Hanging Out with the L.A. Rockers

Jungle wallpaper has transformed the kitchen into an ersatz fern grotto. The bedroom is nothing less than rococo. The spirit of Mardi Gras inhabits the game room. But the soul of Malibu's newest $800,000 mansion lies in its bathroom. "I thought it only appropriate to cover the walls with rocks," smiles The Who's millionaire drummer, Keith Moon, 30. "The house does belong to a rock star."

Malibu's middle-aged gentry may be excused for labeling this young Englishman an eccentric. Lifetime subscribers to Sunset magazine cannot conceive of anyone placing a tangerine pool table around the corner from a mirrored King Henry VIII fourposter. Bergere ottomans never should be buffeted by the whizap of a Death-Race Videogame. But when one has money, things bizarre are described, politely, as eclectic. Says Moon: "It's just a quiet place to escape the madness, a little English manor house with modern conveniences."

Big rock musicians have always made big money. The Who's original version of Tommy, released in the pre-inflation year of 1969, grossed over $5 million in twelve months. Rolling Stone magazine's 1976 album of the year, the quadruple platinum Fleetwood Mac record, has earned close to $400,000 for each of the group's five members.

Rock stars do not own Los Angeles, not yet anyway. But they do control some of the choicest real estate in Beverly Hills and Malibu. The rustic Mulholland aerie where Greta Garbo retreated when she wanted to be alone is now occupied by Rock Singer Johnny Rivers. Brian Wilson of the Beach Boys holds title to the rambling Spanish colonial house Edgar Rice Burroughs built in Bel Air with profits from Tarzan. Rod Stewart resides with Britt Ekland not far away in a demi-chateau with a formal garden and a warehouse or so of rare French glass. The giants of celluloid are being ousted slowly by kids who make their millions in vinyl. The endangered superstars do not always accept the transition easily. Steve McQueen planted a little forest of protective saplings when he heard that Moon was to be his new neighbor. Moon promptly jumped his motorcycle over the side fence and tore up McQueen's guard trees.

Schmoozing Distance. Malibu's colony is an exclusive enclave, but it is also a casual community of equals. Neil Diamond's beach house, Linda Ronstadt's $325,000 clapboard and the sprawling nine-bedroom house Guitarist Robbie Robertson took over from Carole King are all within schmoozing distance, as are the leased beach mansions of Mick Jagger and Ron Wood.

The exercise of unlimited wealth can be startling when it comes to lifestyles. Los Angeles Architect David Tobin became aware of that form of exuberance two years ago when he undertook a $50,000 remodeling job for Bob Dylan. Says he: "I quickly realized that this guy had so much money that he didn't need to conform to any of the rules binding me." During his two years with Dylan, the $50,000 remodeling grew into a $2.25 million mansion. "I had to keep a straight face when Dylan said he wanted a living room he could ride a horse through," recalls Tobin. "It would have helped a lot to have been a shrink."

Dylan is almost indifferent to what his neighbors call his Taj Mahal. Says he: "One hundred years from now I won't be judged for the house." He is probably correct. One local geologist believes that the mansion is already slipping into the ocean.

Flash is what affluent rockers want, insists Decorator Phyllis Morris. Rock stars love trendy Phyllis because her furnishings--zebra rugs, Borsalino mirrors, St. Regis candelabra and Corsican coffee tables--are loud, lacquered and overpriced. "Rock people are just like the movie stars of the '40s," says la dame du flash. "It's exciting to watch them spend money. They're looking for something that says they've arrived. They're creative, emotional, uninhibited. And in their homes you'll find an atmosphere of uncontrolled funk."

Uncontrolled well describes the $200,000 house that Record Producer Al Kooper rebuilt three years ago. It is designed for a person who has nothing to do. Rooms not filled with games (pool, pong, pinball) are studded with dials, toggles and buttons of the "Koopertronics" recording system. Says he: "I built it all myself. It's a ludicrous house for a ludicrous person. But I love it."

British Bluesman John Mayall, 43, has a different idea of flash. The floor of his pool has a huge erotic painting. He has one of L.A.'s most extensive collections of pornography. Perched atop a ridge, Mayall's $230,000 house has a Tudor-style living room festooned with saddles and snakeskins. But Hogarth prints lead up winding stairs to a large alphabetized porn library.

Los Angeles rockers do not lack for private places in which to party. Alice Cooper, Brian Wilson and Al Kooper all have swimming pools and vast game rooms. Joni Mitchell, Ringo Starr, Bernie Taupin and Rod Stewart have airy mansions where hundreds could play.

On the Town. But the music social scene is relatively unsophisticated. Close friends are welcome at Ringo's rented Hollywood Hills house between 2 a.m. and 7 a.m., but things of significance are never discussed. "Rock performers don't talk to artists or economists," says Rock Entrepreneur Dave Geffen. "As a group, they are a collection of narcissists in desperate need of a catalyst. A rock performer goes to a friend's house to smoke dope. They listen to each other's music and feel special. The guy goes home telling himself he's had a night on the town."

This casual inwardness has not prevented an ad hoc caste system from forming. Those who railed against privilege only a few years ago now hustle after keys to the best private clubs. After only ten years, Los Angeles' recording industry is hardly mature, but its A-B-C social listings may be more rigid than that of the film community's.

Infant bands with no gold records, foreign groups on their first trip through L.A. and all teen-agers (punk rock) belong strictly to the C list, centered at a sticky-floored club called the Starwood. An unstated rule restricts them to the east end of the Strip until they mature or succeed.

"Everyone seeks his own level," explains Alice Cooper. "A band with only two singles just hasn't paid enough dues. These people aren't cool enough to talk to Paul McCartney. If they pull their share of interviews and collect some hits, perhaps they'll be pals some day."

One must be politic to escape the B list, for graduation to the highest level does not depend entirely on financial success. After three years on the road, Kiss has spectacular concert sales and wide radio play. Yet it is snubbed by A listers, since it panders to 14-year-olds. Boston, with two hit singles and a top-charted album, has no audience problems, but Los Angeles musicians think the East Coast boys need a little seasoning before moving up.

B groups are welcome at a Beverly Hills disco called The Candy Store and a Sunset pickup bar called The Rainbow. English musicians, especially those playing for heavy-metal bands, have difficulty moving up. A listers think these long-haired working-class Brits can't mature with the times. Not even Led Zeppelin is fully accepted beyond The Rainbow.

Those who are buzzed through the locked door labeled ON THE ROX have arrived at the top of the alphabet. Located above The Roxy, the club is locally known as Lou Adler's Living Room. It is, in many ways: Adler, the rock mogul who was the prime mover behind the Monterey Pop Festival, controls the keys to the door.

Furnished with sofas and lounge chairs, On the Rox has 40 members. But guests, if famous and rich, are usually buzzed through the door. Norman Mailer made it through, so did Carlo Ponti. Susan Blakely, Jack Nicholson and Warren Beatty have keys, as do Ryan and Tatum. But the real stars of On the Rox are Alice Cooper, Elton John, Bernie Taupin, Rod Stewart, Joni Mitchell and Mick Jagger. "It's like a frat house," smiles Cooper, "and only the cream of Los Angeles society belongs. The atmosphere is total cool."

Be Fun. On the Rox is doubly important because it is one of only two places where L.A. music and film personalities can meet informally. The other location is Allan Carr's house (once owned by Jimmy Caan, and, before him, Ingrid Bergman) in Benedict Canyon. "Hollywood awareness" is the game played at both places. If a rock, film or TV performer wants to cross over, his journey must begin here. One must talk and be seen, but most important: Be Fun.

As "King of the A List," Carr continues to bring people together at parties, but he realizes that many rock performers need firm guidance to become "adult" stars. Sighs Carr: "The rock people don't come from affluent backgrounds. They're not used to socializing in chic and elegant style. Keith Moon and Rod Stewart are outgoing. But so many more will never make it."

It may be that the social inadequacies of rock society could become its greatest strength. "Success in my profession is a gift of blind luck," laughs Kooper as he bounds toward his jukebox. "You know I l-o-v-e this town," he shrieks. "It's hard to sing the blues living in a house like this. But I got a good memory."

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