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I saw her again last night . . .
I wrote the tune. John wrote the lyric. We were both totally miserable. Once again, Cass was right. There was no way it was going to end up all that civilized. But we tried. Michelle went back to John and then she left. And then she came back and left. And she started having an affair with Gene Clarke of the Byrds - our good friends - and rivals. Ouch. One night Gene showed up in the front row and Michelle started throwing kisses at him from the stage: And John said: "That's it, either she goes or I go. It's up to you guys." So, we consulted the record company lia.. lo.. Li... the attorneys. |
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Dear Michelle: "This letter is to advise you that the undersigned no longer desire to record or perform with you in the future. Moreover, the undersigned desire to terminate any business relationship with you.... to the extent that there may have been any agreement between us creating a partnership the undersigned wish to terminate and dissolve any such partnership. However: this letter should not be construed as an admission that any partnership exists." Cold. And her husband, her lover and her best friend all sign at the bottom and send the letter to Mitch. |
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I felt like a rat. I was a rat. So, finally one night I drank enough nerve to call her and asked if we could talk. "Mich, we love each other. Let's just ... get out of here. Just get on the back of the bike, OK? Don't pack. Don't do anything. We'll just drive away. Head for Colorado or someplace. I'll get a job pumping gas or something." She looked at me like I was out of my mind. Two hits on the charts and an album in the Top Ten and I want her to run away? Nah. She came out that night because she wanted back in the group. "It would be the best thing for both of us, Denny." |
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What I didn't tell her was we'd already replaced her with Lou's girlfriend, Jill Gibson, and at that very moment we were dubbing over her vocals on the second album. The next day she comes into the studio expecting me to be Sir Galahad, sees Jill and goes nuts. I sit there with this stupid grin on my face sippin' Crown Royal. Sipping! I was chugging the stuff. And she comes across the room, fists in a knot and boom - she decks me. So Mitchie is out and Jill is in and we're touring the mid-west, but at every concert the crowd is screaming, "Where's Mama Michelle?", "We want Mama Michelle!" |
So, we ran away to England . . . | |