stranded in a desert, where, after lamenting his lot in life, he pummels a recalcitrant Coke machine. After he tires of beating up the vending machine, Mickey has an argument with his subconscious until he goes crazy and God actually talks to him. It's obviously a shoot, as well, because God addresses Mickey as George Michael Dolenz! Ooh . . . call Ric Flair; God's breaking kayfabe! After Mickey's chat with God, an Italian tank drives up to pick up Mickey, or not, as the diminutive driver hops out of the vehicle, kisses Mickey, and surrenders . . . as well as an entire Italian battalion. Heh . . . that rhymed. Mickey responds to the cease-fire by carjacking the abandoned tank, which he uses to blow up the stubborn Coke machine. That'll teach it!Much like T.E. Lawrence before him, the power of the tank allows Mickey to become a sheik of Araby, with HOT CHICK bellydancers and a musical number. Generously, Mickey invited the other guys to share in the opulence . . . and, presumably, the HOT CHICK bellydancers. It's good to be a Monkee-turned-sheik. Moments later, in another vision – perhaps this is all Mickey suffering from heatstroke, Teri Garr tells Mickey to suck her finger because it has poison in it or something like that. Really, Mickey should just see it as a chance to suck a nubile Teri Garr's finger and leave it at that. Instead, Mickey proves that broes go before hoes when he chooses to pull an arrow from a nearby Mike's shoulder. Mickey – or his subconscious – tires of the scene as he rebels and walks through the back of the set. I've heard of breaking the fourth wall, so is that breaking the second wall?

Elsewhere, Davy plays violin in a tenement, until Mickey and Mike arrive on the scene and interrupt the touching tableau. Perhaps as revenge, John Turturro shows up dressed as Abe Lincoln (actually, it's actor Timothy Carey) to scold The Monkees for their insolence. Meanwhile, elaborate signals break out across the movie studio, alerting a horde of people in a nearby café that The Monkees are coming! The Monkees are coming! While ordinary people freak out on the street – and in black and white, the patrons of the café all leave once The Monkees show up, inhibiting The Monkees' desire for lunch. Finally, The Monkees get inside, where they're insulted by an overly sassy waitress . . . who Davy sort-of hits on.

Instead of Davy getting a little private time with the overly sassy waitress, he find himself getting bludgeoned by Sonny Liston in a boxing ring. While Mickey and Mike look on, Sonny beats Davy to a pulp, much to Annette Funicello's chagrin. As Davy caresses the canvas, the massive cerebral trauma suffered causes him to have a hallucination, where he plays violin in a tenement . . . until he realizes he wants to be a boxer, not a violinist. Annette Funicello does not approve, but at least she did have the class to show up at the fight and watch Davy get killed. Mickey, meanwhile, isn't as reticent, as he first argues with Mike about Davy's impending fate and then he does a run-in to rescue Davy from the lopsided mauling. I'm actually shocked he didn't bring a steel chair; perhaps that would've been a little too Russo-rific.

As the fight breaks down into chaos, Mickey hits on a HOT CHICK (famous stripper Carol Doda) and then Peter shows up out of nowhere to defuse the situation . . . and punch the overly sassy waitress in the face. Not to worry, though; Peter isn't a misogynist as the waitress was really a man! Dum-dum-DUM! And everything that just happened was all a movie! Peter still regrets how everything went down, however, as he's not cool on the violence thing. Peter rebels by walking off to his own private place, where he gets snowed on . . . and then he teleports to Scandinavia. Meanwhile, Davy strolls through a garden and Mike sulks on a beach while they all share a common musical number. It's like they're hopelessly devoted to each other.

After the song ends, some billboards have a war, until The Monkees end up in a very suspicious and sinister factory together. While the other guys are ignorant of what's going on around them, Davy suspects rampant skullduggery afoot. Even though Davy doth protest, The Monkees are trapped anyway . . . and they're forced by an unseen voice to impersonate dandruff in Victor Mature's hair. Victor Mature isn't having any of it, though, so he has a hapless assistant vacuum The Monkees out of his hair. And now I have a certain song from South Pacific stuck in my head.

After traversing through the vacuum hose, three of The Monkees end up in a very dusty room, where they joke around and make marijuana jokes. Meanwhile, Davy escapes from the hose, just in time for a musical number where he dances with Toni Basil. Oh, Davy, you're so fine, you're so fine you blow my mind . . . hey Davy! It's good that she met someone named Mickey in the interim. Wait a second . . . !?! After the musical number, Davy wanders outside the studio to chat a bit with Frank Zappa and his cow. Meanwhile, the rest of The Monkees are hassled by the hairy-knuckled cop because he's not having any of their adolescent-approved antics. He's a square, daddy-o. Luckily for The Monkees, before they can be hauled downtown, a drill routine breaks out, hastening their escape from the scene.

Meanwhile, Davy, perhaps suffering the effects of reefer madness, thinks the other Monkees are crazy . . . until he finds a giant eye staring at him inside a bathroom medicine cabinet. Who's the crazy one now, Davy? Hmm? While Davy freaks out in a drug-addled paranoia, Peter waltzes in and finds nothing in the medicine cabinet. After Peter leaves, Davy is somehow teleported to the house of Usher, where he's fondled by skeletons and terrorized by disembodied cackling. Roger Corman would be proud. Elsewhere, the rest of the guys are hassled, once again, by the cop . . . this time in the bathroom. OK, that's a little suspect and even more creepy. Maybe the cop worked for Larry Craig at one time. Luckily for The Monkees, the cop lets them off with a warning and then, after the band leaves, the cop dances a bit and ends up in the house of Usher as well, this time with 100% more Victor Mature. No, I don't get it either, so don't ask me.

Mike, perhaps too freaked out to go on with the current plotline, wakes up at home, as he's rudely interrupted by a telegram delivery. Peter reads the telegram . . . and then he runs to the house of Usher. I guess it's a pretty well-known address in Hollywood or something. Back at the apartment, Mike freaks out when he finds a plastic Mickey and then he's attacked by helium-filled Mylar balloons! Hallmark wants REVENGE! Somehow, the Mylar balloons take Mike to the house of Usher – even though Peter knew the address – and therein he finds The Monkees dressed as monks – sans "ees" – and a surprise party waiting for him. Sadly, Mike isn't into the scene, so he ends up a big crotchety party pooper. Before Mike can leave, fake Abe Lincoln shows up to scold him again . . . and in the process apparently have a stroke. When The Monkees heartlessly laugh at him and his disability, Abe Lincoln pledges REVENGE . . . and average people on the street approve.

Strangely, The Monkees end up in prison for their crime of laughing at a stroked-out fake Abe Lincoln. While his bandmates lament their lots in life, Davy peeks through the porthole and spies a guru sitting in a sauna. Remarkably, Peter and Sonny Liston are there too as the guru's acolytes. After the guru shares some esoteric Hindu wisdom, Peter walks out and finds everyone outside, staring up at a HOT CHICK on top of a building. He then ventures into the bathroom, where he sees Davy – who was so recently in prison – still staring into the suspect medicine cabinet. Moments later, Peter returns to the outside, where Mike gives him the HOT CHICK that was standing on top of the building. Oh yeah . . . it's good to be a Monkee.

Somehow, The Monkees get captured again – it was probably the HOT CHICK's doing; it usually is anyway – and, to pass the time, Peter impersonates Kevin Spacey reciting what the guru said earlier. Now if only Kevin Spacey could show up impersonating Christopher Walken while Christopher Walken impersonates Bruce Dickinson while Iron Maiden plays in the background . . . now that would be something. Davy, perhaps thinking about my little postulation, freaks out at the possibility and then he and the guys bust out of their makeshift prison. Oh yeah . . . it's a JAILBREAK! AC/DC: as proud as ever. The Monkees, somehow, end up on the street of a ghost town, where they end up in a standoff with fake Abe Lincoln and his posse. The situation is quickly resolved when The Monkees shoot fake Abe Lincoln with a cannon; I guess Peter has no problem with violence now.

Victor Mature, meanwhile, reveals himself to be the great unseen force of the film as he captures The Monkees and drops them off back in the desert with all the other characters from the movie. Something tells me this isn't going to end with a big, rousing musical number. While a full-scale battle breaks out amid the characters, The Monkees try to escape, but they're thwarted by a giant Victor Mature and his five iron. Or maybe it's a three wood. Back at the studio, a ruckus breaks out, until Peter arrives on the scene to rescue his compatriots from an old-timey villain. The Monkees finally escape by driving off in their dune buggy . . . but Victor Mature still tortures them. Finally, The Monkees end up back at the beginning of the film, but, this time, they all jump off the bridge . . . and into Victor Mature's fishtank. Geez . . . Victor Mature is a real douche.

To be honest, a lot of the infamy earned by Head is certainly unwarranted. Head isn't bad. Of course, it isn't really good either. More than anything, Head exists best as an example of psychedelic, stream-of-consciousness filmmaking. The film is packed with a bevy of pop-culture references (e.g. one-time Mouseketeer Annette Funicello plays a character named "Minnie") as well as post-modern references to filmmaking and can even be considered an analogue to the creative plight of The Monkees. Head, at most, is a time-and-place sort of film with a very limited audience; there's far too much subtext for the greater audience and, in addition, the style isn't palatable to most viewers. But, as Head does succeed more than it fails, I do have to say that it is a deserving Misunderstood Masterpiece.

The Summer of Monkees
By Drew Manroe
PopMatters Music Feature
August 9, 2007

Infectious hit singles, a zany TV show, the rise of the manufactured pop group: The Monkees are synonymous with all of these. But albums ranking with the ’60s’ finest? Not so much. The Monkees’ legions of detractors, including Rock Hall of Fame gatekeeper Jann Wenner, would argue this is just.

The band’s 1967 albums Headquarters and Pisces, Aquarius, Capricorn & Jones Ltd. argue otherwise. An objective listen reveals both to be troves of some of the era’s most compelling pop, rock, psychedelia, country, and folk—on par with revered opuses like Buffalo Springfield Again and The Notorious Byrd Brothers.

No, that’s not hyperbole. They’re that good. Monkees critics could never get past the group’s test-tube origins and show the albums due respect.

Fortunately, Rhino has. Last year, it reissued the band’s self-titled debut and its sequel. Now, with the rerelease of Headquarters and Pisces, the deluxe treatment is being bestowed on the Monkees LPs that deserve it most. This means two-disc packages replete with a vast array of Headquarters- and Pisces-era bonus tracks, stereo and mono mixes of both albums, and extensive liner notes courtesy of Monkees expert Andrew Sandoval. Also, a vinyl single containing a pair of additional outtakes comes free if the sets are purchased from Rhino’s Web site. Some will cry overkill. But recognition of the albums’ excellence is overdue.

At ’67’s outset, Michael Nesmith, Micky Dolenz, Peter Tork, and Davy Jones seemingly had it easy. Cast together to “play” the Monkees, they had watched their first two singles and albums top the charts. Two Emmys awaited the first season of their TV show. They were performing before hysterical crowds. And in the recording studio, music supervisor Don Kirshner merely required that the Prefab Four add their vocals to immaculately produced, prerecorded Monkees tracks.

Yet all was not well. The Monkees had grown increasingly frustrated by their exclusion from the recording process in previous months. Nesmith succeeded in wresting a handful of songwriting and production credits on the group’s first two albums, but the ambitious “Monkee with the wool hat” was particularly adamant that his talents weren’t being fully utilized. This resentment took physical form in January 1967, when Nesmith put his fist through a hotel room wall during an argument with Kirshner over his refusal to grant the Monkees more creative control. The battle lines were drawn; Kirshner lost his job the next month.

With him out of the way and former Turtle Chip Douglas on board as producer and de facto bassist, the Monkees were finally free to craft a “group” album. In March, sessions for Headquarters officially commenced.

They should have been disastrous. Nesmith and Tork weren’t virtuosos at their respective instruments of guitar and keyboards, and Jones stuck to percussion. Dolenz’s only prior drumming experience had come via the group’s inaudible live concerts. Intra-band clashes were inevitable given the Monkees’ disparate personalities and musical leanings. But despite these obstacles, Pinocchio came alive, so to speak, and in spectacular fashion.

The group’s lack of instrumental proficiency actually worked in the album’s favor. Headquarters pulsates with a primitive garage fervor, the joyous sound of four eager musicians taking the wheel after months of riding in the backseat. Douglas’ rough-hewn production—emphasizing flubs and goofs while shunning embellishments—captures this perfectly and is a key component of the album’s appeal.

Then there are the songs. While Nesmith’s southern-fried contributions to the Monkees’ first pair of albums are distinctive and enjoyable, the Texan’s three Headquarters efforts are nothing short of stunning. “You Told Me” kicks off proceedings, exploring adult themes of trust and insecurity to heartrending effect. “You Just May Be the One” boasts a harmony-laden middle-eight that’s as thrilling as anything in the band’s catalogue. And “Sunny Girlfriend” hits a remarkably prescient country-rock groove that should have made Gram Parsons jealous.

But Nesmith wasn’t the only Monkee in the middle of the action. A spirited Dolenz vocal and propulsive drive make Tork’s “For Pete’s Sake” a true highlight, in spite of the track’s hippy-dippy lyrical sentiment. Dolenz’s first and best Monkees composition, “Randy Scouse Git”, closes the album with an onslaught of frenzied choruses and menacing tympani. Douglas even pitched in with “Forget That Girl”, a wistful pop nugget given a tender reading by Jones.

Though Kirshner had been ousted, the Monkees retained access to his formidable stable of tunesmiths. This allowed the group to supplement its in-house Headquarters compositions with the terrific, folk-tinged likes of Tommy Boyce and Bobby Hart’s “I’ll Spend My Life With You”. Some of the other selections don’t scale these same heights, but all are pleasant enough and one with the album’s do-it-yourself aesthetic.

Headquarters’ release in May 1967 did little to change the widespread perception of the Monkees as synthetic hacks. Nor did the album match the commercial success of its predecessor, More of the Monkees—partially due to the curious absence of a tie-in single stateside. Regardless, Headquarters was and is a major artistic triumph.

The band was sufficiently buoyed by the Headquarters experience to enlist Douglas to produce its follow-up, dubbed Pisces, Aquarius, Capricorn & Jones Ltd. His second tour of duty with the Monkees would prove more difficult than the first, however. The group’s grueling summer tour left little time for composing or recording new tracks. And Douglas has recalled that when the Monkees were available to record, they appeared to be losing interest in making music together—most evident in Dolenz’s decision to hand the drumsticks over to studio musician Eddie Hoh for the majority of the Pisces sessions.

So why did these sessions yield the band’s second consecutive masterpiece? In part because of the material provided by outside songwriters. The Monkees’ well of self-penned tunes was beginning to run dry by mid-’67. But both veterans of the Kirshner days (Boyce and Hart, Gerry Goffin and Carole King) and newcomers to the Monkees project (Michael Murphey, Harry Nilsson) picked up the slack with an abundance of superb Pisces offerings.

Douglas was no less responsible for the album’s quality. In between concert dates and in a variety of locations, he managed to corral the Monkees into the recording studio and harness what enthusiasm they had left. His production was also typically exceptional—trading Headquarters’ grittiness for a more florid sonic sheen.

None of which should overshadow the performances of the Monkees themselves. It might have been hard for Douglas to motivate them, but when he did, the results were magical.

An early dose of this magic was unveiled on Pisces’ preview single, which backed Goffin and King’s anti-suburbia anthem “Pleasant Valley Sunday” with Boyce and Hart’s “Words”. The former is a confluence of timeless songwriting, soaring group vocals, indelible guitar riff, and innovative production (listen to the track’s thunderous, reverb-drenched coda). The latter is a haunting gem that rode outstanding vocal interplay between Dolenz and Tork all the way to number 11 on the charts, just eight spots shy of its flipside.

This set a lofty standard, but one Pisces lived up to. A tip of the stocking cap must again go to Nesmith for assuming lead vocal duties on five first-rate tracks. “Salesman”, “The Door into Summer”, and “Love Is Only Sleeping” brilliantly marry his Texas twang to a heavy psych vibe—presaging the iconoclast’s “acid-country” experiments with the First National Band three years hence. Michael Murphey and Owen Castleman’s similarly progressive “What Am I Doing Hangin’ ’Round?” is one of the group’s best country-rock fusions. And “Don’t Call on Me” possesses a languid beauty atypical of a Nesmith ballad.

Just as impressive are two surprisingly risque Jones-sung tracks. Harry Nilsson’s “Cuddly Toy” employs a jaunty music-hall setting to assail its promiscuous female subject. That it’s the Monkees’ baby-faced, hat-and-cane-wielding teen idol delivering lewd lines like “You’re not the only choo-choo train / That was left out in the rain / The day after Santa came” adds to the song’s delicious irony. Jones also turns in a searing performance on Goffin and King’s “Star Collector”—an indictment of the groupie phenomenon. Its lyrics rival those of “Cuddly Toy” for sheer ruthlessness (“Give her my autograph and tell her / It’s been nice knowing you!”). But Pisces’ final track is equally memorable for its frenetic climax, full of machine-gun drum rolls and some of pop music’s first celestial Moog blasts. Making the conclusion to “Pleasant Valley Sunday” sound tame, it’s a breathtaking finish to a great album.

When released that November, Pisces fared much the same as Headquarters. It hit number one but didn’t shift copies the way the Kirshner LPs had. And the cognoscenti predictably paid the album scant attention. Around this time, the group decided to split with Douglas, cease recording as a collective unit, and produce their own individual “Monkees” sessions. Their careers paid a price. Still, it remains remarkable that four mismatched novices were able to work with a small group of outsiders to create albums of Headquarters and Pisces’ caliber.

Many critics will continue naysaying. But those who do haven’t given these classics a close listen. Have they, Mr. Wenner?

The Outre Oeuvre: A 'Head' of Its Time
By Bill Gibron - Film & TV Columns Editor
PopMatters: Columns
July 27, 2007

Talk about biting the hand that consistently overfed you! By 1967, the manmade musical group known as The Monkees was angry. Their intensely popular TV series had just been cancelled, a lack of interest on both sides (that is, performers and programmers), leading to the Emmy winning sitcom’s demise. Ongoing battles with music producer (and overall artistic director) Don Kirschner were driving the band apart. Having struggled mightily to have any say in the songs or style of prefabricated bubblegum pop they (supposedly) crafted, their last few albums—Headquarters, Pieces, Aquarius, Capricorn and Jones, Ld, and The Birds, The Bees and The Monkees—had been an amalgamation of slick studio tracks and self-generated group stances. Yet no matter the material, the manufactured magic was disintegrating.

For Peter Tork (Greenwich Village folkie), Mike Nesmith (semi-successful musician), Mickey Dolenz (former child star) and Davy Jones (UK music hall archetype), the past three years had been overwhelming and oppressive. Thanks to the combined efforts of people behind the camera, producers songwriters and sessions players in the studio, and the unending hormones of the still viable teen idol Tiger Beat fanbase, the boys had achieved their wildest dreams. They had gone from novelty act to pop culture icons. However, such skyrocketing success was creating two decided trails of afterburner consequences.

On the one side were those who felt the group could do no wrong, even when stories about their lack of instrumental skill (initially, The Monkees did not play on their own albums) suddenly swarmed the media. And then there were those who wanted to use their soulless plastic paradigm as a condemnation of the entire Establishment environ. This was the mid- to late-part of the ‘60s, mind you, a time when conventions were consistently cracking up. In The Monkees, many saw a mirror reflecting the continued struggle between the conservative and the counterculture, the free love and peace generation as demystified and marginalized by the entire white flight suburbanite powers in charge. It was a goofy game of cultural one-upmanship without any real rules. And the guys were tired of playing pawns.

The cancellation exacerbated everything. Then series producer / director Bob Rafelson got an idea. Since the entire Monkees ideal was based around The Beatles, and more specifically their classic ‘life on the road’ comedy A Hard Day’s Night, why not put the boys on film? Over the course of its last season, the TV series had indeed grown more experimental and innovative. So Rafelson, along with friend and collaborator Jack Nicholson (yes, that Jack Nicholson), decided to expand on that notion and concocted a movie that would finally place The Monkees alongside the other noted artists of their era. Besides, without network constrictions, the boys could finally express opinions and ideas that the sponsors and suits would usually frown upon. Over some recreational pharmaceuticals and a wealth of pent up personal designs, a scattershot script was crafted.

Depending on who you believe, the title of this groundbreaking cinematic statement was either purposefully left blank (Columbia Pictures then taking the name from the “head” portion that begins each film reel), a swipe at the expense of the Beatles song and movie Help, or the foundation for a lewd lark (future efforts could therefore be heralded as “from the people who gave you Head”). Whatever the rationale, Rafelson, Nicholson, and the boys devised an existential expression of all the frustrations they experienced and the fallacies they unwittingly participated in. The entire film would function as a big screen swipe at everyone and everything that made them famous, from the fans to the phenomenon itself. It was a brash, ballsy move, and many thought they didn’t have the nerve to pull it off. After all, they were just a bunch of spoiled actors angry that the gravy train had finally pulled away from the station. They couldn’t single-handedly dismantle what an entire enterprise created, could they?

They could…and did. Head begins with the dedication of a bridge. As dignitaries and government luminaries gather to hear the speeches of stuffed shirt officials, we witness the Establishment in action, the powers that be acting as one would expect them to. Then the first unusual element creeps in. As he tries to begin his remarks, the straight-laced, balding bureaucrat can’t get the microphone to work. All we hear is high-pitched feedback. Yet when the police officer standing next to the devices tries it, everything is fine. This slightly comic back and forth continues until, finally, the sound system responds. Just as he’s about to finalize his comments and cut the ribbon, a set of sirens can be heard. Before we know it, The Monkees themselves have raced onto the scene, destroyed the ceremony, and are headed toward the structure’s edge.

At this point, the audience is rightfully perplexed. We don’t know who the band is running from, what the opening dedication has to do with the plot, or what is going to happen next. However, when Mickey Dolenz climbs over the railing and looks at the perilous waters down below, there can only be one obvious inference: he’s going to jump. Indeed, within five minutes of the film starting, one of the group’s most recognizable members (the voice on many of their biggest hits, including “Last Train to Clarksville” and “I’m a Believer”), appears ready to commit suicide. It’s a bracing image; one we can’t picture Rafelson and Nicholson letting play out properly. After all, you can’t have your lead leap off a bridge at the beginning of your storyline. Where does the narrative go from there?

And then Dolenz jumps. The camera follows him as he begins his descent. A long shot shows something that vaguely looks like the actor tumbling down toward the water. It’s intercut with other clips of the real life Monkee freefalling. Almost simultaneously, the epic strains of Carol King and Jerry Goffin’s amazing opening theme “The Porpoise Song” begin to play. As the first line of lyrics waft through the organ and cello intro – “My, my, the clock in the sky is pounding away/ and there’s so much to say…” – we start to get the idea. This is an act of desperation, or purposeful ending, or much needed liberation. As he plunges toward his fate, Dolenz (who sings lead on the accompanying track) is delivering his own eulogy, challenging the audience to accept the obvious consequences.

The song barely half over, he finally hits the water, and it’s at this point where Head makes its first major break with reality. Instead of dying, or being injured, Dolenz simply floats in the suddenly psychedelic depths (Rafelson used colorizing techniques in post production to achieve the appropriate Electric Kool-Aid look). As the music continues, a school of mermaids arrive. They pick him up, carry him along the current, and by inference, away from whatever drove him to such self-destructive extremes. As the colors collide and the music builds, we settle in semi-recognition. Though it began rather oddly, Head seems to be saying something about the pressures of popularity and the desire to run away from it all.

It will be just the first salvo in what winds up a veritable deconstruction of the entire Monkees mythos. A simple dissolve later and we are on the TV series’ set. As the camera lingers, we watch a fetching young woman walk among the band. She kisses the boys, each embrace more sensual than the next. As she turns to leave, Mike Nesmith leaps to his feet and whispers something in her ear. Obviously dirty or suggestive, the girl looks over the scene. Her response? A rather dismissive giggle. Nesmith’s shocked reaction (girls don’t react to the band this way) is cut short as, perhaps, the most notorious aspect of the film, the “Ditty Diego – War Chant”, begins. As individual miniaturized images from the film appear, one by one, in columns running left to right along the frame, the band begins a memorable, mocking derision of their own identity:

“Hey, hey, we are the Monkees / You know we love to please / A manufactured image / With no philosophies…”

That’s it. The gloves are off. If there is any doubt about Head’s designs, this goofy bit of belittlement accompanied by a noxious, off tempo piano vamp, is out to destroy The Monkees once and for all. The visual parade continues, a collage of pictures producing a kind of career overview. The sentiments get even stronger:

“You say we’re manufactured / To that, we all agree / So make your choice and we’ll rejoice / In never being free.

Hey, hey, we are the Monkees / We’ve said it all before / The money’s in, we’re made of tin/ We’re here to give you more.”

In an instant, the boys appear as cheerleaders, strutting the sidelines as they ask the massive crowd to respond to the following sly shout: “Give me a ‘W’. Give me an ‘A’. Give me an ‘R’. What’s that spell? ‘WAR’ What’s that spell? WAR!” As a montage of Vietnam stock footage – including the notorious photograph of General Nguyen Ngoc Loan Executing a Viet Cong Prisoner—is juxtaposed against a screaming throng of teenage girls as the white tuxedoed band prepares to take the stage. Gone are the well meaning misfits who struggled with slapstick infused storylines about catching a break in show business or winning the girl. In its place are four grown men, pissed off and opinionated, ready to reject and reconstruct everything that made them popular.

“As We Go Along” from Head

After the live version of “Circle Sky”, with clear playing by all four members of the group (acting as a response to those who would question their musicianship), we get into the real heart of Head. Selecting a stream of consciousness style for the movie’s main structure, the boys interact with icons both fictional (faceless filmmakers trying to get them to continue their usual shenanigans) and factual. Ray Nitschke is a football player making matters uncomfortable in a war torn foxhole. Annette Funicello is a typical ingénue pining for Davy Jones in a vignette where the diminutive Brit boxes former heavyweight champion Sonny Liston. A very young Terri Garr helps the group dismiss the non-PC cowboys and Indian ideal, as Victor Mature scowls around the edges as ‘The Big Victor’—a symbol of not only the music business (the nickname is an RCA reference), but of old fashioned moviemaking, as well.

In fact, most of Head is a direct confrontation of the contrivances used by The Monkees to sell themselves. Whether it was working within certain genre stereotypes (scarred horror victims, clueless crime lackeys), the differences between the TV band and the foursome in the movie are monumental. Each member gets a defining moment – Mickey trying to talk his way out of an altercation with a cop (and failing), Peter offering guidance toward some manner of transcendental enlightenment – and there are obvious inside jokes scattered about (the boys have a hilarious back and forth with a drag queen waitress channeling a flawless Bette Davis). With its clear attacks on corporate commercialism (Coke gets it big time) and hard-edged peace and love approach (violence is always met with passive resistance) it’s clear that The Monkees see themselves as the vanguard of a new generation – or at the very least, the catalyst to show the brainwashed teenyboppers a better way.

Of course, there is music interspersed among these adventures, and it’s here where Rafelson really earns his ‘inventor of MTV’ wings. For a gorgeous song like “As We Go Along”, the boys are seen simplified and symbolic, interacting with nature in wondrous, wide open vistas. It’s a stunningly beautiful number. The psychedelic drive of “Do I Have to Do This All Over Again” (a pounding Peter Tork original) is set inside a delirious drug-aided happening, while a harem situation with the boys as befuddled sheiks forms the erotic ridiculousness for “Can You Dig It?” The most revelatory sonic moment in all of Head, however, is not the capable concert footage or the whole earth experience. It’s Davy Jones’ solo spot for a brilliantly conceived and captured vaudeville romp, “Daddy’s Song”.

Composed by friend Harry Nilsson (the band had covered his “Cuddly Toy”), the premise of the piece is straightforward; a nattily outfitted Jones sings and dances against a contrasting backdrop. When he’s in white, the surrounding area is black, and visa versa. Along the way, an incredible young Toni Basil will join him to strut and fret in expertly choreographed routines. Sounds pretty uneventful, right? Well, it’s at the moment when you wonder what makes this sequence stand out that Rafelson rewrites the rule book. Having obviously filmed the number in opposing aesthetics – black on white, white on black – the director than carefully intercuts between the two, creating a striking, jaw dropping melding of the two. Within various angles, within various moves, Davy goes from black suit and white shirt to the exact opposite, the editing flawless keeping in time with the beat and the dance step. While it’s rather difficult to describe, it is astonishing to watch. And remember, this in 1967 – there are no motion control cameras or CGI stunts. Just an original vision meticulously crafted by a true artist.

“Daddy’s Song” from Head

The end takes us back to the beginning. We learn that the group is running from an angry mob, furious that they won’t conform to the norms of society. As they come upon the dedication, they decide to leap off the bridge, a last act of defiance meant to unshackle them from the public grasp once and for all. As “The Porpoise Song” syncs up again, all four members now jump. We see them freefall, the editing once again showing us bodies in uninhibited action. As they hit the water, we remember the opening sequence, and wait for the mermaids to arrive. But what we see instead is struggling. The boys bob and dive, looking for their possible exit. Soon, the psychedelic colors fade away, and we recognize the predicament they are in. Trapped in an oversized aquarium, they are towed back to the studio, Mature sitting smugly in a director’s chair behind them.

Even today, the message remains clear: The Monkees would be forever trapped in a suffocating, inescapable situation. To break from their past would mean a kind of career suicide, while staying within it would be equally deadly. Frozen, floating, between what they were and what they could be, the band appeared to place its fate in the hands of fans. You decide where we go next, they challenged, tell us what you want. The miserable box office returns for the film seemed to signal the answer. The reasons for the failure of Head have been debated by devotees, critics, and movie buffs for decades. It’s a frighteningly original work – the Fab Four wouldn’t be caught dead doing something like this – and it really took a great deal of guts to undermine their image so. Still, it’s also incredibly self indulgent and purposefully oblique, daring the audience to accept and understand it. Unlike other ‘60s artifacts that spell out their intentions in big broad pronouncements, Head remains the ultimate counterculture experience. It not only defies standard conventions, it rebels against them all.

With its failure, The Monkees were officially done. After creating a couple more albums and an equally bizarre network special (1969’s 33&1/3 Revolutions Per Monkee) Peter Tork finally left, followed quickly by Michael Nesmith. The breakup of The Beatles soon overshadowed everything else, and it wasn’t long before reruns of the group’s groundbreaking sitcom were shuttled off to Saturday mornings as kid vid fodder. Head was given an occasional late show screening, but for the most part, it became a forgotten facet of an equally scorned band. Even DVD has failed to resurrect it, the only version available being Rhino’s ridiculous full frame release (cropping away much of Rafelson’s compositions). The Monkees main creative force would go on to make Five Easy Pieces with pal Nicholson, setting the standard for much of the thoughtful ’70s cinema to come. But as a closing confirmation of everything the previous decade had stood for, pro and con, Head stays a misunderstood masterwork, one that’s significance only increases with time.

Not Monkeeing around
By Christian Toto
The Washington Times
July 6, 2007

Micky Dolenz and Kelly Clarkson have more in common than one might think. The distance between a Monkee from the Summer of Love and our first "American Idol" may seem vast, but both engineered splits from powerful music moguls on their third and pivotal albums.

Miss Clarkson recently liberated herself from Clive Davis, chairman of the BMG Label Group. She insisted on creative control over the new album, "My December," casting aside suggestions that she tap into Mr. Davis' reservoir of bankable pop songwriters.

The Monkees recorded their third album, "Headquarters," without the "golden ear," rock impresario Don Kirshner, who supervised the group's transition from a silly sitcom act into recording superstars.

So far, Miss Clarkson has canceled an upcoming tour and faces the prospect of diminished album sales without Mr. Davis' pop machinery behind her.

The public gets a reminder of what happened when the Monkees declared independence with Rhino's Tuesday rerelease of "Headquarters" and "Pisces, Aquarius, Capricorn & Jones, Ltd." The two discs, the Monkees' third and fourth albums, respectively, found the band forging its own musical identity where one never existed but still scoring big on the pop charts. Each comes with superlative liner notes and plenty of extra cuts on the two-disc packages.

The Monkees, for those without Nickelodeon or an oldies station on their radio, were four Beatles-esque boys who sang songs and committed squeaky-clean high jinks on NBC from 1966 to '68. The band — two actors, two musicians — went on to sell more records than the Beatles and the Rolling Stones combined during its brief heyday. Yet the guys didn't play their own instruments on their first two discs.

Mr. Dolenz, the group's drummer and lead vocalist, approached the project like any other television show. "It was about this imaginary group in this imaginary beach house with imaginary adventures," says Mr. Dolenz, who performed "Johnny B Goode" during his Monkees audition. "I was playing the part of a rock 'n' roll drummer. I didn't have a problem with that initially. Underline 'initially.' "

The record label started out selling a television show but ended up pushing a real, live band, Mr. Dolenz says. That, plus some growing resentments, changed Mr. Dolenz's mind. Monkees' mates Michael Nesmith and Peter Tork were told they could have input into the songs the band would sing, but Mr. Dolenz says those promises weren't kept.

One day, Mr. Tork entered the Monkees studio, guitar in hand, to cut some music. "What are you doing here?" Mr. Dolenz says was the response his band mate received. Mr. Dolenz decided at that point it was time for the Monkees to get as real as advertised. The drummer, who as a child had starred in the television show "Circus Boy," doesn't sound bitter about the process.

"We were slightly mislead by the producers. I don't know if it was intentional," he says. "It just got out of hand. [The Monkees] were so much bigger than anybody else could have possibly imagined. For the first time, television and radio ganged up on the consumer in a concerted effort."

Still, the television band had access to great songwriters, including Neil Diamond and Carole King, so staying the course was an option. "Clearly, we were not content to do that," he says. With the confidence that comes from youth, and Mr. Nesmith imploring Mr. Dolenz to tap his own songwriting skills, the band made its first album from scratch.

"I was ready" Mr. Dolenz says. The sessions began awkwardly, but the foursome soon found their footing.

"Headquarters" yielded a slew of strong songs but no big single. Check out the pensive "Shades of Gray" or "Randy Scouse Git," which Mr. Dolenz wrote after a visit to England, for a sample of the band's new sound. "The Beatles threw us a party," Mr. Dolenz recalls of the song's inspiration. "I went back to my hotel room, and I sat down with my guitar and started writing, like a diary."

On "Headquarters" the band worked more or less as one, but on its follow-up, "Pisces," the group's divergent personalities emerged. "We had four lead singers with four very distinct musical visions," Mr. Dolenz says, from Mr. Nesmith's electro-country to Mr. Jones' weakness for big ballads.

Those "four different groups" as Mr. Dolenz calls them, created more buoyant material. Mr. Nesmith showcases his range on a pair of gems — "The Door Into Summer" and "What Am I Doin' Hanging 'Round." And if there's a better pure pop song than "Pleasant Valley Sunday," we'd like to hear it.

Miss Clarkson may take some solace from the Monkees' belated, hard-won artistic credibility, even if the band's fame disappeared nearly as quickly as it came once the television show was canceled.

If the Monkees came of age in 2007, Mr. Dolenz says he thinks the band members wouldn't even try to gain independence. "I don't know if the participants would even care" that the group didn't write their own material, he says. "It was much more of a purist time back then."

When Monkeying Around Becomes Serious Business
By Tim O'Neil - PopMatters Associate Music Editor
October 3, 2006

More of the Monkees lingered at number one on the Billboard chart for 18 weeks in 1967, later confirmed as the third best-selling LP of the '60s (a higher ranking than any Beatles album), and by some measures the 12th best-selling of all time.

Yet there was one man who had a vision of what an album with the right sound, the right marketing, and the right angle could do: Don Kirshner. “I told people I would outsell the Beatles, and they laughed at me”, says Kirshner. “Then the first album sold four million.” - From Andrew Sandoval’s liner notes for The Monkees

“The first album shows up, and I look at it with horror because it makes [us] appear as if we are a rock ‘n’ roll band”, [Mike Nesmith] says. “There’s no credit for the other musicians. I go completely ballistic, and I say, ‘What are you people thinking?’ [The powers that be say], ‘Well, you know it’s the fantasy’. I say, ‘It’s not the fantasy. You’ve crossed the line here. You are now duping the public. They know when they look at the television that we’re not a rock ‘n’ roll band; it’s a show about a rock ‘n’ roll band. It’s witty and wacky, and nobody for a minute believes that we are this somehow accomplished rock ‘n’ roll band that got their own television show. It’s absurd, and your putting this record out like this is just beyond the pale.’” - From Sandoval’s liner notes for More of The Monkees

The Monkees’ brief but memorable career was defined by conflict between seemingly opposed notions of fantasy and authenticity. Although this dichotomy was at the time a novel development, it would go on to dominate critical and popular discourse for the remainder of pop music history through to the present. The Monkees themselves were the unfortunate victims of this burgeoning trend. The men and women behind the group—impresario Kirshner and the legion of professional songwriters and studio musicians responsible for crafting the Monkees’ sound—were mostly oblivious to the changes on the ground, tone-deaf to the fast-paced evolution of rock from a pop novelty to a cultural movement with its own established mores and conventions.

At some point, the intimation of youthful rebellion behind pop music in the late ‘50s and early ‘60s became codified as an authentic ethos: it wasn’t just playing around anymore, it was a mindset, an implicit rejection of the grown-up world and its presumed insincerity and callous professionalism. Whether or not there was any truth to such a blanket condemnation, this was the growing perception. The squares listened to music produced by people in three-piece suits who commuted in from the suburbs and relaxed in the evening with the aid of a stiff martini—their parents, in other words. Rock ‘n’ roll had been a scruffy and disrespectful antidote… that is, until it was systematically neutered, commodified, or killed in airplane crashes. By the early ‘60s it had become just another pop commodity to be manipulated by the aforementioned men in the three piece suits. The folk musicians came along with a new sense of aching sincerity to serve as a counterpoint to the establishment stiffs; the R&B being produced in places like Detroit stole some energy from the early rock ‘n’ rollers and succeeded in returning it to the native black idioms from which is had grown.

It’s obvious and reductive to merely say that everything changed with the Beatles, but to a large degree it’s unavoidable, especially when discussing the Monkees. The Beatles may have initially seemed like nothing more than another in a long line of pop sensations, but the fact that they lingered long past their initial explosive success and were soon claiming an unprecedented degree of creative control changed the pop landscape almost beyond recognition. The generational differences that underlay the pop movement had been solidified—everything that followed, from Dylan’s embrace of pop through to the Stones’ creative awakening and Hendrix’s wildcat psychedelia, flowed from the altered premise that the gap between youthful sincerity and aged cynicism was not just a temporary attitude held by a passive marketing demographic in the crucial years between elementary school and college, but a hardened stance assumed by knowing culture warriors. A massive phenomenon like the Beatles was an irresistible lure for entrepreneurs like Kirshner, who saw the bubblegum hooks and unthreatening sexuality as components of a formula that could with little effort be synthesized and replicated in a laboratory environment. The Monkees were, first and foremost, a calculated attempt to repackage and sell a slightly more docile version of the Beatles to a broad television audience.

And certainly, there is little argument that the formula was incredibly successful. In 1966, The Monkees sat for thirteen weeks at number one on the Billboard charts, eventually selling four million copies—this despite the fact that the album had been initially conceived as little more than a sideline, an afterthought to the aforementioned television program. More of the Monkees lingered at number one for eighteen weeks in 1967. The latter was eventually confirmed as the third best-selling LP of the ‘60s (a higher ranking than any Beatles album), the twelfth best-selling of all time (of course, this is before the Soundscan era, so caveat emptor). If numbers told the whole story, Kirshner’s dream would have been an unqualified success.

But time was not on Kirshner’s side. The Monkees’ massive popularity actually worked against the group, their high-profile providing a handy target for external criticism as well as a crucible for internal pressures. Kirshner thought he was buying a group of actors who could be depended on to play the part of a rock ‘n’ roll band on television and in the recording studio. What he actually got was a group of actors who became a rock band by default. The ground had shifted underneath the feet of men like Kirshner, who had once confidently manipulated the tastes of teenie boppers across the globe. Soon he was alienated by a culture of musical authenticity that reviled the prefabricated nature of the Monkees’ music and image. Obviously, any backlash the music press and nascent critical cogniscenti could muster had a minimal effect on the group’s sales, but runaway success emboldened the Monkees themselves.

When the Monkees did eventually wrest control of their career, the results were startling, at least in terms of their vociferous rejection of the methodically-tailored manufactured celebrity roles they had been assigned. Beginning with their third LP, Headquarters, the group became more and more responsible for their output. Although Nesmith, as the group’s most musically ambitious member, had lobbied for increased participation from the beginning, their unexpected success as a legitimate live touring band allowed them further leeway. Eventually, their quest for legitimacy culminated in 1968’s Head, a surreal, downright unclassifiable film and soundtrack that that served as the biggest kiss-off possible to an entertainment industry that had commodified their likenesses at the cost of their perceived integrity. For his part, Kirshner learned from his mistake, later producing entirely fabricated groups like the Archies—a group of actual cartoon characters who could not, under any circumstances, demand increased creative input or release weird psychedelic movies designed specifically to alienate midwestern mothers.

Considering the group’s tremendous legacy as a cultural bellwether, the music itself has traditionally received short shrift. Unfortunately, there’s a reason for this: outside of a handful of extremely memorable singles, the early music released under the Monkees name was just not very good. The first two albums were the product of multiple songwriters and a host of studio musicians, and while the group’s own vocals are not without charm, the results are wholly mediocre. The Monkees seems, in hindsight, very much what it was conceived to be: a schematic cross-section of then-popular rock ‘n’ roll styles, sanitized for your protection. The group’s primary songwriters were Tommy Boyce and Bobby Hart. The duo had achieved relative success producing hits for Jay & the Americans and the Ikettes, but were still perceived as, in Sandoval’s words, “second-stringers”—at least, in comparison to titans such as Goffin & King. Boyce and Hart were never less than perfectly professional, but the majority of their compositions carry the unenviable whiff of filler. Even a track like “I Wanna Be Free”, a gorgeously arranged ballad sung by Davy Jones, lacks the kind of hook that would mark it as truly memorable. (It’s ironic that Jones was initially chosen to be the group’s lead singer, as he has probably the weakest voice of the three primary singers, especially compared with Mickey Dolenz’s confident tenor and Nesmith’s country-influenced adenoidal drawl.)

Of course, Boyce and Hart also wrote “Last Train to Clarksville”—the group’s first monster hit, and still just about perfect. But the fact that “Clarksville” was such a great tune stands out all the more in the context of the album, sitting uneasily between bargain-basement psychedlia like “Take a Giant Step” and faux-Carnaby Street novelty like “This Just Doesn’t Seem to Be My Day”. ("Take a Giant Step” was a Goffin & King composition, but by their own admission they weren’t selling Kirshner their best material.) Goffin and Russ Titelman also contribute a toothache-inducing ballad called “I’ll Be True to You” that again showcases Jones’s weaknesses as a singer. Nesmith produced some of the album’s highlights, sharing cowriting credits with Goffin & King on the garage-rock “Sweet Young Thing”, as well as his own “Papa Gene’s Blues”, a novelty country tune that spotlights Glen Campbell’s guitar to fine effect. Although “Papa Gene’s Blues” appears on the album as something of a sop to Nesmith, it holds up better than almost anything else on the album. Whereas most of the Monkees’ material was a fairly canny synthesis of established trends, a track like “Papa Gene’s Blues” actually looked forward, staking a claim to the then-nascent country-rock revival in Southern California.

More of the Monkees is a slightly more consistent affair. Boyce & Hart’s “She” and Nesmith’s “Mary, Mary” set the tone, and serve as fine examples of what would become the Monkees’ signature sound—British Invasion-based rock with a solid grounding in American soul and a twist of California flavor in the form of twanging guitars and Byrdsian open chords. Pretty much the default mode for any American band in the mid-’60s. Of course, there are a few more classics scattered throughout, from Boyce & Hart’s “Stepping Stone” (a strong track regardless of a few questionable rhymes), Jack Keller and Diane Hilderbrand’s oddball “Your Auntie Grezelda”, and of course “I’m a Believer”. Such was once Neil Diamonds prowess as a songwriter that he could casually toss-off a gem like “I’m a Believer” and think nothing of it—of course, it became the Monkees biggest-ever single, by default one of the most popular songs of the rock era. Even a Smash Mouth cover has done little to tarnish its appeal.

The Monkees’ recording career has been copiously anthologized and documented, and as such these editions offer little in the way of unrealized revelations for the studious collector. The albums are presented in both stereo and mono, a necessary concession to the collectors that is nevertheless superfluous to more casual aficionados. (Seriously, outside of a select few audiophiles, who ever listens to these mono mixes? Of course, I realize that’s the primary audience for any kind of exhaustive rerelease, but still.) The bonus material, most of which has been previously released, has been wisely selected to shine a spotlight on the group’s evolving creativity, both in terms of their producers’ interpretive abilities and the band’s own burgeoning capabilities. There are lots of alternative versions and first recorded cuts—again, for the audiophiles—but tracks like the demo of Nesmith’s “Propinquity (I’ve Just Begun to Care)” point to a far more sophisticated musical sense that would begin to emerge, if tentatively, on Headquarters.

It’s difficult to judge the Monkees in hindsight, because so much of their importance has become identified not with the music itself, but how they embodied the symbolic struggles at the heart of their career. “Prefabricated” pop music would struggle for acceptance despite its enormous success throughout every phase of modern music history. The critical vocabulary we use today is still defined to a large degree by the kind of divisions that emerged during the Monkees’ tenure on the top of the charts—now we’ve got “rockists” who defend the conventional rock status quo, and “anti-rockists” who defend the multiplicity of modern music against the critical exclusivity of the rockists. The only difference nowadays is that the rockist perspective on matters of authenticity is by no means accepted as the default. Rock music, as it is traditionally defined and as it has been produced for over forty years, really isn’t the mainstream of pop anymore, and “pop”, be it radio-friendly hip-hop, girl-group bubblegum, or MySpace-bred emo bands, can only be judged as authentic as the emotional response it elicits in the listener. (If the vast majority of popular music is stunningly insincere in both execution and effect, well, that’s another matter entirely.) Even large portions of “indie” rock, for a long time the sole province of rockist authenticity and tortured artistry, has succumbed to the idealization of pop facility and songwriting craft. Surprisingly, this has not proven a particularly harsh pill for diehard rockists to swallow… and, by the way, have you heard the latest New Pornographers album? Perhaps there simply isn’t any appreciable difference between rock and pop attitudes on any except the most highly exaggerated Platonic scales—Jandek and Britney saluting each other from across the gaping chasm.

In any event, the vocabulary remains, even if the conflict has withered. The differences between pop and rock have never really held up to closer scrutiny, because there is always more show business in professional music than conscientious musicians would care to admit. There is something inevitably elitist in the presumption of judging art based on the motivations of the artist, as opposed to the virtues of the art itself. Who is to judge? Authenticity is no guarantor of originality. The Monkees’ greatest songs were good not despite their prefab, assembly-line origins, but simply because they were good songs, no caveats. It’s a lot harder to mythologize a professional songwriter with a posse of studio musicians than it is a talented artiste, and a lot of mediocre-to-bad music has been excused throughout the years simply by virtue of this supposed authenticity. It’s not rockist to point out that most pop music just isn’t very good, but that doesn’t mean it shouldn’t be judged on its own merits and not on the listeners’ preconceptions.

It would be easy to dismiss the Monkees based on the fact that their million-selling albums were mostly mediocre. There’s nothing new about a popular act building an album by surrounding a handful of good tracks with superfluous filler, but the conscientious critic is tempted to cast a forgiving eye on the Monkees early material. It is charming when seen as what it is: An attempt to synthesize changing musical mores; a slightly quaint attempt that would soon be rendered entirely moot by shifting tastes. Pretty soon after the Monkees, pop producers would abandon the rock template altogether, with its viscous politics and presumptuous critical establishment. Pop eventually became an entirely separate entity, with its own kind of critical consensus and social networking, and while it would occasionally masquerade as rock, there was always a popular consensus that conferred a legitimacy on the one that was denied the other.

Consequently, regardless of the periodic backlashes against egregiously artificial product (pop disco in the ‘70s, Milli Vanilli), the markets for popular music and the markets for “authentic” rock ‘n’ roll separated, with only occasional overlap. Not coincidentally, the market for “authentic” rock ‘n’ roll, with all its commensurate abnegation and asceticism, has continued to shrink. You could make the argument that regardless of brief blips like Nirvana, pop won the war—a rock band can’t achieve much success in this day and age without channelling at least a little of what made the Monkees so malleable. The Monkees were the first skirmish, after which battle lines were irrevocably drawn. These lines have remained in place more or less to this day, at least in the minds of those who care to write about such things in the first place.

More Than Monkees Business
By Andrew S. Hughes - Tribune Staff Writer
South Bend Tribune
September 15, 2006

The first three albums I bought were by The Monkees -- "The Monkees," "More of the Monkees" and "Headquarters." I was 9 years old and found them all at the same garage sale, for 50 cents each.

The Monkees aren't my favorite band, but they were my first, the one that got me hooked on pop and rock music. Moreover, 30 years later, their records remain a source of pleasure and reason for critical thought.

Tuesday marked the 40th anniversary of the debut of the television series "The Monkees," but the band remains a target of critical derision and dismissal because of its origin as characters invented for a television series.

They were the first pop band to use a Moog synthesizer, however, and Michael Nesmith's Monkees songs and productions contributed to the creation of country-rock as a genre. Eventually, The Monkees wrote their own songs, played their own instruments and toured as a credible rock band.

In addition to a fair biography about The Monkees, the respected "All Music Guide," however, says of the band's music, "It would be foolish to pretend, however, that they were a band of serious significance, despite the occasional genuinely serious artistic aspirations of its members."

Rolling Stone has even less to say on its Web site: nothing, not even a biography.

As Eric Lefcowitz points out in "The Monkees Tale," however, there were two "Monkees" -- the characters on the television show and the musical quartet made up of the real-life Micky Dolenz, Davy Jones, Michael Nesmith and Peter Tork.

The television show always has fared better with critics. John Lennon was a fan, comparing its humor to that of the Marx Brothers, and the series won two Emmy Awards in its first season, for outstanding comedy series and for directing in a comedy series.

"The Monkees," however, was marketed as a children's show (worked on me when I found the show in syndication in the '70s), but its humor and visual techniques often broke ground for the medium. "The Monkees" broke the fourth wall and allowed characters to address the audience directly, for example, and most pop culture historians credit the show with inventing the music video in its weekly "musical romps" -- short films set to a Monkees' song.

Thematically, the show's humor provided teenagers and adults with substantial political and social commentary. The plots, for instance, regularly put The Monkees in the position of defending what was right, which usually pitted them against authority.

This subversive perspective carried over into The Monkees' music and was present from the beginning: On "(Theme From) The Monkees," Tommy Boyce and Bobby Hart write, "We're the young generation, and we've got something to say."

The Monkees' song choices and original material would back that up time and again, and it's that element of their music that interests me most today.

A year before The Beatles told the world "All You Need Is Love," Tork co-wrote "For Pete's Sake," a hippie anthem with the same message. The song became the closing theme for the television show during the second season and perfectly encapsulated The Monkees' pro-youth point of view: "In this generation, in this lovin' time, in this generation, we will make the world shine."

Despite such optimism, however, The Monkees also acknowledged the confusion that social change wreaks, with Barry Mann and Cynthia Weil's "Shades of Gray": "I remember when the answers seemed so clear. We had never lived with doubt or tasted fear." Tork's plaintive delivery of the final line of the chorus, "Only shades of gray," vividly captures the song's sense of uncertainty teetering on despair.

Gerry Goffin and Carole King's "Pleasant Valley Sunday" kicks off with a classic guitar riff and then deconstructs the malaise of "life" in "status symbol land" -- the suburbs: "Rows of houses that are all the same, and no one seems to care. ... Creature comfort goals, they only numb my soul and make it hard for me to see." (Personal historical note: Goffin and King wrote the song after a Sunday drive along one of the main roads, Pleasant Valley Way, in my hometown, West Orange, N.J., which was a much better place to grow up than how they portray it, and, frankly, the song is more relevant in today's world of look-alike suburban sprawl subdivisions than it was in 1967.)

In concert, The Monkees encountered the sort of adulation and screaming that The Beatles experienced, and with "Star Collector," they cut celebrity worship to pieces by exposing how "young celebrities" view their groupies: "How can I love her when I just don't respect her? ... It won't take much time before I get her off my mind."

In other self-referential songs, The Monkees agitated in favor of themselves on Nesmith's "Listen to the Band," but also satirized themselves on "Ditty Diego -- War Chant," from the "Head" soundtrack: "You say we're manufactured. To that, we all agree. ... Hey, hey we are The Monkees. We've said it all before. The money's in, we're made of tin. We're here to give you more."

"The Door Into Summer" delivers a double whammy, one against war profiteering and one against avarice in general: King Midas sits "in his counting house where nothing counts but more," counting the "fool's gold" he's made from "a killing in the market on the war." Outside his window, "the echo of a penny whistle band" forces him to realize "he pays for every year he cannot buy back with his tears."

On the television show and on their records, The Monkees made several oblique and direct references to the war in Vietnam. Throughout the television series, for example, Tork's character advocated pacifism with lines that appear in hindsight aimed at the escalation of the war in Vietnam.

Although some confusion exists over what Boyce and Hart knew when they wrote "Last Train to Clarksville," they intended it as an anti-war song. One account says Clarksdale was the original name of the town, but the two songwriters changed it to Clarksville before they recorded it. Later, they learned Clarksville, Tenn., is home to Fort Campbell, an Army base from which soldiers shipped out to Vietnam. Even with that bit of serendipity on their side, the key line in Boyce and Hart's song addresses the anxiety of soon-to-be-deployed soldiers: "And I don't know if I'm ever coming home."

On Dolenz's "Randy Scouse Git," the narrator adopts the voice of authority and sings, "Why don't you hate who I hate, kill who I kill to be free?"

The Monkees' most strident socially conscious song, however, is Dolenz's "Mommy and Daddy," where the writer and singer lets loose with a series of questions he wants his preteen listeners to ask their parents: "Ask your mommy why everybody swallows all those little pills. Ask your daddy why that soldier doesn't care who he kills. ... Do you think I'm too young to know, to see, to feel, or hear? My questions need an answer, or a vacuum will appear." It's about as far from bubble gum as you can get, and that's the tame, released version.

By then, however, no one was listening. After the television show was canceled in 1968 and left the air that September, The Monkees never hit the top 10 again and their records sold fewer and fewer copies. A shame, because The Monkees did in fact have something to say, and they still do. Go ahead, listen to the band.

Short-Lived Shows: The Monkees - TV Squad
By Richard Keller
September 14, 2006

On September 12th, 1966 a debate ignited that continues even to this day. It wasn't on whether or not we should stay in Vietnam, or if there was a second shooter on the grassy knoll, or who was the cutest Beatle. No, the age old debate begun on this date was: did the Monkees actually play their own instruments?

Well, they did, but that doesn't matter right now. What does matter is that the debate was initiated this particular evening because it was the night that The Monkees television show premiered on the NBC fall schedule. For the next two seasons, fifty-eight episodes, nine albums, one television special, and one major motion picture, Monkeemania swept America and the world.

Inspired by the Beatles' movies A Hard Day's Night and Help!, The Monkees featured the not-so everyday adventures of four musicians living in a groovy, California beach house. Mike (Nesmith), was the leader of the pop-music quartet and was known for wearing a wool cap no matter where he went. Micky (Dolenz) was the drummer with the rubber face and James Cagney impressions. Davy (Jones) was the short, British singer with the Beatle mop-top who was loved by all the women. Finally, Peter (Tork) was the quiet, spiritual, naive guitar player who always seemed to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. In reality, Davy and Micky already had established careers . . . Micky in the syndicated television drama Circus Boy and Davy on Broadway in Oliver! . . . while Mike and Peter were professional signers who came from the folk music scene in New York City's Greenwich Village. These four were selected from a group of 437 to become The Monkees.

The show itself was not your typical 1960's comedy. There were jump cuts, fantasy sequences, satires of movies and other television shows, and frequent dismantling of the fourth wall to talk to the audience or members of the studio staff. And, of course, there was music. In fact, The Monkees was probably the first show on television to feature what we would eventually call 'music videos.' Back then, the vignettes were called 'musical romps' that would either relate to the plot of the episode or would actually be separate from the goings-on. No matter what you call it, they were used to promote songs that appeared on The Monkees albums.

The show was a huge success. It spurned more albums, additional products with The Monkees logo, a concert tour, and weekly appearances on such magazines as Tiger Beat and Seventeen. It even won two Emmys in 1967; one for Outstanding Comedy Series and one for Outstanding Directorial Achievement in Comedy.

Alas, as the second season progressed, egos began to get in the way. The 'Prefab Four' began to get tired of the same format week after week and they threw away the scripts in favor of more improvisation. A few band members even proposed switching the format over to a variety show, which would feature musical guests and live performances. However, the network wasn't keen on changing the format. So, with the refusal by the network, and the waining interest in the show by the four band members, The Monkees was canceled in 1968.

The band attempted to keep the momentum going, despite the loss of an outlet to promote their new songs. They starred in their own movie, simply titled Head, which was co-produced and written by a little-known actor named Jack Nicholson. It flopped at the theaters due to a poorly designed promotional campaign (a one minute close-up of a man's head) and the confusing plot of the psychedelic film. They returned to television in 1969 with 33⅓ Revolutions Per Monkee, an extremely weird special which also faltered in the ratings. With tensions high and their popularity faltering, band members began to leave. First Peter Tork in 1969 and then Mike Nesmith (who went on to have a very good post-Monkee career) one year later. Micky and Davy, the two remaining members of the band, released one more album in 1970, and then called it quits.

However, that was not the end of the show or the band. The original 58 episodes found a home on Saturday mornings, airing from 1969 to 1973 on first CBS then ABC. In 1986, a very young MTV aired a Monkees marathon on their network. This, paired with the fact that the band was celebrating its 20th anniversary, put The Monkees back into the spotlight. The resurgence was so strong that it resulted in a new album and tour schedule. One more television special, Hey, Hey It's The Monkees aired on ABC in 1997, on the heels of the bands last studio album.

The Monkees was one of those shows you either loved or hated; there was no middle ground. Whatever way you felt, there can be no doubt that the show paved the ground for music video networks like MTV and shows like Scrubs, which utilizes fantasy sequences and breaks in the fourth wall on a regular basis. So, on the 40th anniversary of the show's first episode, we raise a glass to The Monkees in appreciation.

The Monkees, the pre-fab four, ride again
By Bruce Westbrook
Houston Chronicle
August 18, 2006

Turning an old vinyl album into a remastered, expanded, two-disc deluxe CD is our digital era's version of Smithsonian enshrinement. But though it's one thing to preserve and exalt Cream's Disraeli Gears this way, should the Monkees' first two albums gain such treatment, as they do today?

Snobs are sure to sneer ``No.'' And they'll be wrong.

Sure, this band was formed to portray goofy musicians on a silly sitcom, but groups as revered as Peter, Paul & Mary also were assembled by show-biz managers. Sure, the Monkees' early music relied on L.A. session players, but so did records by the Byrds and the Beach Boys. Is there any shame in having Hal Blaine on drums or Larry Knechtel on keyboards for anyone's record? That's just showing good taste.

I'm not equating popularity with artistry, but some numbers are hard to deny. The Monkees' first four albums from 1966-68 each topped the charts and sold 16 million copies combined. That's more than the Beatles and Stones' total sales in that time. With so much competition, mediocre music couldn't sell so well due to clever marketing or TV tie-ins.

Besides, by 1967's release of their third and best album, Headquarters, the pre-fab four had become a self-driven unit - writing, composing and producing. A TV novelty had become a musical entity, one whose legacy would inspire even the Sex Pistols to cover (I'm Not Your) Steppin' Stone, while Smash Mouth recently revived the Neil Diamond-penned I'm a Believer.

Houston-born Monkee Michael Nesmith also wrote strong songs, and he pushed for creative control from the start. Sparked by his defiance, the Monkees kicked and screamed into a legitimate pop-rock act whose output and success make them overdue for joining lesser lights already embedded in the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame.

Having long championed the band, Rhino is taking it a step further with two-disc deluxe editions of their first two albums: The Monkees and More of the Monkees. Though most of the material is familiar, they still enhance our looks at Nesmith, Davy Jones, Micky Dolenz and Peter Tork's journey from ill-gained TV fame to well-earned musical respectability.

For one thing, each album has been impeccably remastered, with a stereo mix on its first disc and a mono mix on its second. Graced by detailed liner notes, annotations and new interviews of the group, the albums also gain 35 bonus tracks between them, nine of which are previously unissued. (Most others are from expanded editions of the '90s, now out of print, and three volumes of Missing Links rarities.)

Apart from lead vocals, The Monkees has the group's least contributions. Denied a chance to be in the band, Tommy Boyce and Bobby Hart ran things in the studio, writing and producing songs such as Last Train to Clarksville and I Wanna Be Free.

Master songsmiths Gerry Goffin and Carole King composed Take a Giant Step, while future Bread man David Gates penned Saturday's Child. But the country-flavored Nesmith was busy writing and recording, too, and his Papa Gene's Blues also made the cut.

Nesmith's pounding country-rock for The Kind of Girl I Could Love had to wait, winding up on More of the Monkees. But a previously unissued alternate mix of the song is among The Monkees' bonus tracks, with extra energy and elaborate new backing vocals.

Another unearthed gem has Jones on lead vocal for (I Prithee) Do Not Ask for Love, a dramatic, baroque love song penned by Texan Michael Martin Murphey (Wildfire) and produced by Nesmith. Harpsichord fans, don your headphones and turn the dial to 11.

On More of the Monkees, label boss Don Kirshner was still pulling strings, while Nesmith and Tork kept resisting. But their puppet master had a point: More was America's No. 1 album for 18 weeks, and it became the third best-selling album of the '60s.

Two big hits drove it: Steppin' Stone and I'm a Believer. But She and Mary, Mary also added rock edge, while Look Out (Here Comes Tomorrow) had irresistible pop hooks.

Recorded around the same time, several of More's bonus tracks point to the future, with early versions of Valleri, Words, Tear Drop City, You Just May Be the One and Mr. Webster. Each was destined for an album of its own.

It's intriguing to hear such varied spins, and also amazing that a group which toured and performed for two seasons on TV had time to record so much music. Indeed, as much Monkees material has been released post-'60s as was issued originally.

By the time Mr. Webster was recut for Headquarters, the Monkees had evolved into captains of their own studio voyage. That will be the tale on future releases, as Rhino continues giving this over-achieving group - this unlikely but happy accident - its deluxe-edition due.

A sound check with 1960s TV pop icon Davy Jones
By Rachel R. Briere - Sun Staff
Lowell Sun Online
July 21, 2006

Davy Jones says he just had the best experience of his life. It involves watermelon and a cool shower. But it is not something you would expect from the former TV heartthrob and probably the best-looking member of The Monkees, the band at the center of the TV sitcom that aired for two seasons from 1966-68.

"I went to the fridge and grabbed some watermelon, because I was kind of a bit parched and stood in the shower eating the watermelon with the water to my back," said the exuberant Jones. "There's no Cristal champagne, so what the heck?"

On the phone from a motel somewhere between green pastures and a dirt road in New Kent, Va., Jones spoke like the Micro Machines man after downing a four-pack of Red Bulls. In 30 minutes, he dished about his obsession with horses, Las Vegas, theater, Kurt Cobain, religion, rap music, family dinners, Hollywood, cigarettes, iPods, divorce and American Idol. He even burst into singing a few impromptu lines by that little phenomenon he belonged to called The Monkees.

"Pretty good for not having my morning cup of coffee yet," he laughed, with just a nano-second pause for air.

Jones will take the stage at Boarding House Park in the Lowell Summer Music Series tomorrow evening with what is sure to be a collection of The Monkees' greatest hits. It's one of the smaller venues that he has played. Recently, he made a surprise appearance for about 15,000 people in Las Vegas at an eBay convention, where he sang "Daydream Believer," now the theme jingle for the online auction site's new TV commercials. He also just headlined the July Fourth Wheeling's Freedom Fest in Illinois, which drew 20,000 -- although it's not certain that people were there to hear "Last Train to Clarksville" or watch some fireworks.

But Jones is a believer that he is still in the heyday of his musical career. He calls himself an actor who performs Monkees music, though he claims the band "ruined his acting career." He shuns Hollywood and even goes as far as on his Web site as superimposing himself onto candid photos with Angelina Jolie, Katie Holmes and Jennifer Aniston and providing mocking captions.

"Sorry, I can't make it in Hollywood," Jones said. "They take themselves so bloody serious. You ever notice that Keanu Reeves is never at a gala or Jack Nicholson, because they're busy making money, movies, working. The rest are not working; they're all busy slapping each other on a back and being celebrities." He also had some harsh words for some whom many consider the most influential names in music.

"I have no respect for the likes of Janis Joplin or Kurt Cobain or Jimi Hendrix; they took the easy way out," he continued without a breath. "Look at the groups from the '60s; they're not around anymore, but the Monkees are. I didn't ask to be a role model, but I am."

He also is "disgusted" with John Belushi -- the Saturday Night Live star who died of a drug overdose -- and what he calls a "lack of self-control."

Those are shocking comments from a man who has spent his entire life as a performer. But Jones says he lives a humble life, driving a 10-year-old car, making his own sandwiches, microwaving soup in his motel and even walking to the center of town to wash his laundry.

"You think Elvis did that? Maybe he'd be alive now," he joked.

Jones admits he has been "blessed" with a rewarding career that enables him to travel and entertain people. Since he does not believe in any afterlife or reincarnation, he strives to outperform his contemporaries and give his fans the ultimate Monkees experience at his shows.

But his fans may be disappointed not to catch him walking the red carpet at the Grammys for the 40th anniversary of the beloved musical television comedy.

"I'm not some slapped-out, bitter, old Monkee and can't be messing around on the Grammys or Oscars," he said.

As for the band itself, don't plan on a reunion tour anytime soon, maybe even in this lifetime.

"Mick (Dolenz), Mike (Nesmith) and Peter (Tork) are not really in my life anymore. We don't vacation together or have Christmas or even call on each others' birthdays," he explained. "We were only on air for a couple of years; it's just the association is so strong. Good things stand the test of time. As a solo entertainer, everything I do affects someone else."

Rhino expands first 2 Monkees albums
By Jonathan Cohen
July 7, 2006

NEW YORK (Billboard) - Rhino has set an August 15 release date for expanded editions of the first two albums from TV stars turned pop idols the Monkees. Both will be issued as two-disc packages including stereo and mono mixes plus rare and previously unreleased bonus tracks.

1966's "The Monkees," which spent 13 weeks at No. 1 on the Billboard album chart, sports previously unreleased alternate mixes of "Papa Gene's Blues" and "The Kind of Girl I Could Love," a version of "I Don't Think You Know Me" with Micky Dolenz on vocals, a jingle for Kellogg's and a demo for "Propinquity (I've Just Begun To Care)."

The following year's "More of the Monkees" was even more successful than its predecessor, spending 18 weeks at No. 1. Among the bonus tracks are "Look Out (Here Comes Tomorrow)" with narration by Peter Tork, the first recorded version of "Valleri," an alternate take of "Tear Drop City" and a different mix of "I'm a Believer."

Owing to a history of intra-band acrimony, the Monkees last toured with all four original members in 1997. Minus Michael Nesmith, members Dolenz, Tork and Davy Jones subsequently hit the road on several occasions but have no plans to work together in the future.

"I would not work with those guys again if my life depended on it," Jones recently told Scripps Howard News Service. "I can't be responsible for their attitudes and the way they treat people."

Stuart Goldenberg

Hendrix Meets the Monkees
By Michael Pollak - New York Times
July 9, 2006

Q. My dad told me that there was a concert in Queens where Jimi Hendrix opened for the Monkees. I refuse to believe this.

A. Believe it. In one of rock's all-time mismatches, Jimi Hendrix and the Experience signed on as an opening act for the Monkees in midtour. After dates in the South, they played several concerts in July 1967 in the stadium at the West Side Tennis Club in Forest Hills.

What were they thinking? Answer: The Monkees wanted respect, and Hendrix wanted publicity. Despite the notoriety from his guitar-burning appearance at the Monterey Pop Festival the month before, Hendrix was better known in England than in the United States, and was far less popular than the Monkees, who had been created for a television sitcom and whose fans consisted mostly of prepubescent girls.

According to an account of the incident in "Oops," a new chronicle of modern fiascoes by Martin J. Smith and Patrick J. Kiger, Hendrix's temper boiled over at Forest Hills. The problem wasn't the performers, who got along pretty well. It was the Monkees' fans, who had little interest in the scary psychedelic dude who preceded their idols. Hendrix's riffs were drowned out by screams of "We want Davy!" (Davy Jones was a Monkee.) Finally, Hendrix gestured obscenely, with words to match, and stomped offstage.

A publicist had a master stroke, putting out the fictional story that opposition from the Daughters of the American Revolution had forced Hendrix off the tour. It worked. His next tour, before appreciative audiences, was a success, and within a year, he was a superstar.

ION Media Networks and Sony Pictures Television Announce Programming Agreement for TV Series and Feature Films
ION Media Networks

(West Palm Beach, FL and Culver City, CA – July 5, 2006) – ION Media Networks, Inc. (AMEX: ION) and Sony Pictures Television (“SPT”) today announced a programming agreement that provides ION with the rights to broadcast dozens of classic television series and a large selection of award-winning feature films from the Sony library on the i television network, reaching over 90 million homes.

“This agreement reflects our strategy of strengthening our i network’s programming schedule with popular series and theatrical hits with proven audience appeal,” said Brandon Burgess, CEO of ION Media Networks. “We look forward to working with Sony on developing a compelling entertainment line-up that continues to appeal to our current audience, while attracting new viewers to the network.”

“The i network and its stations will benefit from a wide variety of titles from our extensive library of television series and feature films, which have proven to deliver audiences,” said John Weiser, president, distribution for Sony Pictures Television. “We are pleased to be in partnership with ION, helping them grow and making them a destination for great programming.”

Under the terms of the agreement, ION will have access to many of SPT’s most popular TV series from the last three decades, including “Charlie’s Angels,” “Starsky & Hutch,” “The Partridge Family,” “The Monkees” and “Silver Spoons,” among others.

In addition, titles from Sony’s extensive library of theatrical films will be available to ION, including “A River Runs Through It,” “Oliver!,” “Bram Stoker’s Dracula,” “Short Circuit” and many more.

“We are pleased to have access to Sony’s diverse collection of movies and classic TV shows” said Stacey Nagel Galper, ION’s Senior Vice President of Programming and Strategic Planning. “We will begin scheduling the Sony movies on the i network this month, with plans to launch the television series in August.”

Davy Jones provided Tuesday night's entertainment. (Leslie Walker-The Washington Post)

Hey, Hey, We're The Monkees
By Leslie Walker
The Washington Post
June 14, 2006

EBay chief executive Meg Whitman debuted many new features and policies for eBay's marketplace in her keynote speech Tuesday night, but it was the surprise concert by singer Davy Jones of the Monkees that got the crowd roaring on its feet.

A Monkees song provides the backdrop for one of eBay's "It" TV commercials, and the 1960s-era rock band reflects the Baby Boomer demographic that makes up much of the mom-and-pop seller base that helped make eBay a world leader in electronic commerce.

Thousands of eBay dealers screamed when Jones ran on stage, and many rushed to the front of the vast arena to get their pictures taken standing in front of the Monkees star.

As for news, Whitman and Bill Cobb, president of eBay North America, announced all sorts of changes:

Next week, eBay will start integrating the Skype phone calling system into eBay listings for autos, real estate and 14 other merchandise categories.

EBay is launching a mobile "eBay Alerts" service that will let bidders get calls on their cell phones shortly before bidding ends on the items they are trying to buy, allowing them to raise their bids by phone.

The auctioneer has decided to enforce rules prohibiting "excessive shipping" charges more strictly.

EBay is raising its seller verification requirements for merchants who want to sell across national borders.

U.S. Postmaster General John Potter went on stage to announce a special new priority mail box -- just for shoes.

PTsgirl comment on the article below: Don't you think the writer should have spelled Micky's name correctly? ;)

THE BOOTLEG FILES: "THE BUGS BUNNY/MONKEES KOOL-AID COMMERCIAL"
By Phil Hall
filmthreat.com
June 2, 2006

BOOTLEG FILES 132 "The Bugs Bunny/Monkees Kool-Aid Commercial” (1969 advertisement for that crystal soft drink.

LAST SEEN: On YouTube.com and several other online video sites.

AMERICAN HOME VIDEO: None.

REASON FOR DISAPPEARANCE: Hey, hey, it’s a silly commercial.

CHANCES OF SEEING A DVD RELEASE: Not likely, Doc!

In the real world, the combination of an animated rabbit, a washed-up music group and a tooth rot-generating crystal soft drink mix should not occur. But back in 1969, these unlikely forces converged for a single 30-second slice of insanity which still leaves a wonderfully bad taste in the mouth. I am talking about a TV commercial for Kool-Aid starring Bugs Bunny and the Monkees.

Kool-Aid...Bugs Bunny...the Monkees? I don’t need to ask what’s wrong with this picture. What needs to be asked is how this picture came together. The backstory is quite a tale unto itself.

By 1969, Kool-Aid needed a new advertising approach. The product had been around for 40 years but was seen as being both too square (especially among soda-gulping kids) or too groovy (particularly among Ken Kesey and his Merry Pranksters, whose habit of mixing Kool-Aid with LSD was brilliantly detailed in Tom Wolfe’s best-seller “The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test”). Kool-Aid needed something that was kool...uh, cool, at least to the little kids who were the target audience for the drink.

Enter Bugs Bunny. In the late 1960s, “The Bugs Bunny/Road Runner Show” was the top-rated program on Saturday morning television. In a deal with Warner Bros., Bugs Bunny was licensed to be the Kool-Aid spokesman (spokesrabbit?) and his image turned up on packaging, point-of-sale displays and TV commercials (especially on “The Bugs Bunny/Road Runner Show”). Reportedly, Tex Avery was brought back from semi-retirement to direct the commercials – but that’s hard to believe, since the commercials bear little resemblance to his trademark style.

Inexplicably, Kool-Aid also recruited the Monkees for their marketing purposes. This made little sense, because by 1969 the Monkees were dying on their feet. Their TV show had been off the air (contrary to popular belief, it was never a top rated program), and their attempts to reach beyond the teenybopper crowd for an adult audience (both in their music and their much-maligned feature film “Head”) failed. With record sales plummeting and Peter Tork leaving the group, the Monkees had nothing to do...until Kool-Aid threw them a lifeline. The fact the Monkees had to pitch Kool-Aid to little kids signified a new low in their brief career.

Initially, Kool-Aid kept Bugs Bunny and the Monkees separate for promotional purposes. But for some reason, it was decided to bring them together for a commercial. And, boy, what a commercial it was!

The commercial opens in the middle of a desert. A single palm tree is incongruously placed in the midst of the great sands and the three remaining Monkees (Davy Jones, Mickey Dolenz and Michael Nesmith) are sitting beneath it. Suddenly, Bugs Bunny steps out from behind the palm tree. Or at least it is supposed to be Bugs Bunny – the animation is so crude that Bugs is either suffering from extreme anorexia or his head and feet have swollen to grotesque proportions. Even his voice sounds a bit strange as he utters his first line: “Eh, what’s up, Davy?”

Actually, that turns out to be his only line. It is not clear why Bugs would single out Davy instead of saying “What’s up, Monkees?” Davy answers, in a grumpy manner: “Nothing’s up.” Then there is a close-up of Mickey who exclaims: “Nobody here but us Monkees.” Mickey then laughs a broad chuckle which is half-sarcastic and half-a**hole.

Abruptly, there is a quick cut to the contents of a Kool-Aid envelope being emptied into a pitcher of ice water. The soundtrack explodes with bad pop music...hey, hey, it’s the Monkees singing “Make friends with Kook-Aid, make Kool-Aid with friends.” Magically, the desert is alive with dozens of kids who appear via the magic of bad trick photography. They come running down the sand dunes and the Monkees, now inexplicably dressed in tuxedos, serve them Kool-Aid. We then see a small tent in the sand and all of the kids come running out of the tent (sort of the equivalent of the circus clown car routine).

Mickey’s voice is on the soundtrack insisting: “Make some Kool-Aid soft drink mix!” And then comes the final shot with Davy sitting alone, crossed legged, in the sand, looking cute as a button and cheerfully saying: “You can always use another friend!”

If anyone can use another friend, it’s Michael Nesmith. Unlike Davy and Mickey, he has no close-up and no dialogue in this commercial. Not surprisingly, Nesmith would follow Peter Tork out of the group shortly after this commercial aired.

But even if Michael is the silent man here, there are still plenty of questions to ask: what is the point of introducing Bugs Bunny and then having him disappear within seconds of his arrival? Why have the Monkees in subordinate roles to a bunch of kids? Why close it with Davy doing a solo spot instead of having this large gathering in a display of communal love? And since when did a glass of Kool-Aid open the door to new relationships with hitherto total strangers?

Somebody must have liked this commercial, as it appears there were variations of it. There’s a Monkees fan site online which has scripts of two different versions of this, with one featuring a single line of dialogue for Nesmith (“Hey, let’s make some Kool-Aid!”) plus an extended bit of Mickey Dolenz crawling in the sand as a thirsty legionnaire. One version has the Monkees coming out of the small tent dressed like shieks. How all of this could fit into the 30 seconds of running time is not clear, and since this is not available I am wondering whether the script being quoted online was an early draft of the commercial that is available.

Supposedly, there was another Bugs Bunny-Monkees combination that involved the pouring and serving of Kool-Aid in an Old West ghost town. But that commercial is not available for bootleg review.

In any event, the one winning formula here was Bugs Bunny. Yes, even though the character is on screen for mere seconds, his appeal was enough for the continuation of the Kool-Aid promotional effort well into the 1970s. Eventually, Bugs got the boot and was replaced by a giant anthropomorphic version of the Kool-Aid pitcher who starred in a series of Dadaist commercials in which he would crash through walls to answer the call of “Hey, Kool-Aid!” Bugs himself dumped Kool-Aid to promote another powdery drink mix, Tang (rabbit to Kool-Aid: go f**k yourself).

Alas, the Monkees did not survive their brief encounter with Bugs. Kool-Aid dropped them from their promotional efforts in late 1969. After Nesmith left the group, Dolenz and Jones continued briefly as a duet under the Monkees name before going their separate ways. Over the years, occasional attempts were made to bring the pre-fab four back together – but the magic was never there (and, for the most part, neither was Nesmith, who avoided most Monkee reunion efforts – perhaps he was still pissed about his Kool-Aid snubbing).

The commercial in question eventually dropped off the air in late 1969 and vanished from sight. Somehow it has reappeared via the magic of the Internet, turning up in a variety of online video sites (I think the YouTube.com copy is the best). The video presentation is clearly a bootleg from at least three generations of duping, and I assume it may have been used on an earlier bootleg video collection of vintage commercials. In any event, one can easily locate it via a search engine query and enjoy the 30 seconds of Kool-Aid coolness.

Oh, I need to clarify one point. That expression “Drink the Kool-Aid” is a grievous misnomer. It stems from the 1978 mass suicide of 918 people at the Jonestown cult community in Guyana. The potassium cyanide-laced drink was not (repeat, not) Kool-Aid, but rather an obscure knock-off named Flavor Aid. However, since no one ever heard of Flavor Aid, the notion of drinking the Kool-Aid took root. Which leads me to wonder: did the Bugs Bunny/Monkees commercial inspire this type of suicide? After all, if you were trapped in the middle of the desert with a shoddy Bugs Bunny, a too-cute Davy Jones, an unfunny Mickey Dolenz, a silent Michael Nesmith, and dozen of obnoxious kids running in the dune...wouldn’t you drink the Kool-Aid?

Tribute bands' concert to benefit MSU-N
By Angela Brandt
The Havre Daily News
May 9, 2006

Here they come, walking down the street. They get the funniest looks from everyone they meet.

Hey, hey they're The Missing Links, a California-based Monkees tribute band, and they will be playing Saturday night at the Bigger Better Barn. The show also will feature BackBeat, a Beatles tribute band. The two groups largely include the same members.

Danny Lopez, who portrays Davy Jones, said his earliest memories of music during his childhood was mimicking the theme from The Monkees. Now, Lopez apes the band for a living.

Lopez, the founding member of the two groups, has always identified with Jones - both are short and good looking, he said. Lopez was the smallest in his group of school chums and was nicknamed Davy.

“It was the coolest thing, in the show the little one always gets the girl,” Lopez said with a smile.

The bands feature Cary Park as Mike Nesmith and John Lennon, Ricky Cosentino as Micky Dolenz and Ringo Starr and Tom Cosentino as Peter Tork. Lopez, who also plays George Harrison, said he has two Paul McCartneys to choose from for the show.

The concert is a benefit for Montana State University-Northern athletics. Pre-sale tickets are available for $12 at Creative Leisure, Aero Lounge, Pastime, 15 West and the MSU-N athletic department. Tickets will be sold at the door for $15 each. The show starts at 7 p.m.

The members of the bands gravitated toward the Monkee and Beatle with whom they shared the most in common. All are huge fans of both groups.

“We're a lot like our characters,” Lopez said in a faux-British accent. While the Monkees were an American band, Jones was originally from Britain, like The Beatles.

Lopez, who now lives in Great Falls, said the Havre appearance is the only Missing Links concert scheduled in Montana this year. The band will perform two sets of Monkees songs, one of their early music and one of their later works, and Backbeat will perform one set. The Beatles tribute, which started in 1992, will play a set of “Abbey Road”-era songs.

Lopez said The Monkees' music is appealing to fans of all ages.

“From age 5 to 95, quite literally. That's the beauty of it,” he said.

The Monkees have been covered by an array of musicians - from punk bands like The Sex Pistols and Minor Threat to rappers Run DMC. Most recently, “I'm a Believer” was redone by Smash Mouth and featured in the movie “Shrek.”

Both The Missing Links and BackBeat are able to recreate a time in someone's life, Lopez said.

He said that after BackBeat's performance in Great Falls last year, he received e-mails from fans who said the show “made them feel like a teenager again.”

The Missing Links got to ride in the original Monkee Mobile during a celebration of the 40-year anniversary of the television show last month. The Monkees' television show debuted on NBC in 1966.

“Riding in the Monkee Mobile was a dream come true. When I was little - it was that and the Batmobile,” Lopez said.

The Monkees' bass player Tork also joined the group on the stage for a rendition of “(I'm Not Your) Stepping Stone.”

“It was worlds colliding because there I was acting as his friend and bandmate, Davy,” Lopez said of the experience.

He said although the bands don whigs and dress in character, they are “not just guys in costumes.”

The Missing Links play all of The Monkees' greatest hits and then let the audience request songs from any era or genre of music. He said at one show the band played - while still dressed as their Monkees characters - a melody of songs by Ozzy Osbourne, The Partridge Family, Green Day and Barry Manilow.

The band has shared the stage with some eclectic acts. They recently played on a bill that included 1980s hit-machine Loverboy, Canadian rockers Nickelback and country crooner Brad Paisley. Lopez said his own taste in music varies from punk to country to classical. He said his favorite Monkees tunes are guitarist Nesmith's bluesy-country ditties like “Papa Gene's Blues.”

The Missing Links chose the name for a few reasons, he said. The Monkees' drummer, Dolenz, used to jam with a band with the name, and it also was the name of a series of previously unreleased Monkees tracks. It's also a reference to primates.

Lopez has met all four original Monkees and said they all love the tribute band.

“Davy and I are two peas in a pod,” he said.

For more information go to www.monkeestribute.com and www.backbeatatribute.com.

No more Monkee business, Davy Jones says at 60
By Bill DeYoung
The Stuart Times
May 3, 2006

INDIANTOWN - Davy Jones embraces the past and cherishes the present, but his future doesn't include any more Monkees reunions.

This year will mark the 40th anniversary of the pre-fab four, and Jones, at 60, says he's had enough.

"I would not work with those guys again if my life depended on it," says the diminutive Englishman, who's owned a home here for 20 years. "I can't be responsible for their attitudes, and the way they treat people."

The British-born Jones is the subject of tonight's episode of Living in TV Land. Most of the 30-minute show was filmed in and around Indiantown.

The last reunion of all four Monkees, a 1997 British tour, ended with bitterness and angry words. According to Jones, Michael Nesmith, Peter Tork -- and, to a lesser extent, Micky Dolenz -- think of themselves as rock stars, and not veterans of a 1960s sitcom about rock stars. The four rarely agree on anything.

"Get over it, OK?" Jones laughs. "The Monkees is gonna be the Monkees forever and ever. It's going to be like the Marx Brothers and the Three Stooges and the Bowery Boys."

Jones does about 100 solo shows every year (he'll play Epcot's International Flower & Garden Festival May 12-15), and his set is chock-full of Monkees hits and Monkee-esque stage patter. "I've got friends that I've known for 40 years, and a lot of people that I don't know that talk to me as if they do know me," he explains. "Which makes me feel good. I've touched a lot of people's lives.

"The Monkees touched a lot of people's lives, and I can't destroy that by going out with those guys and having bad attitudes around me."

He wouldn't do it, he says, "for $10 million a night."

Jones' extended family includes millions of fans all over the world, but his inner circle is small. Twice divorced, he has four grown daughters and two grandsons -- and a stable full of the best pals a longtime horseman could ask for.

Every morning at 6, Jones drives the 30 minutes from his home to a rural Martin County stable to exercise his 12 horses, groom them and clean out their stalls. As a young lad in Manchester, he aspired to be a jockey -- these days, several of his horses race at Florida tracks, with someone younger in the saddle.

The animals, Jones says, are his best friends; they don't need to hear him sing Daydream Believer. They just want his attention and affection.

He spends the summers at a ranch house in Pennsylvania (he also owns an estate in England and an apartment in Los Angeles).

"Money doesn't change a man," he muses. "I'd rather people wonder why I live in Indiantown, amongst the migrant workers and retirees, rather than alone in a gated community feeling lonely."

Although his daughters visit often, Jones lives alone. "I get lonely all the time, but I like it," he says. "Loneliness is like a friend of mine these days."

The area's rapid growth, however, is a bone of contention.

"I thought of America as being cowboys and Indians and cattle rustling, and now they're rustling our land," Jones says. "All these people are coming from West Palm and all around; they're building 600 new homes in Indiantown. And 600 homes means 2,000 more people."

What he craves is stability. Something normal. "I don't want to be Peter Pan all my life," he muses. "I'd love to have a restaurant with a stage in downtown Stuart. I wish I'd have bought the Lyric Theatre five years ago. I just want to be part of a community."

He loves the fact the locals have gotten used to him turning up in restaurants and grocery stores.

So he's applying for American citizenship -- something he says he should've done years ago.

"I want to be part of the team. I want to be American. I've been here since 1962, and everything was given to me. So I want to die an American, 30 years from now. I want to be an American, because I think this is the new world."

Monkee Business - TV Guide
May 1 - 7, 2006

After 40 years, one wonders if Davy Jones ever tires of being typecast as the cute Monkee. If so, he doesn't show it on LIVING IN TV LAND (TV LAND, 10/9c), which catches up with the seemingly ageless simian-singer and former jockey as he tends to his racehorse breeding farm in Pennsylvania. Which got us wondering: What have the rest of TV's rockin' Pre-fab Four been up to since their last union 10 years ago? (It included a CD - Justus - and an ABC special.) Recently spotted in the audience at American Idol Micky Dolenz published a children's book (Gakky Two Feet) and currently tours the nostalgia circuit with his sister Coco. Peter Tork alternates between folk singing, recording and playing small clubs with his band Shoe Suede Blues. Michael Nesmith used his fortune he inherited (his mother Bette invented Liquid Paper correction fluid) to create a multimedia empire. A music-video pioneer - "Elephant Parts" won the first Grammy for video - Nesmith continues to record (The Garden,...tropical campfires...) and, like Dolenz, has branced out into writing, penning the 1998 novel The Long Sandy Hair of Neftoon Zamora. - G. J. Donnelly

NEW YORK, Feb. 14 /PRNewswire/ - Wednesday, May 3 - Living in TV Land: Davy Jones

Best known as an entertainer and pop idol, what most fans don't know about Davy Jones is that he has a passion for horses as the owner of an entire stable of racing thoroughbreds. TV Land cameras follow Davy on his rural Pennsylvania stable as he trains his favorite horse, T.E. Jones for the most important race of his young career. Viewers also get a peek into Davy's everyday routine in Pennsylvania, watch as he sorts through photos and memorabilia to go into the Davy Jones Museum and finally travel to Kentucky with him for T.E. Jones' big day.

We love... The Monkees
Sam Burson, Western Mail
icWales
September 28, 2005

BEFORE Liberty X, before Take That, before even the Bay City Rollers, there were the Monkees.

These days manufactured bands are ten-a-penny, and few of their members avoid plunging into obscurity or worse (reality TV), after several months.

But in the less cynical musical world of the Sixties, there was only one band created by the marketing men.

The fab(ish) four blazed a trail which has been followed by imitators ever since.

In September 1965, auditions were held for an American TV comedy about a rock group called the Monkees.

From the 437 young men who went to Hollywood to audition only four were selected.

Michael Nesmith and Peter "Tork" Thorkelson were musicians, and Micky Dolenz and Davy Jones were TV actors with a little musical experience.

In 1966 the show premiered on TV, and was preceded by the band's first single Last Train to Clarksville.

It became a number one hit.

Although the band could play (as displayed in their 1966 and 1967 concert tours), outside musicians were initially hired to provide nearly all of the backing music for their first year's worth of material, leaving the Monkees themselves to provide little more than lead vocals to each song.

They did write and play more on their albums, but despite their success, the TV show was continually slammed by music critics who considered them showbiz phonies.

In 1968, the band stopped doing the TV series, choosing to concentrate on feature films. Unfortunately, their film of that year Head - a psychedelic montage of comic scenes and music videos - was considered too avant-garde by the average fan, and record sales suffered as a result.

Things got worse.

Despite the release of some quality music from the group, the general public was taking the band less and less seriously. As a result, Peter left the group in 1969.

Two albums later, Mike followed suit, and the remaining two released one last Monkees record before calling it quits.

The 1970s saw sporadic TV, radio, and concert appearances by each of the four ex-Monkees.

However from the mid to late-1980s Monkeemania had returned, thanks to a 20th anniversary reunion tour comprised of Micky, Davy, and Peter.

Their show also became an essential part of any youngster's summer holiday viewing, wedged somewhere between Why Don't You and The Banana Splits.

In the mid-1990s the three reunited once again for a 30th anniversary tour, preceded by an excellent CD reissue campaign headed by Rhino Records.

The '90s wave of Monkeemania peaked in late-1996 and early-1997, when all four Monkees got together for a UK tour, a TV cable documentary, and a new album called Justus comprising songs written, played, and produced solely by the four Monkees.

Mike opted not to join their 1997 tour and the band drifted apart once again.

But the fan base has never eroded, inspiring another Mike- less reunion tour in 2001.

Episodes of their show are available on DVD, and it would be worth any fans keeping an eye out for the next tour of one of the few bands who have been around nearly as long as the Rolling Stones.

I was curious as to why the store was named "Circle Sky"? Doyle replies, "We are huge Monkee's fans, so why not name the store after a song from the movie, HEAD. Donnie listed a bunch of Monkees-related store name possibilities on the phone one evening and when he said 'Circle Sky' I knew we had the name!"

From: Kent Kotal

Here's an excerpt from one of the chapters pertaining to THE MONKEES:

Today we're going to examine the FACTS and FABLES concerning another one of THE MONKEES' biggest hits.

In his book HOW TO WRITE A HIT SONG...AND SELL IT, TOMMY BOYCE tells a funny, interesting story revolving around one of THE MONKEES' last big hits.

THE MONKEES were always being supplied new musical material from a virtual who's who of songwriters: NEIL DIAMOND, GERRY GOFFIN and CAROLE KING, NILSSON, NEIL SEDAKA and DAVID GATES (later of BREAD) all had their songs recorded by the band in the first couple of years. In addition, MICKY DOLENZ, DAVY JONES, PETER TORK and, most frequently, MIKE NESMITH were submitting their OWN compositions for consideration. Therefore, as time wore on, when BOYCE AND HART were called upon to supply a song, they pretty much needed to have one "at the ready."

THE FABLE:

According to BOYCE's account (as published in his book), back in the day when DON KIRSHNER oversaw those musical selections, he called BOYCE AND HART one morning and told TOMMY (who just happened to answer the phone... BOBBY was still sound asleep) that he had a dream last night that the title of THE MONKEES' next #1 Record should be a girl's name. Spontaneously, TOMMY BOYCE replied, "Donnie, you won't believe this!!! But, last night while you were having that dream, BOBBY and I wrote an unbelievably great song for THE MONKEES...and, are you ready for this?...it has a girl's name in the title!" KIRSHNER was flabbergasted! "Tell me the title, quick! I want to hear it! What's her name?" Of course, TOMMY couldn't comply...the song hadn't been written yet! "Donnie, her name is so beautiful and so exciting that I couldn't possibly tell it to you over the phone. But I'll tell you what...you're going to love it when you hear it tomorrow." Despite KIRSHNER's insistence that TOMMY come over now and play him the song...or, better yet, that KIRSHNER drop by THEIR place to hear the tune (that hadn't yet been written!), TOMMY finally stalled him with the excuse that BOBBY was still sleeping. (Of course, HART didn't know ANY of this as he really WAS still asleep...and had no idea what TOMMY had just committed them to!) KIRSHNER was adamant..."How about noon TODAY at my place?!?!" BOYCE says it was more of a command than a question. "Okay," he said, giving in, "but do me a favor. Please have everyone there who's connected with the television show." KIRSHNER agreed to assemble producers BERT SCHNEIDER and BOB RAPHELSON, vice president LESTER SILL, and chairman-of-the-board JACKIE COOPER. (Nothing like putting a little more pressure on the situation!!!)

At 10:00 BOYCE decided to wake BOBBY and tell him the news...after all, having just committed to writing the next #1 song in America was a pretty big deal!!! Realizing the pressure they were under, both songwriters quickly began making a list of girls' names but none particularly struck their fancy. TOMMY had the beginnings of a melody but they just weren't able to put it together with any of the names on the list. They decided to take a drive, hoping for inspiration (or divine intervention). At 11:00, while driving along Mulholland Drive, TOMMY finally asked BOBBY to "reach deep into your past for a recollection of one girl in your life, or even in your dreams, that you had never told anybody about." HART gave it some thought and then replied that there WAS a girl in High School that he liked a lot but she never returned the favor. He would think about her every once in a while over the years and once had even written a song about her. "I was never too hot on the song," he said, "but what I liked about it was the name, which was hers."

"Come on, BOBBY," TOMMY exclaimed, "tell me her name and my melody will flow right out to meet her." And, of course, BOBBY then replied, "And her name was VALLERI"...which INSTANTLY fit the melody that TOMMY had been working on! Now fifteen minutes away from their meeting at KIRSHNER's house, that left them all of twelve minutes to complete the song!!! They got as far as "There's a girl I know who makes me feel so good" which, along with the chorus, "and her name is Valleri...I love you, Valleri" was all they had when they pulled into the driveway.

BOYCE was banking on the fact that KIRSHNER had wanted a song with a girl's name in the title SO badly...and the fact that he had already told him about the GREAT song they had written "the night before"...that the conditions were, in effect, pre-programmed for them to present THE MONKEES' next big smash hit single. (With all those executives sitting in the room waiting for the debut, the anticipation was exceptionally high...TOMMY believed that ANY song they would have played based around a girl's name would have qualified as "exactly what they were looking for.")

...for the rest of the story - please contact The60sShop@aol.com and ask to be added to the BOYCE AND HART mailing list and I will be happy to send them a copy of the entire series.

For the past five years, I have been publishing an online music newsletter called FORGOTTEN HITS. For the most part, we spotlight songs and artists that, although very popular at the time of their original release, get little or no airplay anymore due to the tight programming lists of the oldies radio station conglomerates, who figure that we would rather hear the same 50-60 songs over and over and over again! From time to time, we feature a particular artist in depth...and we just recently completed a 17-part series on the songs of TOMMY BOYCE AND BOBBY HART. Naturally, several chapters cover their work with THE MONKEES and I thought many of the folks on your mailing list would enjoy reading this series...we've gotten some GREAT reviews!!!

Thanks for any assistance you can offer in getting the word out...and for helping to keep this great music alive.

Kent Kotal
The60sShop
FORGOTTEN HITS

Business Wire: Don Kirshner is Coming Back on the Entertainment Scene In Preparation to Launch a New Internet TV Channel

BOCA RATON, Fla.--(BUSINESS WIRE)--Jan. 12, 2005--Kirshner International, Inc. (OTC:KSNR), Don Kirshner, legendary music publisher, producer and television host, has laid the groundwork for his new Internet broadcast channel to deliver high quality radio and audio/video content globally.

Through four decades, he was the ultimate multi-media entertainment mogul. His "firsts" include the first simulcast, first VH1/MTV-style music video, The Monkees, The Archies and The Harlem Globetrotters TV programs, which successfully used the shows to sell the music, and his long running Don Kirshner's Rock Concert.

"The Internet can be the biggest entertainment distribution network in the world," said Kirshner. "This time, I'm going global."

Kirshner has always capitalized on trends and technologies, spinning them into an entertainment vortex that pulled in top talent and eager fans. Known as "Mr. Music," TIME Magazine called him "The Man with the Golden Ear." His songs are part of the very fabric of American life.

The music he published became the soundtrack of American pop culture for decades. The extensive list includes You've Lost that Lovin' Feeling, Sugar-Sugar, Up on the Roof, Breaking Up Is Hard to Do, Will You Love Me Tomorrow, I'm a Believer, Dream Lover, On Broadway and hundreds more.

"There's a big demand for nostalgic music among Boomers and there's also a new generation of singers, songwriters and bands who are looking for an opportunity to showcase their work. Tuning into what the public wants has always been the key to his success," says Gregory Paige, President of Kirshner International, Inc. "The Internet's technology is now capable of delivering the high quality audio/video we've been waiting for."

Word of his new venture has recently been covered by The Washington Post - http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/articles/A12629-2004Dec19.html - and syndicated by numerous other newspapers. It's generating buzz throughout the entertainment industry on both coasts.

"After a year of quietly developing our business plan and creative ideas, we're getting ready to roll out Don's newest thinking and implement the delivery of quality entertainment online," says Paige. "We aren't prepared to discuss full details about Don's plan yet.

"We'll be releasing more information as we get closer to the launch. But I know the word is spreading since my volume of email and phone calls bounces every time an article is published."

Kirshner International, Inc., Boca Raton
Gregory Paige, 954-418-0422
Info@Kirshnerinternational.com

Added 12/20/2004:

Added 9/13/2004 - From: Fred Velez

Hi,

With the upcoming, long-awaited release of Brian Wilson's lost 'Smile' album, I'd like to submit this article for the Group on the Lost 'Monkees Presents' album. I hope you find it suitable for inclusion.

The Lost 'Monkees Presents' Album
By Fred Velez

When you look at the history of classic rock albums released by bands from the 1960's, one sometimes ponders about the record projects that never were. For the Beach Boys, it's the legendary 'Smile' album. For the Beatles, it's the original 'warts and all" version of 'Get Back', the working title for what was eventually released as the 'Let It Be' album. When Rhino Handmade released the 'Headquarters Sessions', they gave Monkees fans the unique experience of being fly on the wall during the making of this classic album. And, with the Missing Links series and the bonus cuts on the reissued Monkees albums on CD, we now have at our disposal the largest collection of unreleased Monkees material so far issued. By pouring through all these songs, fans can actually assemble a sort of alternate history of what the Monkees albums would have been like if some of these songs had been included. Taking all this into consideration, the Rhino Handmade release of the 'Headquarters Sessions' bought to mind a long-forgotten, nfinished Monkees project; the original version of 'The Monkees Presents' album.

In one of the final issues of the Monkees Spectacular, Peter Tork gave an interview in which he mentioned this project. The original concept for the album was to be a double record set which would showcase the individual talents of each member of the Monkees, with one side devoted to each member of the group, reflecting that Monkee's musical style and influences. This would have been the Monkees' most ambitious album project since 'Headquarters'.

If the Monkees hadn't been busy with the final season of their TV series, filming the movie 'Head', embarking on their 1968 Far East Tour and taping the '33 & 1/3' special, they might have had the time to finish the 'Presents' project as intended, and actually beat the Beatles in releasing a double album late in the year, the latter having issued the 'White Album' by the fall of '68. Even after Peter left the group, there was still talk of the remaining three Monkees finishing the album project, with the fourth side being a group effort. This version of the album was abandoned as well, and 'The Monkees Presents' was eventually released in late 1969 as the single record we're all familiar with today. (The multi-record concept itself, however, was picked up by other groups; Peter, Paul & Mary simultaneously released solo albums in 1970, as did KISS in the late 1970's).

Some of the tracks that were intended for the original 'Presents' project ended up on 'Head', 'Instant Replay', the released 'Presents', with other tracks, many of them Peter Tork tunes, finally appearing decades later in the 'Missing Links' series and as bonus cuts on the Rhino Monkees CDs. Some of the songs Mike Nesmith recorded for the 'Presents' project were later rerecorded by Nesmith and released on his solo albums.

If the original double record version of 'The Monkees Presents' had been released as intended, one could only speculate on whether it would have been a commercial success for the group. When you consider that by 1968 the Monkees' popularity was beginning its' downward spiral, unless the album had been critically acclaimed, it might have been as big a financial and artistic liability for the band as 'Head' was. Yet, the songs that survive from the original 'Presents' project show that the group was indeed maturing musically, exploring new directions creatively and exhibiting an artistic growth that was barely allowed to blossom during the group's early success. Nesmith's songs in particular gave us a preview of what was to come.

While the original 'Monkees Presents' project never saw fruition, with the release of the 'Missing Links' series and the Rhino CD bonus cuts, one can put together their own version of what this lost Monkees album might have sounded like. Thanks to Rhino's liner notes in the CD series, the listener can track down which songs were recorded specifically for 'Presents', or were close enough to the projects' concept to merit inclusion. Because there is a sparseness of Peter Tork tracks, one could cheat a little by including 'East Virginia' and '2 Part Invention' from the 'Headquarters Sessions', and when you consider Peter's love for classical and folk music, they might have actually been among his submissions to the project. Also, Micky's 'She'll Be There' and the original, demo version of 'Midnight Train' could also fit in quite nicely to the 'Presents' concept. Because there is, if you'll excuse the unintended pun, a vast 'blessing' of many Nesmith tracks, some Nez songs may have to be excluded so that there is at least a balance between Mike and the other Monkees. (Of course, with todays CD technology, one can actually fit in more songs on a single CD).

With this in mind, I've compiled a list of what tracks I think the original 'Monkees Presents' album might have included. The criteria I used for my list was choosing songs between late 1967 and early '69 recorded specifically for or which might have been considered for the project and which fit in with the original albums' concept of being an individual showcase for each Monkee. (In regards to the Nesmith cuts, with a few exceptions, I excluded songs that he later rerecorded for his solo albums.)

This list in no way is meant to be considered a definitive version of the album. This is just a speculative, fun exercise that fans may want to try on their own since all of these tracks are currently available. And perhaps, with some encouragement, Rhino and the Monkees themselves may be prompted to come back to this abandoned project and resume work on it, compiling a collection of these songs on a single or double CD, including whatever tracks may still be in the vaults, with extensive liner notes and surviving artwork that was meant for the album, so that a special edition version of the lost 'Monkees Presents' project may someday see the light of day for original and future Monkee fans to enjoy.

Last year, Apple Records released 'Let It Be: Naked', the 'Get Back' album as close to how The Beatles originally intended it to be heard. In late September of 2004, Brian Wilson will finally release his version of the lost Beach Boys' 'Smile' album. Hopefully, someday the original version of 'The Monkees Presents' album will also join their ranks. It's a nice fantasy, but hey hey, I'm a believer. How about you?

THE MONKEES PRESENTS-SPECIAL EDITION

Sources:

(ML1- Missing Links 1, ML2- Missing Links 2, ML3-Missing Links 3, BBM-The Birds, The Bees & The Monkees, H-Head, IR- Instant Replay, MP- The Monkees Presents, C- Changes, HS- Headquarters Sessions. b - signify bonus cuts, alt. - signify alternate version)

MICKY

1. Steam Engine (ML3)
2. Little Girl (MP)
3. Rosemarie (IR-b)
4. She'll Be There (ML3, HS)
5. Bye Bye, Baby, Bye Bye (MP)
6.You're So Good (ML3)
7. Midnight Train (ML3, HS - alt.)
8. Mommy & Daddy (MP-alt.)
9. Pillow Time (MP)

DAVY

1. Someday Man (IR-b)
2. Smile (IR-b)
3. If You Have the Time (ML1)
4. If I Knew (MP)
5. Look Down (ML3)
6. French Song (MP)
7. Storybook of You (ML1)
8. War Games (ML1)
9. Time & Time Again (ML1, C-b)

MIKE

1. St. Matthew (ML2, IR-b)
2. If I Ever Get To Saginaw Again (ML2)
3. Good Clean Fun (MP)
4. Michigan Blackhawk (ML2)
5. Nine Times Blue (ML1)
6. Hollywood (ML3)
7. How Insensitive (ML3)
8. Angel Band (ML3)
9. Listen to the Band (MP)

PETER

1. Seeger's Theme (ML2)
2. Come On In (ML2)
3. Tear the Top Off My Head (ML3)
4. I Was Born in East Virginia (HS)
5. Lady's Baby (BBM-b)
6. Two Part Invention in F Major (HS)
7. Merry Go Round (ML3)
8. Can You Dig It? (H-alt.)
9. Alvin (BBM-b)

Monkee mania remembered
The Daily Telegraph
August 5, 2004

LOS ANGELES: A pair of Hollywood producers is planning a joint film, TV and comic book series that will seek to create a modern-day version of the Monkees, the 1960s teeny-bopper band that rose to popularity through films and TV shows.

According to the Hollywood Reporter, Michel Shane and Anthony Romano will produce the teen comedy Band on the Run starring teen singer Cameron Smith.

The story revolves around four struggling rockers who teach snowboarding by day.

Their world changes when they meet a femme fatale promoter and get mixed up in a crime they didn't commit.

The project will included a line of comic books about the band and a six-part reality show detailing a star search for the band members.

Kirshner Entertainment and Technology, Inc.
Announces New Management and Business Strategy
Thursday, 18-Sep-2003 10:41AM PDT
Story from Fl Kirshnr Ent Tech/Hboa via BizWire
Copyright 2003 by Business Wire (via ClariNet)

FORT LAUDERDALE, Fla.--(BUSINESS WIRE)--Sept. 18, 2003--Kirshner Entertainment and Technology, Inc., (OTCBB:KSHR) announced today its new management and business strategy. Therefore, the company has the new name of what was formerly HBOA Holdings, Inc. The company has changed its name to more accurately reflect its current business. The stock symbol has been changed from HBOA to KSHR.

The company's technology division has developed proprietary products that are being utilized in the health care and educational sectors. The company's health care clients include hospitals, physician's practices, dental practices, and a host of other medical related businesses and services. The company has also developed the Aerisys Intelligent Community. Aerisys provides schools with a communication and collaboration tool that effectively allows the administration, teachers, parents and students, to communicate with each other on a wide range of important subjects during the school year in a secure environment.

The company has launched a new entertainment division headed up by a world recognized "icon" of the music and television industry, Don Kirshner. Mr. Kirshner has been credited with channeling the talents of Bobby Darin, Neil Diamond, Neil Sedaka, Carole King and hosts of Hall of Fame of Rock and Pop writers into commercial and artistic success.

Mr. Kirshner was the publisher of the Lennon & McCartney catalog in the U.S. Don Kirshner's songs have been recorded by every major artist, from Sinatra and Streisand to Elvis Presley and Stevie Wonder. Some of the all-time great Kirshner hits have been written and scored by Burt Bacharach and Hal David, Neil Diamond, Quincy Jones, Elmer Bernstein, Lieber and Stoller and Brian Wilson.

Mr. Kirshner was the head of Columbia Screen Gems Music and was further distinguished by having his name placed ahead of two major entertainment conglomerates when he was the head of Kirshner/CBS Music and Kirshner/Warner Music International.

In the motion picture industry, Don acted as musical supervisor on three Academy Award-winning films, "Lawrence of Arabia," "Born Free" and "Georgy Girl." Don also conceived and produced the album "Four Days That Shook the World," a documentary that was considered to be the definitive history of the last days of JFK.

Mr. Kirshner integrated television and rock music with his creation of the Monkees, as well as the Archies. He also created "In Concert," the longest running TV show of its kind. It was during this period that he introduced early talent recognized by Don such as The Eagles, Linda Ronstadt, Jackson Brown and a host of others. The Rolling Stones, Earth, Wind and Fire, Billy Joel, Rod Stewart, Tina Turner, Olivia Newton-John, Michael Jackson and an endless list of talent were showcased on Don's show over ten years. On the comedy side, Don showcased often for the first time, Steve Martin, Jay Leno, Billy Crystal, Gary Shandling and a many other great comics.

Mr. Kirshner was also credited with creation of simulcasting, as well as being the individual most responsible for the MTV and VHI format. In the 90's, Don Kirshner's 35 Year History of Rock "N" Roll was the hottest syndicated summer show broadcast on over 225 radio stations. Yale and Columbia University currently teach a class on Don Kirshner and Dick Clark.

Kirshner Entertainment will be a global multi media entertainment company that will capitalize on the unique abilities of its president. Kirshner Entertainment is contemplating the creation of Kirshner Records, the formation of Kirshner Publishing, "The Don Kirshner Talent Search", as well as various television and film projects. Kirshner Entertainment will also capitalize on the convergence between technology and music with a considerable emphasis placed on the utilization of the internet.

The company has accepted the resignation of its CEO Gary Verdier, and appointed Daniel Zipkin to the position. Mr. Verdier has been president of the company for the past four years and will remain with the company in his capacity as Chairman of the Board of Directors.

Mr. Verdier stated, "Dan Zipkin has all of the skill sets and experience required to lead our company, grow the company, and successfully implement our new business model. Dan is a seasoned professional in both the health care field and in the technology sector with over 30 years of experience developing business strategies on a global basis, and is a great fit for Kirshner Entertainment and Technology, Inc."

Daniel Zipkin was involved in the start-up and later served as President and C.O.O. of Personal Computer Products, Inc., San Diego, California (Nasdaq:PCPI), a publicly traded company that developed, sold and licensed hardware and software technology. Dan was instrumental in developing strategic business and technology relationships with major world leading companies including Motorola, Dell Computers, Ricoh, Fujitsu, and Mita.

Dan Zipkin, who was a hospital administrator for over 15 years in New York City, has a Master's degree from the Columbia University, School of Public Health and Administrative Medicine, New York, and a Master's degree in Psychology from Springfield College, Springfield, MA.

About Kirshner Entertainment and Technologies, Inc.

Kirshner Entertainment and Technologies, Inc. is the realization of newly adapted convergence between technology and entertainment coupled with an historic change in the United States healthcare system. This holding company creates an opportunity for dynamic growth in the future unrivaled in the investment arena. Today we are witnessing a dramatic transformation in the way we receive information and entertainment. At the same time, the government has added new, stringent restrictions on the handling of patient information and subsequently created a major disruption in the healthcare industry. These changes have been catalysts for the management team of Kirshner Entertainment and Technologies. For the first time, four dynamic companies have been combined to form one, streamlined company that capitalizes on these revolutionary market changes. Kirshner Entertainment and Technologies has the mission and the opportunity to establish a leadership position in each market and strong shareholder return for years to come.

This announcement contains forward-looking statements that involve risks and uncertainties, including those relating to the Company's ability to grow its business. Actual results may differ materially from the results predicted and reported results should not be considered as an indication of future performance. The potential risks and uncertainties include, among others, the Company's limited operating history, the limited financial resources, domestic or global economies, activities of competitors and the presence of new or additional competition, and conditions of equity markets. More information about the potential factors that could affect the Company's business and financial results is included in the Company's filings, available via the United States Securities and Exchange Commission.