Lost On Assignment

“Do you wanna do the interview or not?” It was Charlie Mack on the phone, Allied Records top promo guy, pitching as he always did – hard and fast. He was trying to get me to commit to an interview with Johnny Zero the former lead singer with Zero and Heroes. I hesitated. “He’s still got lots of fans here in Canada.” I remained silent. “Come on. We’ll cover all the costs. Do this and I can score you those Oasis tickets you wanted.”

“He hasn’t had a hit for five years, “I answered, “not since ’89.” But I wasn’t really thinking about the music charts, but those Oasis tickets. They sounded sweet, so I didn’t shut Charlie down completely. “Is there any hook to the story?”

“He’s flying in from Iceland to shoot a video in Harlem. Living there has really helped him get back on track. He’s kicked his drug problem. It’s gonna be totally cool. The new single is old school. “Kiss and Tell”. Feels like Marvin Gaye ‘71.”

Charlie knew I loved Gaye’s What’s Going On. He was getting tricky. “Ok. Let me bring it up at the production meeting tomorrow and I’ll see what the team says. Courier me the CD.” With that I hung up before I ended up being talked into something.

Zero and Heroes had sold millions of records, had massive hits, and toured the world. Now Johnny was a solo artist whose career had flat-lined in North America, but he was still well -respected in the UK. That’s how I pitched it to the team in our weekly program production meetings. Then I played the CD with the leadoff single, “Kiss and Tell”, for them. Blue-eyed soul. Certainly no “Inner City Blues”, but it had potential. The team looked at me. The orange-haired young punk videographer with a dozen rings pierced through her ears asked was he still cool? A couple of the other team members liked the tune, but were uncommitted. The exec. producer posed the question: Would it damage our credibility as a cutting edge rock’n’roll TV show? Music Now only covered the best and brightest of what was going on in the entertainment world. Then he answered his own question. New York was a good hook. Great to have international locations, particular on the record company’s dime, he said. I mentioned the hip Iceland connection and how Johnny still has lots of fans here in Canada, I added, not sure that was even legit. After some deliberation we decided to commit to the interview, and I volunteered to be the reporter. Of course, those Oasis tickets had nothing to do with it. Honestly. My friend Dave was assigned as cameraperson. Dave had over twenty years of experience shooting in exciting and exotic places around the world. This was a breeze by comparison.

I called Charlie back with the good news. He informed me of unusual details about the shoot. We were to fly to New York the next day and upon arrival at the airport I was to call the US record company who would give me details of the location. It was their gig. They had made the arrangements. A telephone number and a name were relayed to me. “OK”, I responded. Strange set ups were not unusual in this line of work. You had to “go with the flow”, as my bosses would say.

The next afternoon we boarded the plane in Toronto and an hour or so later we landed at LaGuardia just after 2pm. Before we left the terminal I found a pay phone and called the number I was given. An assistant answered. The individual I needed was on set with Johnny Zero, but the woman at the other end of the phone was aware of our arrival and gave us details of where to go. We were to take a taxi to 125th and 5th (Martin Luther King Blvd.) and wait on the corner. Someone would come and collect us. This was the heart of Harlem, just north of Marcus Garvey Park, and apparently the video was being shot close by. After I hung up I told Dave the details. He looked at me with one of those “what the hell” faces. It didn’t help when the taxi driver, upon given the address, turned to us and said “Are you sure?”

When we arrived at the corner the driver once again repeated: “Are you sure?” Yes, we were sure, and the cab pulled over to let us out. I was beginning to second guess myself. Had I misheard the address? With the large and heavy Sony beta camera, with its Music Now sticker emblazoned on the side, and a backpack bag stuffed with a small sun gun light, mics, and cables, Dave made his way to the street corner and stood there. I paid and tipped the driver and asked for a receipt. I then took my place alongside Dave under the small canopy of an optician’s store and waited.

“Are they going to come and get us?” he asked me

“Yes, as soon as there is a break in the video shoot,” I told him reassuringly.

We looked stupid standing there as if we were waiting for a bus. People walked by and stared at us, the only white people in the neighbourhood looking totally lost with an expensive camera hanging down. A crazed man, wearing an oversized dark green garbage bag with holes cut in it for his head and arms wandered up and down the street. As he passed he stopped right in front of us, looked, laughed, made a gibberish comment about white guys, and carried on walking and muttering.

“You know all those road stories you told me a hundred times? Tell them to me again,” Dave said. All the adventures and unusual interview situations I had experienced during my life as a music reporter continually came up when Dave and I were on assignment. He would often interrupt me by saying: “Heard that one.” Now he wanted to hear them all again. He was getting nervous.

“Let me call the record company again, and see what’s up,” I replied. There was a phone booth about fifteen yards away. Luckily it was working. I punched in the numbers on the chrome touch-tone pad. I was now on a first name basis with Diana, the PR assistant. Diana apologized and said that there had been a hold up on-set and we were to go for something to eat and return to the corner in one hour. Someone would then come and get us.

I told Dave the news. “And where are we going to eat?” he asked. We both looked around at this urban wasteland of retail outlets. There were no signs for fast food. In fact, there were no signs of anything that resembled a place to withdraw and feel safe. But we then spied “Jacko’s”, a Jamaican restaurant tucked into an alcove.

“Yo, what you guys doing here? TV types?” said Jacko, the restaurant owner, in his thick Caribbean accent as we sat down at one of the many empty tables. Dave placed the camera out of sight on the floor by his legs. There was only two other people in the small restaurant. Pictures of Bob Marley hung on the wall. We told him the story and how we were waiting to interview Johnny Zero as he was shooting a video close by.

“Yeah I know,” the man said. We looked surprised. How could he know when everything was so secret?

“The record company called me and told me to have some soul food ready for Johnny and his crew. I gotta deliver it on set. They’re gonna call me later with the address. Love that “Kiss and Tell” tune”, Jacko said. He’d heard it on the radio.

I asked him if he was a reggae fan because of the Bob Marley pictures. He said he was more than just a fan. He grew up with the king of reggae in St. Ann’s Parish in Jamaica. He could tell me stories he said. Half-jokingly I told him maybe I should be interviewing him instead of Zero.

“Ok. Why don’t you?” he answered. And that’s how Dave and I ended up with stories about Bob Marley’s childhood years at Stepney Junior School on tape. Priceless.

The jerked chickens was one of best we had ever tasted, and that included our time covering Reggae Sunsplash years previously. We paid our bill and left the restaurant. “Take care, you hear”, said Jacko smiling that bright Caribbean way. “Nuff respect,” I replied as if we were totally cool. I then thought that made me sound like a stupid tourist, but never mind. It was stupid day.

We resumed our position on the corner under the canopy and waited. And waited. The crazed man in the garbage bags was still hanging around. He spied us. With a sense of glee in his eyes, as if we were old friends, he wandered over and chuckled. “Hey, TV man put me on camera.”

“Come on then,” said Dave. I looked at my partner with one of those “you got to be kidding me looks”, but Dave hoisted the camera on to his shoulder, pointed it at the bag man and said: “OK give us what you got.” And, of all things, the man broke out into a rap; a pretty good one about the streets and being homeless. Satisfied with his bit he turned and carried on walking down the boulevard as if nothing had happened.

While Dave had the camera on his shoulder he decided to shoot some “beauty” viz of Harlem traffic; always good to have b-roll in a story. Further on down the street, on the other side of the phone booth, a gang of about six Latinos had gathered. They stared at us when they saw Dave rolling.

“Dave, stop shooting. There’s a gang staring at us.” He clicked the camera to the off position, hung it once again from his shoulder, and discreetly looked over to the group. We noticed each member of the gang was wearing a pager. It would occasionally buzz and one of them would then walk to the phone booth, dial the number, hang up, walk back to his people, confer, then one of them peeled off and walked away, presumably to drop off whatever it was that was ordered. This was their “office.” One of them pointed to us. Another one started to walk towards us.

“Watch out. Here’s trouble,” I said. Dave held the camera tight to his body.

“Hey guys, what you doing here?” he asked fairly pleasantly given the circumstances. He had a bandana around his head, jeans, high-top runners, t-shirt, and a cut down jean-jacket with the word “Jelly” in a patch over the breast pocket. We told him who we were, the strange arrangements the record company had set up, and then mentioned Johnny Zero’s name to add validity to the story. We also mentioned that the music video was being shot close to this location, presumably on their turf.

“Man, I love Johnny Zero. Whatever happened to him? He was cool. “Kiss and Tell” is my gal’s fave tune of the moment.”

“He’s been living in Iceland,” I told him as if I was intimate with all the details about Johnny’s career moves. His mood then changed.

“You’re not cops are you?

“No. We’re Canadians,” we said as if that made the whole situation believable.

“You’re not from New York One are you? There’s been camera crews here over the last couple of weeks telling stories about all the drug stuff. You those guys? “

No, we said in unison, and we repeated our story. We pointed to the Music Now sticker, with its maple leaf logo where the “o” should be, on the side of the camera. He laughed, then turned around and walked back to his people. A few minutes later he returned.

“My guys feel for you…standing here on the corner with no one coming to get you. So we want to give you some New York love. We got some good stuff that you’ll like. Free. So come join us.” He turned and gestured to his friends. There was an alley behind that they were using for their transactions. He wanted us to follow him down that path.

“You go,” Dave said to me. “I’ll stay here with the gear.”

“No. I’m okay,” I told the stranger. “Thanks anyway.”

“If you change your mind just come on over,” he replied as he turned to walk away.

“I’ll call the record company again,” I told Dave immediately after the exchange.

A minute later I returned with more bad news.

“There’s a hold up on the set again. Apparently they are waiting for some special effects. They will come and get us soon.”

I’m not sure whether Dave believed it. I was certainly having my doubts. We had now been there over four hours. Shoppers continually passed us staring. Some had noticed us in the afternoon, and now they saw us early evening. Cars cut across this busy intersection, their windows open Hip-hop music occasionally bruised the air. Anxiety and frustration arrived like unwanted passengers on a crowded bus.

And then it started to rain. Not heavy, but enough to dampen our enthusiasm for the gig. We pulled up our jacket collars and huddled under the half-canopy as best we could. “I’ll call them one more time,” I said to Dave and ran quickly to the pay phone.

This time there was no answer. Of course, Diana had left for the day.

“That’s it, Dave. We’re going.”

Pulling the plug on an interview is something we never did, particularly when the record company was paying for the whole thing, but this was bad. Just then the gang member signaled me. He held up a pipe. He waved his hand for me to come on over. What the hell, I thought, we’re leaving anyway. In theory my day was done, or so I thought.

“I’ll be right back,” and strode off leaving Dave on the corner with the gear.

There were about six of them doing their best to stay dry. I said my “hellos”, and they just nodded in a neutral kind of way. The guy who appeared to be the leader spoke; “My man Jelly here tells me you are waiting for Johnny Zero. That right?”

“Yes,” I said and mentioned that I thought the record company had forgotten about us.

“We feel for you, bro. Never mind we got some good **** that will help you get back to Canada.” And with that I followed them down the alley. Just before I was out of sight I waved to Dave to let him know everything was ok.

Five minutes later I was back on the corner standing with Dave. I was higher than the Empire State building. “OK are we going now?” asked Dave.

“They’ve asked us to come to a party,” I told him, “…could be good.”

“Who has?”

“That guy Jelly.”

Dave now looked at me with that “you’ve got to be kidding me look”. However, he resigned himself to the adventure, and was glad to actually be doing something. But now we had another problem – trying to find a taxi. Cabs rarely cruise the streets of Harlem looking for fares standing roadside. That’s an uptown thing. We stood curb side as the light rain fell and held my hand with a five dollar bill in it, a trick I had used in Moscow on assignment. An old brown car pulled alongside.

“You guys need a lift? Where you going?” said the driver as he manually unwound the passenger window.

“We’re going to this address,” and I handed him the piece of paper that Jelly had given me with the details.

“25 bucks,” the stranger said. Dave and I looked at each other with that “should we risk it” look.

“Ok” I replied and we opened the door to the back seat and slid in.

The driver asked what “two white guys with all that stuff” were doing in Harlem. We told him the story and he laughed. Dave unwound the window on his side and began to shoot driving viz. The route the stranger took was definitely not on any tourist map. The sky grew darker as did our journey. “Heart of darkness” came to mind, one of those journalistic references that you think is clever, but ends up scaring you more than pleasing you.

“Are we going the right way?” I asked.

“Yes, don’t worry. I’ve lived in Harlem all my life.” We were worried. Visions of ending up in a derelict warehouse with no more than our underwear entered my head. And then we had a sense of relief when we pulled up alongside a tenement building. We thanked the man, and I paid and tipped him.

“I guess you won’t be getting a receipt for that expense,” Dave joked.

I checked the address on the piece of paper. Yes, this was the place. We now had to find apartment #403. Young kids were sitting on the steps as we made our way to the front door. Their eyes followed the camera slung low at Dave’s waist as we entered the building.

“You sure this is a good idea?” Dave asked me.

“Yeah come on. This is going to be good.” I was still high and in the mood to party having stood still for most of the day.

The elevator looked risky so we took the stairs up to the fourth floor. As we came through the fire door we could hear the music coming down the hallway. People were clustered around the front. We entered. It was packed. The vibe was good. The music was great. The smell of ganga was everywhere.

“Hey, Toronto. Welcome to Harlem.” It was Jelly, smiling and looking less menacing than he did an hour or so ago. He handed me a joint. I took a toke, offered it to Dave, who wisely said: “Not just yet,” as he held on to the camera. “There’s beer in the kitchen. Help yourself.” We did. It was just what we needed after such a frustrating day. We wandered through the crowd of revelers, many of them saying “hi”. They had heard about the Johnny Zero story and how we ended up here at this party. We could tell that they found the whole affair amusing, but that was good as they didn’t see us as intruders. There was a DJ in the corner and we wandered over. He was still spinning vinyl, and I commented about how cool that was in this age of CDs. There was that mutual recognition of “working in the biz” and he smiled and we exchanged names and a handshake. We stood alongside his set up and sipped from our bottles. Comfort was beginning to set in. So was the beer and tokes. Dave was now partaking.

After about half-an-hour watching the dancers and listening to excellent tunes I said to Dave: “We gotta shoot this party.” Dave looked at me with that “are you trying to get us killed” face. I knew what he was thinking so I said: “I’ll check with the man.” I told our host that I just wanted to get some shots of the dancers and the DJ, nothing more. He said nothing. “I can interview you as well,” I added. “We can talk about throwing the best parties in Harlem.” With that Jelly smiled.

“Yeah man. Good for business.” I returned to Dave and told him it was ok. Now he had to work. I’m not too sure that he was pleased, but he did what he does best – shoot. He took the sun gun out of his backpack, mounted it on the camera, handed the backpack for me to look after and went into work mode. I stood there with the backpack at my feet and two beers in each hand. Typical producer’s role. Dave maneuvered around the room, positioning himself at various angles to get shots of the happy dancers. He crouched low for feet shots. Shot high for hand shots, and sprayed the room for wide shots. The crowd smiled and whooped when they knew the bright light of the camera was on them. Dave then turned his attention to the DJ who brought out all his turntable skills, scratching, mixing, and flipping through records at knowledgeable speed as Dave zoomed in close. The crowd loved it. As they cheered with each mix Dave whipped around capturing footage of the dancers shouting as loud as they could. I watched with appreciation. This was a Harlem party!

When Dave finished his shots it was time to interview our host. So we stepped into the building’s corridor where there was less noise and the visual looked good with the long dark hallway in the background. I just asked general questions about throwing a party in Harlem. Just as we were finishing the short interview someone was coming down the corridor carrying two large white plastic bags. It was Jacko, the owner of the Jamaican restaurant.

“Hey Jelly, got some chicken and ribs for you all.” And he lifted up the bags slightly so we all could smell the fine spicy food.

“ Jacko, you made it.” Jelly hugged him awkwardly so he didn’t spill the bags. “You know these guys?” Jelly nodded his head in our direction.

The man turned to us. “Hey TV guys how you doing? Did you get your interview with Johnny Zero?”

“No, we didn’t,” we said as we followed him in the kitchen with the food. As soon as he opened the bag and laid out the chicken and ribs a crowd of hungry guests helped themselves. Dave quickly hoisted his camera and began rolling on food disappearing fast.

“I just came from the set. They are finished now…just eating the chicken I brought them. I told the PR girl about the party and they may turn up here.”

One hour later Diana did turn up carrying a large shoulder bag and a couple of albums under her arm. We recognized her instantly when she entered the room. You get to know the record company look very quickly in this line of business. The vinyl records helped as well. The look on her face when she saw us was one of amazement and relief. “You that Canadian TV crew that went missing?” she asked.

“Went missing?” I answered angrily. “You left us on a street corner for over four hours in the middle of Harlem. We could have been killed.”

“We went looking for you, but you weren’t there. We thought you had been mugged or worse…”

“And what time was that?” The conversation was now getting heated.

“About 8 o’clock.”

“8 o’clock! “ I shouted over the music. “You expected us to stand on a street corner in the middle of Harlem, with all this gear, in the rain, for over four hours and still be there when you come looking for us?”

Diana soon saw the problem with the arrangements. “Ok I’ve got to call my boss and let her know you are ok. She’ll let the Canadian label know that we’ve found you.” She took one of those fancy new mobile phones and walked out to the corridor as she dialed the number. Dave and I were impressed she even had a mobile phone. We didn’t. Expenses appeared to be no problem for Allied Records. I was still trying to figure out how I was going to get reimbursed for the rogue cab ride.

“My boss was relieved you had been found and apologized for the confusion.” Diana looked genuinely sorry. “I told her the party was safe and Johnny Zero may turn up. He was antsy for something to do. No interviews though. Ok?”

I told her “Ok” and relaxed back into the situation. Dave and I thought it totally ironic that now we might finally meet Johnny Zero not through the label but through a New York drug gang and a Jamaican restaurant owner.

Shortly Johnny arrived with his entourage. He was relaxed and the party goers made him feel comfortable without fawning over him. Diana had given the DJ a 12” copy of “Kiss and Tell” and it was playing when he entered the apartment. He was introduced to Dave and I. We shook hands and he apologized for the mix up. (Diana must have forewarned him. That’s what PR people do.) I thought that was big him so did not go into details. As far as he knew I was just a journalist who happened to not get the interview that was planned.

Diana thanked me for not mentioning the grief. Once again she stated that Johnny was not in a mood to talk to camera, but she had another suggestion. Did we want to interview his ? Apparently, he went on world tours with Johnny, and the singer would not do any performance until he had an acupuncture session with his friend.

We had nothing else to do so I said “yes”. Hell, we had to do something. So we took the “doctor” outside to the sidewalk, just to get a different location and away from the noise, and to get the story of how sharp needles in your skin relieves the pressure of performing. The kids on the stoop gathered round, giggled and made faces for the camera. That’s sort of how I felt about this “serious” piece of journalism.

Back at the party Johnny was now dancing away with the girls and having a great time. Diana came up to us and said: “Johnny said it’s ok if you want to get shots of him dancing.” And so we turned on the camera and the sun gun. Once again, the energy in the room increased dramatically. There was whooping and hollering, slick dance moves from Johnny, and a bevy of beautiful women gyrating around him. It was a quick, but it was the “money shot” of a bankrupt day. That was as good as it was going to get.

We told Diana that we were done and we had to get out to the airport. She volunteered to drive us. “You won’t get any cabs down here,” she said.

“Oh we know,” I replied and gratefully accepted her offer of transportation.

The next day back in Toronto I phoned Charlie at Allied Records and told him what happened. I was not pleased, although it had nothing to do with him.

“So sorry you didn’t get your story with Johnny,” he said apologetically. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention the problems you had. That will cost someone their job.”

“Oh I got my story,” I replied. “Just not the one I expected. And don’t worry I won’t say anything.”

I had to explain the situation to my exec. producer because, of course, it wasn’t an interview segment or a look at Johnny’s career. We labeled the story “Lost on Assignment” and it ran the following week on Music Now. It was a montage of all the elements of the New York trip that we had managed to capture. It worked out well.

Six weeks later “Kiss and Tell” hit the top of the charts. Johnny Zero was back in the news and on tour. His schedule brought him to Toronto for sell-out shows at Massey Hall. By way of making it up to me, Allied Records and Johnny’s management company had sent me a special invite and a pre-show dinner with the star. My girlfriend was looking forward to the gig and the special arrangements. The night of the show I sat in the armchair of our apartment drinking beer and watching the hockey game, ambivalent about the whole affair.

“Come on,” she shouted to me. “We don’t want to keep them waiting.”

Now I wouldn’t want to do that, would I?

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Lost On Assignment