One night, I'm in bed, I'm 17.
(This isn't a sexy story, so calm down).
My princess phone rings and it's an English guy. I thought it was my friend Mitch pranking me. In high school, Mitch and I were bandmates and best buds. It was completely conceivable that he would call me at 2am, pretending to be a fake English guy.
I talked to “English Mitch” for about 20 minutes, mostly about music, when he dropped an interesting nugget. “I work with The Turtles, you know, the band from the 1960s.”
This was getting weird. Mitch and I usually discussed The Clash and Dead Kennedys, and now he’s foisting psychedelic pop hippies on me? Interesting, though. I do like the Turtles, and I knew their key songs – “Happy Together," “Gee, Eleanor, I Think You’re Swell,” and my favorite, “Outside Chance,” which is a pop gem.
"Anyway, Mitch. I’m going back to sleep."
English Guy kept insisting he wasn’t Mitch. So I humored him some more.
“Okay, not Mitch,” I said, whipping out my music nerd knowledge. "I love the Monkees, so if you really know The Turtles, you know that a former Turtle played bass on some Monkees songs."
I was thinking - Ha! This poseur won’t say ‘Chip Douglas.’
“Right, that chap was Chip. Chip Douglas.”
WHAT?! How did Mitch know this?!
“I told you," he said. I really do work with the Turtles.”
And he did, and here's what happened: English Guy was calling a friend in Los Angeles, misdialed, and got teenage me. The next night my phone rang again. This time it wasn’t an Englishman. It was Mark Volman, all American rock star — guitarist, singer, and songwriter — of The Turtles!
Wait, seriously?
It was him.
Mark was calling for a music nerd chat, like the one he'd heard about from The English Guy. He told me that he didn’t believe a 17-year-old would have any clue about "old music” or The Turtles (or anything, really).
We spent the next two hours talking about the 1960s. He covered The Turtles, touching on his early days in “The Crossfires” up through The Turtles massive success.
But this conversation didn’t focus entirely on his music – Mark didn’t care to talk shop. He wanted to get into a conversation about other groups, and my bizarre, anachronistic taste – an ‘80s teenager obsessed with ‘60s music – was perfect for that. We discussed The Seeds, whose singer – Sky "Sunlight" Saxon – I had encountered backstage at one of my own gigs. Sky told me that had discovered a cure for AIDS that involved eating “10,000 oranges.”
Mark said, "That sounds like Sky."
We discussed Beatles, the Count Five, and the Rolling Stones, and we pored through every track on every Monkees LP down to minute detail, landing on the "Head" soundtrack as truly remarkable.
Many more late-night conversations followed, and every 3 to 4 weeks, Mark would ring my phone around 2:30am, calling from anywhere in the USA or the planet.
Still, was this really Mark Volman? The "Phlorescent Leech" from The Turtles and Flo from Flo & Eddie? Might this be a lonely, basement dwelling imposter who was excited to be talking to a real, live girl? Possibly. These were the digital stone ages – decades before FaceTime and Zoom.
How could I be sure?
As a jaded Gen X teenager with a robust bullshit-o-meter, I was certain that this was the real Mark Volman. And soon, I received actual confirmation!
The Turtles were scheduled to headline the Pacific Amphitheater with a reconstituted Herman’s Hermits opening. Mark said he left me two tickets at will call, 2nd row center. This was so cool! Problem was, none of my friends wanted to go see “old people” doing “old people songs.”
UGH.
Then, my friend Paul K called, and he wanted to go! Today, Dr. Paul Koudounaris is a respected academic. He has a PhD in Art History from UCLA. He is an expert in the field of charnel house and ossuary research, a feline scholar, and a best-selling author. Back then, we were two teenagers who would go anywhere at any time, especially if there was a good story behind it.
We picked up our tickets, and found two backstage passes included. Score!
When people imagine backstage, some picture a Bacchanalian feast/Roman orgy/Johnnie Walker Blue Heaven.
In reality, The Turtle backstage was series of white hospitality tents with parents and kids roaming around, in search of the snack table. It was widespread general wholesomeness. No mayhem to be seen.
And then… the moment arrived! Mark Volman appeared with his shock of curly black hair and round signature glasses.
Mark greeted us warmly and invited us to grab some food. Soon Howard Kaylan emerged – Mark’s musical Turtle partner. Mark introduced us, but I could see Howard visibly and deeply disinterested, squirming to get away. Howard had zero curiosity about Mark’s high-school age friends, and I wasn’t offended. Not every aging rock star likes me and I’m okay with that!
Mark left to go get ready for the show. Suddenly, a boy, who appeared to be around 8 years old, ran up to Paul K and shoved a pen and paper at him. “Can I have your autograph?” Paul’s impish grin was followed by scribbles. Paul wrote “Mario Andretti.” Thrilled, the kid rushed into a tent and said, “Look, Dad! I got an autograph!” There was a pause and then a voice said, “Mario Andretti is here? No way!”
The dad rushed out of the tent and the kid pointed at Paul K. Realizing that Paul was not the famous race car driver, the dad yelled, “That’s not Mario Andretti!” He crumpled the autograph, glared daggers at Paul, and threw the wad on the ground.
Can you imagine getting mad over something like that? On a summer day. Backstage at the Turtles in beautiful Costa Mesa, California. Life is too short to get mad at fake Mario Andretti.
The Pacific Amphitheater show was fantastic. Even better than the classic Turtle hits was their “Flashdance” parody. Mark Volman, slightly overweight in a shoulder-revealing sweatshirt and welder’s mask, danced suggestively around a chair while belting out Irene Cara’s “What a Feeeeling!!!”
I was impressed with the harmonies AND their humor. Most bands aren't funny. At all.
I had dozens of conversations with Mark Volman over the next five years. As I moved out of my parents’ house and into various apartments in and around Hollywood, my phone would still ring around 2am. Mark was a nice and smart guy who seemed like an old friend — not a stranger who came to me via a wrong number. The calls eventually became less frequent, probably because I wasn't as available to talk. I got my first real job, and middle of the night calls didn’t work well for me anymore. But I’ll always be happy that a wrong number led to some amazing conversations, and from 17 to 22, I had a really cool rock star friend.
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