mint apple jelly - the new memoirs

For the unintiated: Overview and the music of MINT APPLE JELLY
MINT APPLE JELLY Manuscript Pt. 1

Professor deCampo of PLANET ANDY'S Longwood Towers research institute has successfully pieced together more of MINT APPLE JELLY's memoirs. We thank the Professor for his exhaustive effort!

Mint Apple Jelly Pt. 2

After Roy Driver started to represent me, my performing career began to take off, even if my savings account didn't. I wound up playing a lot of one night stands in places that I hadn't heard of, places that, sometimes, weren't even expecting me. I found out later that Roy 'forgot' to take care of a few debts back home, and while I was onstage (at whatever small bar he could find that needed talent that night), he was in a back room trying to raise cash for our expenses and for his 'friends' back home.
Sometimes, the audience wasn't in the mood for my kind of music (Roy had me play EVERYWHERE - diners, wedding receptions, once next to a hot dog vendor on the side of the road - heck, once he had me play at a funeral lunch! I remember the funeral gig especially; the guy being buried was an old rodeo clown who hated music, and his widow thought 'happy blues' were the final insult. That night both of us returned to Roy's pickup truck with bruises and welts. A few gigs like that in a row (the hot dog guy and the funeral were two days apart) usually gave me ideas for new songs, and then we'd be OK again for a week or so. Roy kept telling me it was the best training I could get for 'the big time'.
So we slowly made our way West. Roy kept saying the only way I was going to 'break in' to the music industry was to be recorded either in Memphis or in LA, and since he had 'friends' in Memphis like the ones back home, we decided to head to California.
Years later, people told me that if we had gone to Memphis, we most likely would have crossed paths with Clive Davis who was in town looking for a 'happy bluesman' (to win a bet), and my recording career would have been assured. But then, if we had done that, I never would have met Elvis.
About a month after 'the funeral show' Roy said he'd make it up by booking me in a Vegas Casino. I had visions of the Tropicana or the Sands, and just thinking about stepping out on stage, in the clear light of a center spot let me overlook the ratty motels and cheap day-old food that we were scrounging for by that point in the trip. Roy said an old army buddy of his owned a casino on the strip, and he owed Roy a favor. When we got to Las Vegas, we drove up the strip looking for the "La Casita" Casino. Eventually, just on the outskirts of town at the time (now it's next door to the Venetian Casino), we came across a small 'motor hotel' called "La Casita - Bar, Lounge, and Casino". It had maybe 30 rooms, and the 'casino' amounted to one end of the bar that had a roulette wheel embedded in the curve behind the railing.
Roy's friend was helpful, and I did indeed play at the casino, but my audience was made up of five old couples , two young women, and three screaming children. All of whom were smoking (except the baby, who was too small to hold onto anything) and looking over at the bar to see if their friends or lovers were raising enough money to cover another night's lodging.
I finished my bit around midnight, as the lights in the small casino were being turned off (the barman/croupier/owner had strong opinions about gambling after midnight), and Roy saw the disappointment in my eyes. He cocked his head towards the door and said "Let's go to the Aladdin. I'll show you what the REAL Vegas is like!"
So we roared down the strip, and wound up among the craps tables in the lobby of the Aladdin. As I'm watching Roy gamble the last of our 'playing around' money, I hear a familiar voice shout out "Hey Roy!"
Now, I don't know a soul in Vegas, but Roy and I look around, and there he was... big as life, in a black suit that hid the growing bulk beneath - The King. Roy's face breaks out into a large grin, and spreads his arms for a bear hug. "Elvis!" He says in a low, gravelly voice. "You old tin-voiced fraud! Good to see you!"
My jaw's hanging down by this time. Roy never mentioned he had ever seen The King let alone knew him."Hey, you blind driver! Haven't they taken your license away yet?" The King replied in a happy tone. "Who's the kid? I thought you gave that up years ago." "He's my new musical act" Roy said, beaming with pride. "After you decided to go with that so-called 'Colonel' I had to go scouting some real talent.""Hey Buddy," Elvis replied in a slight warble, "last time I checked, a Colonel outranks a Corporal... Corporal Roy Hobson, right? Not Sergeant."
"Yeah," Roy replied in a mock-growl, "but I'm a REAL Corporal - US Army certified. Not one of those 'out of a comic-book' officers" The King smiled at Roy and gave him a pat on the back.[Archivist's note - this interchange should finally put to rest the swirl of speculation about the lyrics to Mint Apple Jelly's ballad "Little Corporal". Apparently Roy Driver hated the song so much that when it was banned on radio because the lyrics were misinterpreted, Driver made sure Mint Apple's attempts to straighten out the misunderstanding went nowhere]
"Man, but it's been a long long time since you used to drive me to and from the studio. Brings back great memories" The King paused for a moment. "Say, if you two guys aren't doing anything, why don't you join me in my suite? I got your favorites, Roy, 'burgers 'n' bourbon'. I'm sure we can find something for the kid, here." Without another word, we left the Aladdin, and piled into a black limo that was waiting outside. A few minutes later, we drove up to the Flamingo, and I entered a place of luxury and decadence that changed me forever. I knew what I wanted now from a showbusiness life, and Elvis was showing me how to live when I made it. But I was only able to view it from a distance. After getting past all the security people and the sideboards of food and other tempting treats, I found myself sitting off on a side sofa, listening to Roy and The King talk over 'old times' ; Roy tapping into the bourbon, and the King munching down burgers. I was pretty much left out unless Elvis wanted another bucket of ice. He told me I was the only one he trusted for the job that evening, and I felt pretty important at the time. It was also fun beating off the women who were camped outside the suite and who hoped to sneak in by being 'nice' to me. For some reason, I started to wonder what would happen if there was a fire in the hotel - would Elvis go down the fire stairs with everyone else, or would his entourage break the window and try to get him out that way (so he could escape the mob of fans)? Then I pictured him on one of those old fire escapes. Funny, I still don't know if that means anything or not.Anyway, our visit with Elvis ended with the dawn (and the end of the food). Roy and Elvis bear hugged once more before we parted, and I found out later that The King, hearing of our plight, loaned Roy $5000 to see us to LA, and gave him the name of a studio engineer who could 'arrange' some free studio time to make a demo. I only wish Roy hadn't lost that business card during our visit to the Mustang Ranch the next night. That lost opportunity, and the fact that The King really didn't want anything to do with me, led me to write my most bitter, and most misunderstood blues - the 'You Gave Nixon a Gun, and Me the Bucket (Ice Follies) Blues". Maybe this story will help answer all the questions about the lyrics that I've heard over the years. We had quite a fight after our night at the Mustang Ranch - especially because I had to sleep out in the truck because Roy didn't want to spend too much of Elvis' money. It was only when we reached LA that I found out he lost the telephone number of the sound engineer when he was 'talking' with one of the women who worked there. That meant at least a month of 'busking' at intersections before Roy could establish enough contacts to get me a real gig somewhere.

One night, when I was playing on Santa Monica Boulevard, I was approached by Walter Yet---

[translator's note-- The manuscript is torn at this point, and a section, probably about 10 pages or so is missing. The next batch of manuscript is singed, indicating a small fire might have consumed the missing section, but as there is still a lot of manuscript that needs to be salvaged and cataloged, it's possible the missing section may yet be recovered.]

--ress said we were inseperable, like John and Yoko, but it wasn't like that when we were alone. She listened and complained, and asked the strangest questions about why I wrote a song the way I did, but my music got so much better! I mean, I started really paying attention to my lyrics and began experimenting with the sound - I was so into it, I started using different kinds of plastic buckets for the percussion I did to accompany myself on the sidewalk. I'm sure my music would have gotten more and more the same if she hadn't come around. About this time, I finally got Nick to let me be a regular at his place, and our money problems were taken care of. We'd still have our rows, but it was over music now, not over how she spent what little I made on the sidewalk (or over how little I made on the sidewalk). I still have a scar from the "Mother of all Kitchen Battles" we had when I came back from busking with only $1.50. Sweet Potato was sure I had spent it on something, and I swore that was all I got. That got her mad. She couldn't believe that a Shriner's Convention would have that many hard-hearted skinflints. So she went after me with anything that was at hand - cleavers, mallets, skillets (she had a VERY well stocked kitchen) not to mention beer bottles, canned vegetables, and the kitchen trash can. Why did I put up with her (life threatening) temper? I'll admit it. The 'make-up' sessions. The harder we fought, the sweeter she was later. It was making up after fights like these that led to my writing "Dirty Roadside Pie" But the first time she hit me, it was out of the blue. One night, after a particularly long night of drinking at Nick's - my set lasted five hours cause Nick refused to let me leave the stage, and after 10, Nick only paid in liquor - I asked her what her real name was. "That is my real name"
"Come on! The name on your birth certificate isn't 'Sweet Potato Pie'. Ain't nobody named 'Sweet Potato' in school". As the word 'school' left my mouth, I saw a dark object out of the corner of my eye. Then I blacked out. It took two weeks for my eye to heal completely, but that night we had our first 'forgive me, let's make up' session, and I wrote the first of my "Pie Time" songs, "Pie in my eyes".
Sweet Potato is also the reason I dress all in grey. She said that black was too ordinary for a bluesman, and blue... well, blue! She also got me my first professional recording gig in LA, as a session guitarist for Pander Records. I did a lot of Spanish guitar stuff for their main client, a South American Cable network, but it brought in more money and I got to know some people in the recording biz. I also began to learn something about recording and mixing. I've always wanted to make a good recording of "Oven Mitts for my Red Hot Pie", but I don't have the passion any more. Without her around, I can't get up the strength to revisit that song - it was so difficult to do the first time - the key changes, the tempo changes, the overdubs, the choir in the background (yes, they were a group of drunks I hired underneath the Santa Monica Pier. That legend is true). Still, every time I hear the recording I made, I cringe because I still know how I wanted it to sound - I still hear it perfectly in my head. I even helped her write a song during this period, "My M. A. Jelly (does my body good)", but she never made a record of it - she said that the song would lose it's verve if it was put down on tape; she only performed it live at Nick's. But as intense as we were together, it just didn't last. Yes, we were inseparable for three years, and she showed me how Roy was using me and my talent. But now that I look back on it, she was using me too, at least a bit more than I was using her. Towards the end of that third year, I noticed she was out more than usual, and I began to hear the rumors that she had shacked up with another bluesman. Pissed me off, but when I thought about all she had been through before I met her, I really couldn't see us being a long-term item. I think that's the spirit I had in me when I wrote "Two Tons of Dark Fudge". Sort of sums things up all in three minutes, twelve seconds. I decided to leave LA and shake the cobwebs loose from my mind so I bought a motorcycle and headed back towards W---

[Archivist's note - The manuscript is shredded at this point. On what we believe to be the same page, there's a passage about meeting up again with Roy Driver who had obtained a recording contract for Mint Apple Jelly with Ladron Records which could give us some clues to the legendary "lost 'Sweet Potato Blues' recordings", but this cannot be confirmed until the next section of the manuscript, which was especially damaged by water, can be transcribed. As soon as funds can be raised to freeze-dry the pages, the process of transcribing will continue.]

Source: Prof. DWdC-PALTI

The MINT APPLE JELLY Manuscript is in fact a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons or events is coincidental.