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Read the Unpublished Cameron Crowe

Story That Inspired ‘Almost Famous’
Cameron Crowe
The Wrap September 27, 2019

Cameron Crowe wrote this story in 1996 for a short-lived magazine named Live! It never
ran because of length constraints, but at the time Cameron said he didn’t mind because
No se puede
writing about his relationship with music and with his mother had given him an idea for a
screenplay.
acceder a
The ensuing script turned out to be “Almost Famous,” for which he won the original- What to Read Next
screenplay Oscar. And with the musical-theater version of “Almost Famous” opening at
the Old Globe theater in San Diego on Friday, Sept. 27, Crowe gave TheWrap permission
to run the original story he’d written 23 years ago. (For more on the origin story, click
here.)

“There will be absolutely no rock music in our house.”

With those epic words, my mother and father ushered in 1968. My mom was an English
Joseph Baena posts childhood photo with
teacher, and early on she spotted the threat that rock posed to all those finely-bound
Arnold Schwarzenegger on his dad's 73rd
books lining our cabinets. My sister and I lobbied hard, assuring them that drugs and birthday
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promiscuous sex were not what our music was about. Rock was our poetry. Yes, came
her reply, but “it’s the poetry of drugs and promiscuous sex!” Of course she was right, but
few were as good at feigning outrage as my sister and me.

One summer night I grandly talked my parents into giving rock one last chance,
convincing them to watch Simon and Garfunkel on “The Smothers Brothers Show.” I was
sure that the literary quality of Paul Simon’s songs would dupe … I mean, win them over.
Soon they would be giving us money to buy the real s—: Jimi Hendrix, Cream, and the
gloriously high Beatles of the “White Album” era. We sat as a family, bathed in the blue
glow of the television as Simon and Garfunkel hit the Smothers Brothers stage. Looking Gwyneth Paltrow knew marriage to Chris Martin
was over three years before 'conscious
clean-cut and super earnest, they began “Mrs. Robinson.” uncoupling' announcement
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Also Read: TheGrill 2016: Watch Cameron Crowe Go Behind the Scenes of Iconic Rock
Photos

Of course I had picked the night Paul Simon, suspiciously glassy, had apparently decided
to chuck the whole clean-cut and earnest thing right out the window. Bobbing and
smirking at the camera, he spat out the words, “Here’s to you, Joe Dimaggio / Jesus
loves you more than you will know.” Looking out from television, he seemed to find my
mother’s face, knowing somehow that she had spent all that famously hard-earned
money to send my sister and me to Catholic school. With each mention of the word Don't Freak Out, But Bradley Cooper & Jennifer
“Jesus,” his mocking tone grew more lacerating. Garner May Have Been Spotted on a Date
SheKnows

We shrunk into the sofa. Finally, my mother switched off the tube, threatening to write
CBS and all the show’s sponsors. (She did.) Later that evening, I sat in my sister’s room
with her smuggled-in copy of Janis Joplin’s “Cheap Thrills.” “Great idea,” said my sister
dryly. She soon made plans to leave Indio, California, where we lived, to visit friends in
San Francisco and look for a college far from our town. (She did.)

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Frances McDormand as Elaine Miller, Zooey Deschanel as Anita Miller and Patrick Fugit as William
Miller in "Almost Famous"

Frances McDormand as Elaine Miller, Zooey Deschanel as Anita Miller and Patrick Fugit
as William Miller in “Almost Famous” / Photo by Paramount Pictures

My parents had great dreams of me becoming a lawyer, but music was whispering in my Daisy Coleman, Star of Netflix Doc ‘Audrie &
Daisy,’ Dies by Suicide at 23
ear about other things. For the next year or so, I slipped rock into the house by way of a
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small transistor radio that I kept under the pillow. Late at night, I listened. Somehow the
flatness of the desert landscape drew radio signals from all over the country, and one
night I even heard the mind-blowing event of a d.j. playing a song by the group Chicago
in Chicago.

A local station had begun to draw big name concert acts to town, and I listened sadly as
Buffalo Springfield and The Doors came to nearby Palm Springs, playing great shows
while I sat home in a cultural prison listening to my parents discuss Carl Jung. Now there
was a new goal. I had to get to a concert. If only there was a way to break down the wall
'Kindergarten Cop' canceled: Schwarzenegger
between me, my family and rock. film criticized for 'romanticizing over-policing,'
compared to 'Birth of a Nation'
We soon moved south to a bigger city, San Diego. By 1970, I finally had a breakthrough. Yahoo Movies

In the quiet of my room, I began to play radio station contests, you know the kind – “be
the first caller and win!” My scheme was simple. If I won the tickets, I wasn’t directly
putting money into the hands of Satan, and perhaps I could wrangle my way into a
concert.

Also Read: 15 Secrets Revealed About Cameron Crowe's 'Almost Famous' on Its 15th
Anniversary

I worked harder on this plan than on any school assignment. Soon I had figured out a Portland summer drive-in theater pulls
winning method. Using two phones with long extension cords, I kept one line ringing 'Kindergarten Cop' following 'overpolicing'
complaints
constantly, tying up the radio station’s request line. When a contest for tickets was
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announced, I would already be on the line. The disc jockey would then pick up the ringing
phone and hang up again, clearing the lines for the official first caller. But I already had
the number dialed on the other line. Dialing one last digit, I slipped in as first caller. The
method worked, and I won tickets to a movie. But my eye was already on a much bigger
prize.

Right about this time, local disc jockeys began to hint that a very, very big star was
coming to San Diego. Soon it was announced. Sadly, it was not Creedence Clearwater
Revival, as I’d hoped, but someone not of my generation at all. In fact, I couldn’t imagine
Meghan McCain hates getting asked this
what the big fuss was about when ads featuring the music from “2001: A Space question: 'No other host has to deal with this
B.S.'
Odyssey” announced with great importance that the concert event of the year was none
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other than Elvis Presley.

To me, Elvis was a jokey figure, an oddly bronzed gentleman who showed up in afternoon
movies like “Paradise, Hawaiian Style,” goofily singing to dogs and strange women with
pointy bikini breasts. Years later, I would come to worship the technicolor kitsch of those
movies, but at the time Presley was at best a guy John Lennon praised in interviews as
being a genius before he entered the army.

Regardless, drunk with contest-winning prowess, I easily won four tickets to see Elvis at
the San Diego Sports Arena. At school, I traded two of the Elvis tickets for a pair of seats Jennifer Garner and Boyfriend John Miller Break
Up After Almost 2 Years Together
to a concert I was much more interested in — Eric Clapton’s Derek and the Dominoes at E!
the San Diego State University gymnasium. My pleasure was soon mixed with horror.
Good news: My parents approved me going to both concerts. Bad news: My date at both
concerts would be my mom.

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'Are You There, Chelsea?' (Video)

There was a strange mystique about the Elvis show. No concert ads ever appeared in the
newspaper. The only ads had been on the local radio station, and the show had sold out
Josephine Skriver named Sports Illustrated
within hours. Now the radio ads had disappeared. The only indication of the coming Swimsuit’s 2020 Rookie of the Year
event were the words on the Sports Arena marquee. “Elvis — November 15 — Sold Out.” Yahoo Celebrity

When the day arrived, I sheepishly dressed for a date with mom. I chose a pair of bell-
bottoms, clothes I hoped would scream, “I’m so much cooler than to be going to a
concert with my mom.”

On the way to the show, my date discussed the scholastic view of The King. Elvis the
Pelvis, she said, had brought smut to national television and the Ed Sullivan Show was
forced to show him only from the waist up. I couldn’t quite figure out how he could be so
subversive.
Snoop reveals he once escaped an attack by
Death Row and wound up in jail with Ray J
“What was he doing that was so awful?” I asked. Yahoo Entertainment

She answered the question clinically. “He had an erection.”

“Wow,” I said.

Now I really didn’t know what to expect. I had seen only part of last year’s “Comeback”
special, on a television in a Radio Shack, and all I remembered was his noble pose as he
sang “If I Can Dream” against a bank of red lights blinking E-L-V-I-S. No doubt about it.
This guy was one serious mixed message. One day communing with God, the next
appearing on Ed Sullivan with a boner. Whoa.

Elvis Presley in the 1968 "Comeback" special

Elvis Presley in the 1968 “Comeback” special / Photo by NBC Universal

I dreaded how unhip we were. Me in my desperate bell-bottoms, her in a smart

academic-looking pantsuit with scarf. But as we turned the corner to the Sports Arena
parking lot, I saw something that immediately lightened my load. Stretched out before us
was an endless sea of jolly blue-haired ladies, most of them old enough to be my
grandmother. Where did these people come from? I had seen none of them on our city
streets. Perhaps they flew in for the show. I did know this: My mom and I were clearly the
coolest customers in sight.

We settled into our free bleacher seats, halfway back and on the right. I watched as the
spectacle began. First on stage was an emcee who began hawking scarves and
programs with frightening fluency. This was hard sell like I had never imagined at a
concert, and the emcee’s routine was clear: Mention Elvis’ name every ten seconds. Each
mention drew a war cry from the audience.

Then came the Sweet Inspirations, Elvis’ singing group. They performed in the still-lit
arena. They too mentioned Elvis’ name in between each of their few songs. Then the
emcee returned, telling us that Elvis’ plane was on the way to San Diego right now. Then
came the comedian who preceded Elvis, Pat Buttram. The response was riotous. This
was Mr. Hainey from “Green Acres.”

I remember none of his jokes, save for a comment that the success of his television show
was nothing compared to the greatest gift of all, knowing Elvis. Pause for thunderous
cheers. In between jokes, he tracked Elvis’ travel, as if describing a missile heading for its
target. It worked, majorly.

After a few minutes, he received a note from a stagehand. Elvis’ plane had landed in San
Diego. Pause for mayhem. In fact, said Buttram, “Elvis loves San Diego. He told me last
night!” The arena shook. And this being a full two years before Watergate, we believed
him.

San Diego Sports Arena Elvis marquee

San Diego Sports Arena Elvis marquee / Photo courtesy of Cameron Crowe

Now Buttram wrapped up his routine, and I’ll admit this to you right now: Even I was
psyched for Elvis. The emcee returned to announce that Colonel Parker had just now
released some new scarves, right now, just for San Diego. He would allow a few more
minutes for everybody to pick up a few, before the appearance of Elvis.

A few minutes passed, and then the lights finally dimmed, all the way. Mind-warping,
blood-curdling screams shot up up all around us. Not the endearing Beatlemania
screams of adolescents, no. These were the unsettling screams of mothers. The kind of
scream you associate with, oh say, a murderer entering your house.

Suddenly, the theme from “2001” pumped over the loudspeakers. Elvis’ band took the
stage. They were some of the greatest session players ever, and as James Burton
strapped on a shiny Telecaster, they blasted into the beginning vamp of “That’s All Right.”
They were a loud, large, lumbering Elvis machine. And from our seats, I could see into the
backstage area of the Sports Arena. The metal gate opened, and in swished a line of
limousines. This was truly wild, I thought. Even in a city he loves, San Diego, Elvis doesn’t
arrive until his set had already begun.

Finally Elvis Presley appeared from stage right in a glittering white jumpsuit. For a couple
minutes he strode back and forth, striking karate poses, kicking and laughing with band
members, all while the intro to “That’s All Right” continued on an endless loop. The band
seemed crouched and ready to respond, watching his every move, should he approach
the microphone to sing.

But Elvis didn’t want to sing. Not yet, maybe not at all. Less than a year after the
“Comeback” special, gone was the man supposedly repentant for the many years spent
playing hooky in Hollywood. In his place was a goofy white speck moving back and forth.
And it wasn’t as if he was troubled by the artistic compromise, in fact he seemed very
very very very relaxed with the whole idea. I was not yet an Elvisophile, schooled in the
subtleties of the King, but I remember thinking: He really really likes San Diego.

The place was filled with hysterical appreciation as Elvis finally took the microphone.
“Well that’s all right, mama,” he sang, and then he abandoned the mike again for more
photo opportunities. He laughed at the rapturous women in the front row, as the Sweet
Inspirations fiercely continued singing their parts, whether Elvis sang or not. Every once
in a while, he returned the mike to add the words, “that’s all right.” And then more posing.
Finally, signaled by a specific karate move, the song stopped. Over screams, the King
solemnly thanked the crowd for coming and then offered, if I remember correctly, an
imitation of John Wayne.

Elvis Presley onstage in 1970

Elvis Presley onstage in 1970 / Photo by Michael Ochs Archives/Getty Images

Soon the band snapped into “Polk Salad Annie.” Halfway through, Elvis crouched down
low on the stage … then lower … then lower, until he was on his back. He continued
kicking, into the air, flat on his back, chatting to the audience and singing. He even tried
out a few more impressions including, if I’m not mistaken, then-President Richard Nixon.
Rising to his feet, Elvis wandered the stage and struck more poses. The band swerved
and vamped with his every move, while the Sweet Inspirations fervently sang their parts.
From time to time, Elvis, who was clearly having a very good time, would toss in the
words “got your granny.”

My mom and I looked at each other. Elsewhere in this arena, everyone seemed to get the
joke. We shrugged and continued watching the increasingly riveting spectacle. Calming
down a bit, the King then announced “Bridge Over Troubled Water.” For a handful of
minutes, everything shifted. Suddenly he was committed to the words he was singing,
shutting his eyes and rising with the emotions of the song. For this one number, the
heartbreak of a squandered career was evident. For this one number, and this one
number only, he performed some lingering artistic duty to himself.

And when it was over, he left the stage for a long break. He returned and began “Love Me
Tender.” The King sang the first line of the song, as onstage sidekick Charlie Hodge
rather timidly appeared at his side with a cache of scarves. As the Sweet Inspirations
continued, Elvis abandoned the song entirely, and Hodge began the curious gesture of
simply passing the scarf behind Elvis’ neck, as Presley then bequeathed the scarves to
the cardiac-arrested women in the front row. Some he kissed, some he didn’t. The song
lumbered on for many minutes. I looked at my date.

“What’s going on?” I wondered.

My mother had the look of a social scientist, studying a cultural moon rock. “I’m … not …
sure,” she managed. Around us, women wept.

Another handful of songs followed, and all were sung in his special blend of photo-op
haiku. After “Can’t Help Falling in Love,” Elvis Presley bowed reverentially and said
goodnight. The lights rose instantly. The famous words were spoken. “Elvis has left the
building.” An important pause, and then, the emcee continued, “And if you didn’t get a
scarf, there are a few still available at the concession stands if you act quickly … “

He had been on stage 47 minutes. We drove home in stunned silence, still not quite sure
what we’d seen.

Frances McDormand as Elaine Miller in

Frances McDormand as Elaine Miller in “Almost Famous” / Photo by Paramount Pictures

Twenty-seven years later, with proper sociological perspective, it’s easier to judge. He
had already jammed with the Beatles, sung with Sinatra, married Priscilla, made 33
movies and rocked the world. Perhaps he had been on his best behavior in the bigger
markets on this mini-tour, but in San Diego he let down completely and simply mocked
the whole spectacle. This was the very beginning of Elvis’ third act. Comeback Elvis was
already dead and in his place was the sad, hysterical, karate King, kicking and laughing
and finally embracing the bars of his pop culture prison.

Let’s face it. A Sid Vicious solo show would have been very similar — wacky, druggy,
riveting, dark, funny and short, with at least a couple of the same songs.

A week later, my mom accompanied me to the Derek and the Dominoes performance.
Now this was a real rock concert, still one of the best I’ve seen. A riotous crowd, unable
to get in, broke the huge glass pane at the front of the hall while Eric Clapton, barely
moving, burned through some of the great guitar rock of the coming decade. He’d
brought the legendary Duane Allman with him to play slide guitar. In another year, Allman
would be dead from a senseless motorcycle accident, but on that night he and Clapton
sparked each other to play with rare intensity.

As Elvis Presley had proven a week earlier, a musician can only play at that depth for a
finite number of years before the laws of self-preservation kick in. Some die, some
survive, some homogenize. I can still feel that night, the private thrill of a committed
audience linking up with a committed performer. It’s increasingly rare in these current
times of automated rock. Clapton was on fire, and everyone knew it.

That night, even my English teacher mother succumbed to the power of rock and roll.
And even when a tie-dyed Romeo in front of us openly did up a couple spoons of
cocaine, she chose to ignore it. It was an unforgettable night, still a great shared memory
for both of us.

“I understand your music,” she said that night. “It’s better than ours.”

Cameron Crowe with Kris Kristofferson in the 1970s

Cameron Crowe with Kris Kristofferson in the 1970s / Photo courtesy of Cameron Crowe

I reviewed both shows for my high school newspaper. In some form or another, I’ve
written about rock ever since. My mom has been a great fan of rock for many years too,
and she now chooses to completely forget her early days of prohibition. I never made it
to law school either.

But today, even though, yes, I trashed the King in my first-ever piece of rock journalism, I
have done penance by watching and memorizing nearly every Elvis movie. I can tell you
almost anything about Elvis.

And casually at parties, if anyone asks, I will tell them. Elvis and I once spent 47 minutes
together. I once heard him do a damn good Richard Nixon impression while sprawled on
his back at the San Diego Sports Arena. Not an easy feat to pull off. But then, that’s why
he’s the King.

Read original story Read the Unpublished Cameron Crowe Story That Inspired ‘Almost
Famous’ At TheWrap