In 1977, my wife, Toni, and I were invited to Keith Richards's birthday party by Michelle Philips. Keith's birthday is December 18, but this party was held on Christmas Eve. The photo was taken in the 70's and given to me by the photographer Norman Seeff.
EXCERPT FROM "THE CHERRY BOY CHRONICLES"
Michelle met us at the door and after catching up for a few seconds, she asked us to come say hello to the birthday boy. I took off my coat, hung it in the hallway, and followed our host.
“Keith, this is Chris and Toni DeMarco. Chris just finished recording his first album for Chris Blackwell.”
Keith said, “Hello, that’s cool, man.” I saw him do a double-take and hesitate before eying me suspiciously. I smiled or maybe it was more of a grin and said, “You may be wondering where you’ve seen this shirt before—it was yours. Some guy ripped it off his back and gave it to me.”
“Bloody hell, I thought I’d fucking seen it before.”
I laughed, he laughed, Toni and Michelle didn’t laugh.
I said, “Happy birthday, man,” nodded and, taking Toni by the arm, wandered into the party. Across the room, I saw John Phillips and made my way over.
“Hey, Chris, Michelle told me she invited you. It’s good to see you. What’s it been, over a year?”
“Yeah, when you guys got back from England last summer. Then I went to Paris, and, when I got home, I ended up joining Riff Raff and man, I’ve been pretty busy. Where have you been?”
“I was in LA and here. Mostly here,” John said. “Yeah, Michelle mentioned you got a deal with Island; that’s great, welcome to the club.”
I said, “What are you doing now, are you working on anything?”
“Couple of things. Did you hear Keith and I got an apartment together, over on the East side, Seventy-second Street?” he asked.
“Wow, no I didn’t. Are you all going to do something together? That would be really cool.”
“I don’t know, we’ll see, you never know,” he smiled cryptically.
I started to say something witty but stopped myself when I noticed a familiar-looking, short, balding gentleman, who looked to be in his fifties, walking resolutely toward us.
John said, “Hello, Ahmet,” and offered his hand. They shook. “Ahmet, have you met Chris DeMarco?”
“No, we haven’t met. It’s good to meet you, I’m Ahmet Ertegun,” he said and we shook hands.
Of course, I knew who he was. The president and owner of Atlantic Records with Jerry Wexler (I met Jerry the following month in Nassau and we became golfing buddies.) The Stones were on Atlantic Records so it made sense for him to be at the party.
“It’s good to meet you too, sir,” I said.
"Actually, I did hear about you and your band. After Chris signed you, I spoke to him and he told me something about a secret plan Sid has to break you when the album’s released. What does he have up his sleeve, do you know?” Ahmet asked with a raised eyebrow.
“No, I’m not sure what he’s got in mind,” I lied.
“Well, whatever it is I’ll bet it’ll be good. Sid is a master at PR. It was good to meet you, Chris, good luck with Island. John, let’s talk later, OK?"
“Yeah, absolutely, I’ll catch up with you later,” John said. Ahmet nodded and walked toward another gathering of people.
Sid did have a PR scheme that he’d sold to Chris Blackwell. Everyone knew that a great part of the Beatles’ success came when they were brought here to the States and promoted by Sid with the radio station's warning, "The Beatles are coming, the Beatles are coming," even before they made their historic appearance on the Ed Sullivan Show.
For Riff Raff, he planned to do something similar, only in reverse. He wanted to take us to England and have us play clubs and concerts starting in Liverpool. He thought he could break us over there by promoting the band as a home-grown New York City group of ethnically diverse musicians before we began touring the US. It sounded good to me.
I promised to visit John in his new apartment with Keith when I returned from Nassau and said goodbye. The thought of the two of them living together was worrisome. Keith had been busted for heroin earlier in the year in Canada and had only recently been allowed back in the States. John was seriously using as well. I had my doubts about how this odd-couple arrangement would turn out. I could only hope for the best.
We stayed for a little while longer and mingled with some people we knew and some we didn’t. At ten we said goodbye and wished Michelle a Merry Christmas. Outside on Central Park West, I flagged a taxi for the ride back downtown to the Gramercy. Entering the park we caught a glimpse of the beautifully lighted Tavern On The Green and all the glimmering buildings on Central Park South. Christmas Eve, driving down Fifth Avenue, I was nearly overcome with emotion. I could barely breathe. Toni sensed my sudden shaky state and took my hand. She said, “Chris, you belong now.”
I took a deep breath, blew it out, and closed my eyes.
