It has been a relatively rocky road for Weatherford alt-country outfit Green Corn Revival, which has seen its share of highs (acting as backing band for rockabilly icon Wanda Jackson) and lows before an (amicable) split in the road led half of the original lineup to forming Honeylark.
Oklahoma is quickly becoming the indie Christmas music capital of the world, it seems, with yearly compilation albums featuring everyone from Stardeath and White Dwarfs to Graham Colton. So it makes sense that Colourmusic — freak-poppers hailing from Stillwater — would craft a full album of original, offbeat holiday tunes themselves.
The Oklahoma City metro has a thriving garage rock scene. With seasoned acts like Broncho and Copperheads carrying the modern-day torch, the way has been paved for a flock of gritty, young, guitar-centric acts. But nascent Norman trio Poolboy has a knack for riotous hooks that few of its contemporaries can boast.
The Flaming Lips’ longevity has allowed them to cover a lot of sonic terrain over the years. Yet they’ve arguably become more adventurous with age, jeopardizing a good portion of their fan base in favor of fascinatingly bleak experiments in sound, beginning with Embryonic in 2009 and, more recently, The Terror.
Even before (and well after) Larry White moved to Los Angeles in 1974 to
manage the career of The Monkees’ Davy Jones, fun ensued.
There was the time they tipped a golf cart at Joe DiMaggio’s charity tournament.
There were the times they hung out with fellow Monkee Micky Dolenz, Harry Nilsson and Alice Cooper in Los Angeles.
There was the time White’s 1971 Chevy Malibu SS ran out of gas by the San Francisco International Airport, so Jones belted a particularly loud rendition of The Beatles’ “Why Don’t We Do It in the Road?” as the police stopped to help them.
And then there was the time when a fan from Tokyo followed Jones home.
“I’ll never forget, we were at the LAX baggage claim when Davy came up to me and said, ‘Larry, we have a problem,’” White said, recalling two weeklong Monkees tours in the mid-’70s of Japan, a country whose Monkees fans made America’s Beatlemaniacs look apathetic. “There was a 15-year-old girl from Tokyo with a suitcase there. She’d bought a ticket and followed Davy to America.”
White said they secured the fan safe passage home a few days later, after they notified her parents, a feat complicated by the girl’s lack of English. It’s just one of the scores of stories he’s shared with friends, reporters and Jones’ family since the beloved entertainer died Feb. 29 of a heart attack. Jones was 66.
Jones’ last public performance was Feb. 19 at Thackerville’s WinStar World Casino.
“He was my best friend,” said White, who met Jones in 1968. “He had a memory for jokes like anybody. He could’ve been a stand-up comic, and he kind of was.”
In the wake of Jones’ passing, White confirmed what those who’d only listened to Monkees albums or had seen him play Oliver!’s Artful Dodger in a Tony-nominated turn on Broadway could guess.
“[The public’s] image is that he’s a nice, lovable, funny guy and he was,” said White, who lives in Tulsa, where he manages bluegrass duo Desi and Cody. “I miss him a lot.”