by Marc Spitz
DAVID ALLEN: Margot Olaverra, who took over John and Exene’s room at our house on South Van Ness, had designs on learning bass and had already started an all-girl punk band, and so Kittra’s days as the Go-Go’s discoverer/manager began. The early publicity material, logo, et cetera, was all Kittra. She was involved with Herb Cohen’s brother Martin, who got the Go’s all connected.
MARGOT OLAVERRA: I’d just gotten back from a trip to London where I saw the Sex Pistols. I was a new punk rocker, still a little self-conscious about being around these wild catwomen of London, but I always wanted to play in a band. I thought starting a girl band would be less intimidating because being a nonmusician was okay in punk and that was what was so beautifully democratic about it, but that’s what made me think in those terms. It wasn’t the commercial value of having an all-girl band. I met Elissa Bello through a friend from high school. She played the drums, so I said, “Oh, great.”
ELISSA BELLO: I came out to Los Angeles from Buffalo on my own. I wanted to put an all-girl rock band together. I initially wanted something more rebellious. More political… not English political. I couldn’t understand the obsession with everything that was English. I had a cousin out here who was about my age and we went to a party one night and she introduced me to Margot. Margot and I talked about it and we got together and started writing songs in her house.
MARGOT OLAVERRA: I was also attending Valley College, where Gerard Taylor, a classmate and friend, told me, “My friend Jane wants to start a band. Why don’t you meet her?” So I talked on the phone with Jane Wiedlin, who was calling herself Jane Drano at the time, and we decided to meet.
HAL NEGRO: I had a little crush on Jane. She lived right near me in the Valley, so I’d see her waiting for the bus back from Hollywood. She called herself Jane Drano. I asked for her number and she wrote it down on the back of the first Generation X single, which I’d just shoplifted.
EXENE CERVENKA: Billy Zoom would always give Jane guitar lessons and she was just the cutest, most sweetest person.
KITTRA ALLEN: I found out that Jane was fucking Billy Zoom and it really pissed me off. Billy had used her. Jane came to the Go-Go’s rehearsal one day and said, “I went over to Billy and Pandora’s and took groceries. It’s so sad. They didn’t have any food in the house.” To which I responded, “You are kidding! What makes them any better than you that you go to work every day to pay for your groceries but Billy Zoom is too good to get a job. The only reason they don’t have any groceries is because they spent their money on drugs. That is their problem, not yours.” I’m sure Jane thought I was a cold-hearted bitch and saw herself as a wet-pussied compassionate.
ELISSA BELLO: Then Margot suggested Belinda. She introduced me to Belinda, and I was opposed to it ’cause she couldn’t sing and I didn’t like the way she looked at the time. She had green hair and the dye was all dripping down her neck and I just thought, “No, I don’t wanna work with her.” Margot was determined. Margot liked her look and wanted her in the band. Belinda wasn’t into music. It was just obvious. And she couldn’t sing. But I’m an asshole and a pushover and Margot got her way.
MARGOT OLAVERRA: Belinda Carlisle was someone I just met on the scene. The first time I met her was backstage at the Whisky for a Black Randy show. She was wearing this black priest’s tunic with a pink bow tie and had really really short hair and a big head, and we proceeded to call her “Big Head.”
KITTRA ALLEN: To me Belinda seemed like this out-of-control compulsive overeater who knew her parents would be very disappointed because she wouldn’t be making the cheering squad that year. So she just drank and partied instead.
MARGOT OLAVERRA: The Go-Go’s first gig was at a birthday party for Hal Negro. I remember seeing Darby in the Whisky parking lot and he said, “Hey, so you’re playing at the Masque tonight.” I said, “What?” So we just got there and played, I think one or two songs… one of them we played twice, “Living at the Canterbury” was one… “Living at the Canterbury… da da da… fighting off the roaches… da da da …” We didn’t have Charlotte yet.
PLEASANT GEHMAN: Charlotte was the only one who really knew how to play.
CHARLOTTE CAFFEY: I was born and raised in Los Angeles. My first concert was the Beatles at Dodgers Stadium. Right before punk exploded, I was in college, studying classical piano, but I was also in bands. I remember seeing the Runaways at the Whisky and thinking, “I can do that better.” That made me very competitive. It kicked me into gear. I met Belinda and Margot one night at the Starwood and they asked me to join the Go-Go’s.
GINGER CANZONERI: I remember going with Kari Krome to the Masque. And there was this horrible screech coming from one of the rehearsal studios. We followed the sound and pushed open this door, and I’ll never forget the sight of Belinda awkwardly holding this microphone with this sheepish look on her face and she said, “Oh, we’ve started a band.” They were working as the Misfits briefly and I think the name the Go-Go’s was Jane’s idea. My friend Robbie Fields said to me, “You should manage the Go-Go’s, you’d be perfect.” I was interested in getting involved with the music scene and was working at CBS Records, and wasn’t interested in being in a band myself. When I was all set to approach them, Robbie stopped me and said, “Oh, you’re too late. They’ve already got a manager. They’ve got Kittra Allen.”
PLEASANT GEHMAN: Ginger Canzoneri was with Kari Krome. She started doing some artwork for the Go-Go’s, and it seemed like a normal step that she would be doing other businessy stuff. She was a bit older.
ELISSA BELLO: Ginger became one of these people that would hang out with us at shows. I never really paid much attention to her until we were playing at Club 88 and Kari Krome approached me and started to come on to me really heavy. I’d never had a lesbian experience. So I said to Kari, “Where’s that girl you hang out with?” And she said, “Oh… she kicked me out of the house.” Kari passed out in my car so I took her back to my apartment and we became friends. Ginger found out about it and got really upset.
GINGER CANZONERI: I became friends with the band. I don’t know at what point Kittra left, but there was a reshuffling of band members. Gina had arrived from Baltimore and within a few months of putting her in place as the drummer, they didn’t have Kittra Allen, their first manager, anymore, so they asked me to collect money at the shows. I became very protective of them, and it just became a gradual trust situation. I thought the Go-Go’s was the most perfect concept.
ELISSA BELLO: Ginger started to hang out with Belinda and cry on her shoulder that her girlfriend was at my house… and the next thing I know we had this meeting and they said, “Well, Ginger’s going to be the manager,” and the next thing I know, they said, “We’re having a meeting to figure out if you’re going to stay in the band.” I was working in Brentwood and didn’t get out till seven-thirty and they were like, “Well, we want to rehearse at seven,” which was impossible for me.
GINGER CANZONERI: Elissa wasn’t fired because she started going out with a girlfriend of mine. There was no way a Go-Go’s decision like that would be made over something like that. I wasn’t even managing the band yet. I’d just begun to become friends with them and to actively help them with things, like counting money at shows. I think they were mad because there was some interview that she didn’t show up for, but really they just weren’t that happy with Elissa’s abilities as a drummer. The Gina segue was pretty seamless. I wasn’t even consulted.
ELISSA BELLO: Ginger found Gina, who had been playing with Edie the Egg Lady in Baltimore. Gina had her own truck and her father had made her drum cases and she was all set up, so it was “Let’s get rid of Elissa and put Gina in. She’s been playing a lot longer.” And I was ousted from the band.
MARGOT OLAVERRA: It may have been Ginger’s ethic, this really serious thing that took hold in the Go-Go’s… the seriousness to make it at whatever cost… and because of things like Elissa’s notorious lateness we reached the decision to replace her and I felt really bad about it
… she didn’t put up much of a fight but that was part of her personality. Of course, I eventually became the next victim of the same cutthroat drive for commercial success.
GINGER CANZONERI: Margot wanted the band to have this cooler, darker, edgier side, but the Go-Go’s were already evolving into more of a fun, pop thing. It was never about me saying, “I think you girls would make more money if you did more bubbly pop songs.” They all got along well at the beginning when they all hung out together… but Margot gradually was hanging out with different people and had different interests and maybe took different drugs. Margot did not approve of the band’s musical style, and she would sigh and go, “Oh, can’t we do songs that are more like X? Can’t we do songs that are more like the Germs?” The Go-Go’s were evolving as a musical entity, and there was a sense that Margot wanted the band to be more rough, and I think that Belinda always had her eye on the prize and wanted desperately to succeed.
PLEASANT GEHMAN: The only way a band could have gotten signed and marketed was to say they were new wave and to abandon the punk stuff. The Go-Go’s had to cut off their past to do that. That was the only way you could get signed. They weren’t going to sign a girl band like Castration Squad when Pat Benatar was the big thing.
CHARLOTTE CAFFEY: We didn’t want to be just an L.A. band. That was not our goal. I never wanted to fucking stay in L.A. and play clubs.
BELINDA CARLISLE: We wanted to be rich and famous.
HELLIN KILLER: The Plungers talked somebody into driving us to Dallas to see the Sex Pistols. We drove in a Volkswagen with five people and a spare tire in the back, from L.A. down to Dallas, just switching drivers. We headed straight for the place, Randy’s Corral or whatever, and that’s where we met ’em… we were buying tickets and they were arriving for sound check. Sid came up and he was like Joe Friendly, like, “Hey, what’s up?” I just had my sights set on Sid, I guess, and we somehow hooked up.
HAL NEGRO: You know that famous photo of Sid Vicious playing bass with blood all over his face and chest? Hellin did that.
HELLIN KILLER: It was a total accident. It must have been a head butt to the nose that did it… they had a corral around the stage and I had my knees onstage and I was hanging on to that and I slipped off. I was smoking and we were sharing a cigarette and I think he bent down just as I slipped off and jumped up and the top of my head smashed into his nose really hard and blood just started pouring all over him. I think that picture circulated around the world.
MARY RAT: Johnny Rotten was actually kind of nice in Dallas. We were all going to this restaurant to get some food and the car was full, so Malcolm McLaren told me to sit on Johnny’s lap, which made him kind of mad. So I sat on his lap. I was embarrassed the whole time, but he was really nice about it.
HELLIN KILLER: After the show Sid was like, “Stay, stay,” and I’m like, “My ride is leaving and I don’t know anyone in Dallas,” and he was like, “Just stay,” so I said okay, and he was swell enough to have them buy me a ticket back and he gave me cab fare to the airport. We planned to get together in San Francisco… we really hit it off… it was really weird, like a dream come true, suddenly you’re best friends with the person you like the best out of anybody.
HAL NEGRO: Everyone was excited that the Pistols were coming to town. I guess we were excited that they were playing in the state of California, ’cause they decided not to play any L.A. dates.
SEAN CARRILLO: We were devastated when the Pistols didn’t play here. I was seventeen. I wasn’t thinking about Malcolm McLaren’s clever little strategy. All I was thinking was, “Why aren’t they playing here?”
BIBBE HANSEN: I was totally bummed. I’ve never forgiven them for that. It was like a slap in the face.
BRENDAN MULLEN: When the Sex Pistols arrived in Los Angeles during their U.S. tour in January 1978, Johnny Rotten skulked secretly at the Hyatt/Riot House, apparently in the company of his mother, without once emerging to meet and greet the entire time the band was in town, a whole week prior to their swan song at the Winter-land Ballroom in San Francisco. Sid, Cook, and Jones at least hung out at night, if only for the abundance of willing punkettes. The three prowled L.A. by night on boozy doped-out bird-shagging expeditions to the Masque. Sid’s favorite cocktail: peppermint schnapps and Southern Comfort with tall-can chasers of Olde English 800 Malt Liquor and Rainier Green Ale! Such a gross-out combination would even cause a hard-boiled serious drinker like Top Jimmy to blow chunks. And that was just the booze part of his consumption! Try mixing that lot with heroin, coke, and speed and, well …
RENE DAALDER: During the week the Pistols wastefully hung around L.A. doing nothing before the big Winterland show in San Francisco, we were driving Sid around while he was kicking. He kept saying, “Bring me to the hospital or the nearest bridge.” We took turns baby-sitting him at the Sunset Hyatt Hotel, where Lydon was hanging out with his mom, glad to be away from the hated McLaren… who in turn called John a “Catholic twit.”
MILES COPELAND: When I was a booker for the Sex Pistols, I would go up to Malcolm McLaren and say, “Gee, Malcolm, I just read another article about how you can’t get the band gigs. But I just got you three gigs.” And finally one day he looked at me like I was out of my fucking mind. He said, “Look, you cunt, I don’t want this fucking group to play because then people can see that they can’t fucking play. Don’t you fucking get it, you fucking asshole?! I’ll get more press saying that they can’t play than if they fucking play! Don’t you fucking get it, you asshole?! This isn’t about playing. It’s about press.” And then a lightbulb went off in my head: “This was not a band about music.” Of course, the group thought they were because they’d call me up and ask, “Oh, Miles, oh thanks. Can you get us some gigs?” I’d say, “Well, I’ve got a couple.” They’d say, “Oh wow, great. That’s really fantastic.” And then of course it wouldn’t happen because Malcolm just didn’t want them to play. Every time I’d get them a gig, he’d say, “You’re fucking up my whole rap, you bastard!” That’s why they didn’t play in New York or Los Angeles, the real media centers. Malcolm thought it would have ruined everything.
RENE DAALDER: Russ Meyer, the filmmaker who was the best man at my wedding, was asked to make a Sex Pistols movie. He called me because of my teenage movie Massacre at Central High, which anticipated punk, Heathers, and Columbine back in ’76… and so McLaren, Russ, Roger Ebert, and myself were supposed to collaborate on developing a movie concept for the Pistols. Roger and myself were to write the script with input from Russ and Malcolm. It was an improbable mix. Russ wanted the movie to be the follow-up to his outrageously campy masterpiece Beyond the Valley of the Dolls, written by Ebert. Roger was, of course, totally into Meyer’s thing. Malcolm had no idea what he had gotten himself into, since the Sex Pistols came from an entirely different world than Russ. I worked for months writing and rewriting different versions of what came to be called Who Killed Bambi? but I couldn’t bridge the chasm that existed between the band and their management at one end and Russ at the other. I shuttled back and forth between the two camps, but there was no way to avert the clash between Malcolm’s anarchistic art-school earnestness and the camp sensibilities of the King of the Nudies. One day Russ yelled at Johnny Lydon to have some respect. He shouted out: “We saved your limey asses in World War II!” It all ended in bitter tears of rage and lawsuits, and Russ would never make a film again. It also cost me my dear friendship with Russ because ultimately I had to root for the Sex Pistols. Our house became the U.S. headquarters for the Pistols and I was hanging out with them a lot, especially Malcolm, Sid Vicious, Paul Cook, and Steve Jones, who crashed with us and at other houses. Warner Brothers’ Mo Austin was seriously wondering if punk could be the biggest thing since the Beatles.
HAL NEGRO: The L.A. punks weren’t so upset with the Pistols that they didn’t organize a mass exodus upstate to see them play the Winterland Ballroom in San Francisco. Nobody knew it would be their last show ever… well, until those reunion shows twenty ye
ars later, anyway.
NICKEY BEAT: The Germs booked a gig at Mabuhay Gardens in San Francisco coinciding with the weekend when the Pistols played Winterland. Knowing that Sid was in the audience, Darby pulled out all the show-stopping moves. We opened up with “Circle One.” The song starts with sixteen beats before the band comes in. As I hit the first note, Darby ran onstage, put his hands on my shoulder, jumped right over me, grabbed a glass full of booze, downed the whole thing, carved a circle in his chest, grabbed the mic, and started singing the first word of the first verse in perfect time. It was amazing. From there on it was pandemonium.
PENELOPE HOUSTON: The Avengers opened the Pistols’ Winterland show. We ended up playing after the Nuns and right before the Pistols. That show was insane. There were about six thousand people there. Sold out. The biggest show the Pistols had ever played… and the biggest show we’d ever play. People came from the whole West Coast, but counting all the people from L.A. and even all the punks in San Francisco and Seattle, there was probably only six hundred of us, so who were the rest of those people? Suburban kids or just people who’d come to see the freak show, basically. The Pistols didn’t show themselves backstage. Sid came out, but Johnny Rotten didn’t come out of the dressing room at all. It was so packed, you couldn’t lift your feet off the ground, and you were covered in sweat within one minute of going into the pit. We were pretty scared, and also pretty disgusted with the whole thing. It was the first time that Bill Graham, the famous promoter, had gotten his hands on punk.
