Disclaimer:
I do not own the Monkees, nor are they my original creation. The Monkees, their music, and their TV show are owned by Rhino Records and Sony Pictures Television, respectively. The characters and show were created by Bob Rafelson and Bert Schneider. The following story series is a work of fiction. The Monkee characters are composites of their TV characters and their real-life personalities. Other characters may also be based on real people associated with the Monkees, composites of multiple people or even completely made up. No defamation is intended. Situations depicted may be either fictionalized accounts of real events or completely fabricated for story purposes.
Head Music Supervisor Don Kirshner picks up the phone and dials the number to one of his favorite record producers. He puts the phone on speaker.
"Hey, Snuffy! It's me, Don."
Snuffy gives Don a terse greeting in a gruff Texas drawl, "Hello, Don."
"Hey, I got this hot new group I want you to produce. They're going to be on TV."
"Don, I can't..."
Kirshner just barrels through, ignoring the Texan's objection, "Snuff, I won't take 'no' for an answer."
"Donnie, I wish I could, but I've got several other projects goin' right now. How 'bout another time, okay?"
"Aww, Snuff. It's just for a few weeks. I want you to get 'em while they're still hot. You'll love them, I promise."
"Who are they?"
"They're this young bunch of kids called The Monkees."
"The Monkeys? Like the animal?"
"Yes, but with two 'e's at the end."
"Oh, MonkEEs."
"Yes."
"Nope. Not interested. I ain't got time. I'm much too busy at the moment. I'm sure a man like you with your connections can find some other hotshot producer. I'm out." Snuffy hangs up the phone before Don can continue begging. Undeterred, Don rings Snuffy again.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Snuff! So, you'll do it?"
"Jumpin' Jehoshaphat, Don! Do you ever let up?"
"Come on, Snuffy! It'll be fun. You and the boys will get along just fine. I'll pay you top dollar. I'll even give you an exclusive producing contract. What do you say?"
"Okay, you've twisted my arm. However, if anything goes wrong, I'm out."
"Deal. My secretary will get back to you with the details. Oh and Snuffy,..."
"Yeah, Don?"
"Watch out for the Nesmith boy. He's a bit of a prima donna, if you know what I mean."
"I'll put him in his place if he gets too uppity."
"Great. See you next week." Don hangs up the phone and buzzes the intercom to Mona's office.
"Jensen, will you type up a record producing contract for Snuff Garrett to sign when he gets here?"
"Who the hell do you think I am, Don? Your secretary? And it's Mona to you."
"You mean you're not the secretary?"
"No, Don. I'm not the fucking secretary. I'm the goddamned production assistant. I run the logistics for the show and tour. You run the recording studio logistics. If one of your people needs arrangements, you make them your fucking self."
"Then find me a secretary."
"Go ask Bob yourself. I ain't your servant."
Don marches into Bob's office and bellows, "Bob, what good is Jensen if she won't do my clerical work?"
"Excuse me?" Bob asks, irritated at Don's gross display of disrespect for his production assistant.
"Isn't Jensen our secretary?"
Bob's voice steadily lowers at Kirshner's blatant disregard for Mona's position, "Our secretary? She's no one's secretary. She's my associate producer and assistant tour manager. And she's Stu's co-arranger for background and segway music. But secretary, she's not. And don't you fucking forget it! Capiche?"
"Then, I need a secretary. I need her to type up a contract for one of my producers."
"Then hire one your damn self with your budget. And until that time, type up your own goddamn contracts."
Don storms back into his office and picks up the phone to his secretary in New York.
"Hello, Mary. It's me, Don. I need you to type up a contract for Snuff Garrett and have it sent here overnight express."
"The usual terms, sir?"
"Yes, plus ten percent. Then call him with the details."
"I'll get right on it, Mr. Kirshner."
"Thanks, doll." Don hangs up the phone and thinks to himself, Why can't it be that easy here in California?
Monday morning's production meeting includes an unusual attendee, Don Kirshner. He usually prefers to hold his meetings separately from the production meetings, but Bob thinks that's an idiotic waste of valuable production time. From now on, Donnie's agenda is just another section of the production schedule.
"Well boys, I have a surprise for you!" Don announces like a father rewarding his children.
"What's that?" Micky asks excitedly.
"Tonight at seven, you boys are going into the recording studio for the first time."
"Tonight?" questions Davy, "But we haven't rehearsed today. We're not ready yet."
"Hey now, hold your newt there for just a sec!" exclaims Mike, "We've rehearsed a few of my songs. We could do 'Some of Shelly's Blues' or 'You Just May Be The One.'
Peter pipes in, "Yeah. We could sing those. I think we're ready to record them."
Don narrows his eyes and breathes deeply before replying, "Sorry, boys. We won't be needing those songs tonight. You'll be doing a great song by one of my favorite New York songwriting teams, Gerry Goffin and Carole King. I think it's called 'Giant Step.'"
All four boys look at Don with disappointed faces. He may as well have cancelled Christmas.
"I'm sorry to disappoint you, boys. Maybe you can record those other songs some other time. Oh and by the way, my good friend Snuff Garrett will be producing you."
"What about Boyce and Hart?" Peter asks.
"What about them? They're still here. For now."
Bob motions that the meeting's over, and everyone files out of the room. Mike corners Don and asks him point-blank, "What about me producing?"
"You?" Don asks, almost hissing the word.
"Yeah, me."
"Well, if all goes well with Snuffy, then we won't need you. But if Snuffy bails, I'll give you a shot."
"Thanks." Mike runs out of the room with a smile on his face and a spring in his step. Don smiles a wry smile and slithers into his office. He has no intention of giving the arrogant young Texan a shot at anything.
Micky sees Mike coming out of the meeting room and pulls him aside. He whispers into the Texan's ear, "Meet me in my dressing room."
"Okay," Mike whispers back.
Mike casually walks to Micky's dressing room and knocks on the door. Davy carefully opens the door and pulls Mike inside. Mike's barely through the threshold when Micky slips through at the same time. Mona laughs at the spectacle.
Micky stage whispers, "Guys and gal, I have a brilliant plan for tonight."
"We don't show up?" asks Davy.
"No, that's not it," replies Micky.
"Then what is it?"
"We act like fools."
"That's not a plan," criticizes Mike.
"Yeah, that's a normal day," adds Peter, who then smiles at his own half-joke.
"Micky's right," declares Mona, "Look, I overheard this Snuffy guy tell Donnie that if this session goes south, then he'll split. All you guys have to do is make Snuffy's job impossible, and then he'll be off the project."
"Will we get our own session?" Mike asks.
Mona answers, "It's no guarantee. From what I've gathered so far, Donnie talks out of both sides of his mouth. There's no telling what promises he'll make or break. But all I know is, this Snuffy guy doesn't sound like a good fit."
"Have you recorded with him before?" asks Peter, hopeful that she had.
"Yeah, once. It wasn't fun. He loves ordering people around. If he likes you, he'll joke around with you. If he doesn't, he'll order you around like a drill sergeant. But that's not all. Snuff isn't thrilled about doing this thing in the first place. Don's cajoled him into doing it, so he's going into this reticent and with a bad attitude."
"Then this should be a piece of cake," suggests Micky.
"With any luck, then yes."
They all leave Micky's dressing room at staggered intervals, so as not to arouse any suspicion.
The recording session starts out on the wrong foot. Mike and Micky arrive late because they decided that a detour to Mike's frodis dealer was a wise decision to make. And of course, they sampled some of their stash on their way to the studio. The boys come through the recording room door and get confronted by a cranky Texan with crossed arms and a stern look on his face.
"Y'all must be Michael and Micky."
"We are," they both answer in unison.
"Great. I'm Snuff Garrett and I'm your new record producer. Next time, don't be late."
"See... we...uh...," Micky stammers.
"We...uh... had an errand to run." Mike laughs and then continues, "We had to pick something up... from a friend..."
"I don't give a shit what you had to do. Y'all are on my time now."
Mike and Micky back away from Snuff and walk over to Davy and Peter.
"Alright, y'all. You're singin' a tune called 'Take A Giant Step.'"
All four line up side-by-side with their arms around each other and take a giant step forward. Snuff shakes his head in dismay.
"No, boys. I didn't say to take a giant step. That's the name of the song."
"Aww, Snuffy. Can't you take a joke?" Micky asks in a kid voice.
"Look, I'm not here to screw around. I'm here to make a record. Okay you, the smart alec with the curly hair, stand here." Snuff points to a microphone in the middle of the recording room. Micky walks over to it. Snuff continues, "Okay, I want the tall one to stand here." Snuff points to the microphone across from Micky. "I want the little one next to the curly haired one and the blond one next to the tall one." He hands the boys copies of the lead sheet for "Take A Giant Step."
The boys start making funny faces at each other and Mike laughs like a hyena. Snuff looks up at the ceiling and prays to himself, Lord, please don't make me kill these brats. He heads to the control room. Once there, he announces over the PA system, "We're going to take this from the top. Shotgun, you sing lead first. The others sing backing."
"Who me?" asks Mike.
"Yes, you."
"Oh, boy! Oh, boy! Oh, boy!" Mike claps and cheers.
"'Giant Step' Take 1. Rolling."
Mike starts singing. He barely gets through the first verse when Snuff comes over the PA and cuts him off, "Cut. That sounds horrible! I can't continue. You're too nasal. You sound like a drunken cowboy with a head cold. Blondie, your turn! 'Giant Step' Take 2. Rolling." Mike balls his fists and fire flashes in his eyes.
Peter sings lead and doesn't get as far as Mike did. Snuff cuts him off, "Cut! That's even worse than the tall one. Blondie, you're okay on backing but tone-deaf when singing lead. Curly, you're next. 'Giant Step' Take 3. Rolling." Peter's eyes well up, but he manages to keep his composure.
Micky and the boys do a decent job, but Snuff's still not happy. "Boys, that was fair to middlin', but maybe you'll do better next time. This time, I want Shorty to sing lead and the rest to sing backing. 'Giant Step' Take 4. Rolling."
Davy sings lead and Snuffy manages to crack a smile for the first time that session. "Shorty, you have a great set of pipes."
"Thanks, but me name's David."
"Okay, whatever. You're the lead singer now."
"Me? No way, mate! Surely there's some other test. Micky's a much better singer than I am. Didn't you see my interview? I make a terrible sound!"
Peter and Mike pipe up, "Yeah! We want another shot!"
Micky adds, "Man, I was just getting warmed up. Let's go again. Surely, you can't pick the lead singer that fast."
"Wanna bet?" asks Snuffy, irritated at the boys' insubordination. He continues, "Okay, I'll play your game. We'll do a little sing-off. Y'all will each sing through 'Giant Step' without interruption. I'll pick the best one. Okay?"
Mike argues, "Hey, now wait a minute, why don't we try one of the new songs we've been rehearsin'? Surely, we'd sound better singin' somethin' we know."
"Yeah!" the other three chime in.
"No can do, Shotgun. Mr. Kirshner wants this song here, and no others. Besides, he warned me that you'd try to weasel your way into singing one of your songs. Now let's try 'Giant Step' again. Shotgun, you go first again. This time, try not to sound so nasal. Open your throat a bit more when you sing. 'Giant Step' Take 5. Rolling."
Mike sings again, incorporating Snuff's advice. Unfortunately, Snuff still doesn't like it. "Shotgun, that was better, but it still sounds too nasal. Next, I want Blondie to sing. 'Giant Step' Take 6. Rolling."
Peter sings. It takes every ounce of self control for Snuff to let Peter finish the song. His second take is worse than the first. "Blondie, I hate to break it to you, but that take stank more than the first one. You sound like a constipated bullfrog struggling to take a dump. You're out on lead."
Peter barely whispers, "Yes, sir." He swallows back tears.
"Okay, Curly. You're up next. 'Giant Step' Take 7. Rolling."
Micky belts out this take and gives it his all. Snuff's quite impressed. "Curly, that was much better than your first take. You're giving Shorty here a run for his money. Shorty, you're up. 'Giant Step' Take 8."
Davy sings his take. This one's not much different from his previous attempt, but Snuff really likes it. "Shorty, that was great. You're solid and consistent. My choice stands firm. You're the new lead singer. Besides, the girls go after the guy out front."
"Right. The girls..." Davy mumbles to himself.
Pandemonium breaks out. The guys start venting their frustrations all at once. Peter keeps stating his desire to work with Boyce and Hart. Mike keeps muttering about how no one's ever said he sounded nasal until Donnie came on the scene, and how it's not fair that they're being judged based on a song they've never sung before. Davy keeps raging about singing lead, and Micky just keeps wondering what was wrong with his takes. After a few minutes, cooler heads prevail. Mike gathers the guys in a circle. "Hey, guys! We gotta let this cat know he's made the wrong decision."
"How will we do that?" asks Peter.
"Yeah, Snide. How will we do that? He's pretty hung-up on me singing lead," Davy states.
"We're all pretty pissed off right now. I think it's best if Mick tells Snuff how we all feel."
"Me‽ Why me?" Micky protests.
"Because you're the diplomatic one, mate," Davy reasons.
Micky sighs. "Okay, guys. I'll do it. I'll just tell Snuff that it isn't working out. I'm sure he'll understand."
The other three pat Micky on the shoulders. He heads towards the control room and knocks on the door.
"Come in."
"Hey, Snuff."
"Yes, Curly."
"Hey, my name's Micky."
"Okay, Micky. What do you want?"
"I just came to tell you that me and the guys don't think this'll work out. We'd rather work with Boyce and Hart."
"Y'all don't think this'll work out? What the hell do you mean by that? I have a contract that says that this will work out. And y'all don't have any say in that."
"Right. A contract. Well, sorry to bother you." Micky turns and walks back into the recording room.
Mike asks Micky, "So, how'd it go?"
"How'd what go? He just said something about a contract. Look, I'm sorry I let you guys down. But Mona was right. None of us like this guy. Unless he's hiding his true intentions from us, I think we're stuck with him."
"Hey, y'all meet me at my house. I have a plan, but we can't discuss it here."
"Now?" the three other guys ask in unison.
"Yes, now."
"Okay," the three answer back.
All four guys casually depart the recording room and head over to Mike's house for a meeting.
"I know there's something very strange happenin' to my brain..." The doorbell rings, rousing Mona from her bedroom. She grabs her silk bathrobe and mutters to herself, "Who the hell is at my door at this hour?" She opens the front door. "Micky, Peter, Davy. Where's Michael?"
"I'm right behind."
"What the hell are y'all doing here this late?"
"Well, I live here."
"Besides you." Mona kisses Mike on the neck.
"I invited the guys over for an emergency meeting."
"Emergency meeting‽"
"Yeah. The recording session was a disaster."
"Did y'all's plan work?"
Micky answers, "That's the problem. We don't know."
"Y'all don't know?"
"See, Snuff didn't storm out or tell us he was finished working with us. He just declared Midget the lead singer and basically told the rest of us that we suck at singing."
"He declared you lead?" Mona asks Davy.
"Yes. And he was an arse to Snide and Petah."
"He was an asshole? How so?"
Mike states, "He told me I was 'too nasal' and I sounded like a drunken cowboy. Not even my high school choir teacher ever said anything like that to me before."
"Too nasal? What the hell was he even talking about?"
"Beats the heck out of me."
"What did he say about Peter?"
Peter states, "He told me that I'm 'tone-deaf' and sounded like a bullfrog."
"Oh, Peter. I'm sorry to hear that." Mona gives Peter a reassuring hug.
"What else did he say or do?"
"He gave me backhanded compliments," states Micky, "And he told me that he was under contract. That's why we don't know if our plan worked."
"Contract... Ah, yes. I remember Donnie demanding that I type him up a contract for Snuff to sign. Sneaky bastard."
"So, are we screwed?"
"I don't know. Like I said before, I've only worked with the guy once and I overheard Donnie's conversation when he was trying to set this thing up. Donnie's the type who will promise anything just to get his way. Who knows how solid this contract really is? I'm sure I'll have ten people at my desk telling me all about tonight's session and how I need to smooth everything over and appease the aggrieved parties. You know, a typical Tuesday."
"So Michael, what's your plan?" Peter asks.
"My plan was to come here and talk about what happened with my wife. I don't have anything else." Everyone glares at Mike. He smiles nervously.
Mona interjects, "Seriously guys, there's nothing else you can do. The ball's in Snuff's court. It's up to him to decide whether or not he'll continue producing y'all."
Snuff Garrett storms into Don Kirshner's office, fuming about last night's failed recording session.
"Don, I can't deal with these kids."
"Sit down and tell me what happened, Snuffy."
Snuff takes a seat in front of Don's desk.
"Look, I tried my hardest but they wouldn't cooperate."
"What do you mean by that?"
"They wouldn't accept my suggestions, and then they went beserko when I told them that the little one was going to sing lead."
"Well, I'll have to have a little chat with them."
"You better do something because frankly, I don't give a shit what they want. I'm in charge and that's that."
"Let's go see Bob. Maybe he can help us reason with the boys."
Snuff and Don walk into Bob's office, where he and Mona were just discussing the previous night's events.
Bob starts, "Don, Snuffy, so nice for you two to join us. Jensen and I were just discussing the boys' recording session. So Snuffy, how did it go?"
"Rafelson, I don't know how you get those boys to work, but that was the last thing they wanted to do for me."
"It was that bad, huh?"
"They can't sing. I'm sure they can't play, either. I really don't care if they can act. As far as I'm concerned, they're just a bunch of talentless kids." Snuff's words hit Mona like a quiver of arrows.
She manages to spit out, "Look Snuffy, I'm sure what you saw was just an 'off night.' I've heard them sing and play, and they're quite good."
Bob suggests, "Yeah, Snuff. I bet it was a one-off thing. You, Don, and Jensen can go work something out." At that, Mona rises from her chair, and the others, sans Bob, follow her into her office.
Snuff cuts to the chase, "Look Ms. Jensen, I don't know what you can offer me that Donnie hasn't already tried to offer. I've made up my mind. I didn't even want this stupid project in the first place. I have many talented bands who appreciate my services. I don't have time to waste on no-talent hacks pretendin' to be rock stars. You can cut me a check or rip up the contract. I don't give a shit which you choose."
"Mr. Garrett, I can't cut you a check or rip up your contract. That's up to Mr. Moelis, the record label's general counsel, and Mr. Kirshner."
"Then, why am I here?"
"Because it's my job to settle disputes between the warring factions around here."
"So if I stay on, then the boys will have to do whatever I tell them to do. It states in my contract that I have full control over their musical output."
"There's your problem, right there."
"What do you mean?"
"You're going about this the wrong way."
"How so?"
"You're acting like a dictator or a drill sergeant. You won't get anywhere with these boys if you act that way towards them. When you push them like that, they'll push back harder."
Snuff just looks at Mona, dumbfounded.
Mona continues, "Remember when you asked Bob how he got the boys to work?"
"Yeah."
"The answer is simple: You give them a bit of freedom to be themselves. They're silly. They're comedians. Let them joke around a bit. Joke with them. Above all, get to know them both as individuals and as a group. You can't go in there like you're an invading general. Otherwise, they'll defend their fortress. They'll band together and fight against you."
"But I'm the one who's in charge."
"They know that. They're not stupid. My hus... Er... Michael has produced and cut records before. He did it before he was a Monkee. David also cut a record before he became a Monkee. Micky may have also cut a single or two prior to the show. My point is that they'll respect you, if you respect them. You don't have to give into their every demand, but you have to give them a bit of wiggle room."
"Look Ms. Jensen, I appreciate the advice, but I think it's best for all of us to just cut ties and be done."
"As you wish. Don, you and Mr. Moelis should see to it that Mr. Garrett is compensated for his time."
"Yes, of course. Snuffy, I'll meet you in my office." Snuff and Don walk into Don's office.
Don picks up the phone and dials Herb Moelis's office. He places the phone on speaker. Moelis's secretary picks up.
"Herb Moelis, please. It's urgent."
"Who may I say is calling?"
"Don Kirshner."
"Yes. Mr. Kirshner, I'll connect you right away." The secretary connects Kirshner with Moelis.
"Herb, this is Don."
"Yes, Don. What do you need?"
"We need to settle a contract with Mr. Snuff Garrett."
"For how much?"
"Seventy-five."
"I'll cut a check and deliver it myself."
"Thank you." Kirshner hangs up the phone. "Well Snuffy, you're seventy-five thousand dollars richer today."
"Not bad for one day of work." Both men laugh.
A few hours later, the guys walk into Mona's office. She checks the intercom buttons to make sure no one can hear anything said.
"Well guys, I have some good news for ya."
"What's that?" they all ask in unison.
"I don't think y'all will ever work with Snuff Garrett again. He and Donnie severed their contract."
The guys erupt in cheers.
"Shhh! Keep it down. These walls ain't made of lead."
"So who's gonna produce us now?" Mike inquires.
"Let's all head into Bob's office. He's got the details." Mona rises from her desk and they all bundle into Bob's office.
"Hey Bob, do you want to share the news or do you want me to do it?"
"I'll give you the honor, Jensen. I think you deserve it."
"Okay, so to answer the producer question: Boyce and Hart will produce all of your tracks, except Michael's. Michael, you get to produce your own tracks. Unfortunately, Donnie's bullshit terms still apply. You still can't play on the tracks you produce."
"But, Bob!" Michael protests.
"Hey Snide, I had to wheel and deal just to get that. Unless we get rid of Donnie, the rule stays. I know it's bullshit, but that's the price we must pay."
"How about we just get rid of Donnie?"
"Yeah!" the others shout.
"Sorry kids, no can do. That's not my decision to make. Look, I know he's difficult, but right now we need his services and his connections. You guys are too busy working on the show to also produce the amount of music that we need. Until we can cut down production time, we still need him. Capiche?"
Mike nods his head and replies, "Understood."
"Oh by the way Michael, you have a session tonight. You're working on backing tracks to "The Kind Of Girl I Could Love," "I Don't Think You Know Me," and "All The King's Horses."
"Groovy!"
"All right guys, that's a wrap. Back to work."
The guys and Mona leave Bob's office.
"Hey Jensen, come here for a minute, will ya?"
"Yes, Bob."
"Thank you. You did a great job handling the Snuff Garrett snafu."
"You're welcome. I know my boys and I know Snuffy's an ass. I knew this was going to blow up as soon as I heard Snuffy's name."
"Don't tell me you've played for him too."
"Yep."
"Who haven't you played with?"
Mona laughs. "You know, my husband asks me that very same question." Mona exits Bob's office.
Mona has just sat down at her desk when Mike storms in angrily.
"This is BS," he growls.
Startled, Mona cries out "Whoa! What's BS?"
"The 'music.' And that session. And Donnie's stupid embargo."
"Oh. That. What else happened at that session with Snuff?" she asks curiously.
Mike ignores her question and paces back and forth while exclaiming, "It's all dishonest. It's not us playin'. It's barely us singin', an' we...uh... can't even sing our own damn songs."
"Well, that's a bummer. I thought they were going to use your songs."
"So, did I. At least that's what... uh... Bob told me when I first signed onto this thing."
"Did you get that in writing?"
"No. I didn't think of it at the time. I figgered a man's word was enough."
Incredulous, Mona asks, "In this town?"
Disappointed with himself, Mike's voice trails off, "Yeah… Well, apparently not…"
"That was a naïve move on your part, but it's a little late now."
"Yeah, no shit."
"So, what are you going to do about it?"
"I dunno yet, but I'll think of somethin'. I got that session tonight."
"Don't do anything crazy," Mona warns Mike.
He snaps back, "What's that s'posed to mean?"
"I know you, and I don't want either of us to lose this gig."
"Look, I don't either." Mike takes a deep breath and his voice cracks as he swallows back tears, "But do you know how... uh... demoralizin' it is to a musician when you... uh... tell him that he can't play on his own goddamn song? The system is fucked up. An' I'm not going to compromise my...uh... integrity for anyone. I didn't sell my soul when I signed on that dotted line. Uh, at least I don't think I did…"
"I dig that. Do the other guys know you're this upset?"
"Yeah."
"And what do they think?"
"Pete agrees with me."
"I figured that. Like you, he's a musician first. What about the others?"
"Mick an' David just told me that's show business and to suck it up."
"Well, they are actors first. They've seen the shadier side of this business."
Mike furrows his brow and demands accusingly, "Whose side are you on, anyway?"
"Hey, I'm not the enemy here." Mona places her arms around Mike's thin frame and pulls him close. His face softens as she looks up into his deep brown eyes, swiping his black hair out of his face, and reassures him, "Babe, I'm on your side. I can see where they're coming from is all I meant. From your reaction, I can see that their comments went over like a lead balloon."
A slight grin creeps across Mike's lips, "Your powers of perception continue to impress me, you Evil Witchy Woman, you." He kisses her on the forehead.
"Aww…" Mona looks up into Mike's face and smiles at him. He smiles back at her. Mona whispers into Mike's ear, "Hey, if it makes you feel any better, I don't like that Kirshner guy much, either. That smarmy SOB treats me like I'm his damn slave. But I stand up to that asshole. So does Bob. Bob may be a slavedriver, but he won't let anyone treat me like I'm their servant. Nevermind that when Kirshner first introduced himself, he started making demands. I thought he was going to start measuring the blinds."
Mike chuckles a bit and then asks, "He invaded your castle an' acted like he was there to take your job?"
Mona points her finger into Mike's chest, "Bingo." She kisses him on the lips.
"Do ya want me to pound him for ya?" Mike asks, half sarcastically.
"No. That won't solve anything. If anyone has to hit him, it'd have to be me. If you hit him, he'd just think that I couldn't fight my own battles. But violence isn't the answer...yet..."
Mike nods his head and kisses Mona. He exits her office and heads to the recording studio.
The moment has arrived for Michael to prove to Donnie that he can produce a record that's every bit as good as anything produced by Kirshner's pets. Tonight's lineup includes many of the guys who Mona played with back when she was an active session player - LA's so-called "Wrecking Crew.". In fact, Mike recognizes two of them right off the bat - Glen Campbell and Al Casey. Glen's a good friend of Mona's and has known her since her very first studio session. And Mona bought most of her instruments from Al Casey's music store, including Michael's second-most prized instrument - his Fender pedal steel guitar.
Michael walks over and introduces himself to the Wrecking Crew, "Hello, I'm Mike Nesmith and I'll be at the controls tonight."
Glen speaks first, "Hi, Mike! Name's Glen. Nice to meet you." Glen firmly shakes Mike's hand. Glen continues, "Hey, you look familiar."
"Well, I'm on TV every Monday night," Mike sheepishly replies.
"Besides that. I think I've seen you around town. Don't mind me askin', but does your wife have red hair?"
"Uh, yeah. Her name's Mona."
"Mona Jensen?"
"Yep. That's her!" Mike beams.
"The Mona Jensen? The Fastest Fingers In The West?"
Mike nods his head.
"I ain't seen her in a while. How's she been? Tell her she ought to come by sometime. You're welcome to come along too."
"She's been busier than a hive of bees. Will do, thanks."
Mike walks over to Al Casey. They know each other from Al's store. Mona's not the only member of the Nesmith household who shops there.
"Hey, Al!"
"Mike, baby! How's it hangin'?"
"Fine, fine. Hey listen, would ya mind playin' regular guitar tonight?"
"Why? I was goin' to play steel."
"Well, I was wonderin' if I could give it a shot. I have this outtasite steel lick for one of my songs."
"Sure. It's groovy, man."
"Thanks, babe."
After the meet-and-greet, all of the musicians settle in. Michael is in his element and handles the session with patience and professionalism. He plays pedal steel on "The Kind Of Girl I Could Love," which is also the first time he has ever played pedal steel outside of his house. He sounds like he's been playing it for years rather than for just a few months. Afterwards, Michael and the rest of the Monkees stay behind for a debrief.
"Guys, please don't tell Donnie that I played tonight."
Micky reassures Mike, "Naw man, we won't tell your dirty secret, will we guys?"
"My lips are sealed," declares Peter.
"Midget?" Micky asks the Brit.
All three stare at the Mancunian. "Quit lookin' at me like that. No, I'm not goin' to say anythin' to Donnie."
Mike enters Don's office clutching the master tape from the previous night's recording session.
"What do you have there, kid?" Don asks the Texan.
"It's the master tape from last night's session."
"Why do you have it?"
"Because I want you to listen to the songs we recorded."
Don sighs, "Alright." He places the tape onto the reel-to-reel tape player and presses the play button. Mike watches at him intently, trying desperately to read his expression. Don stops the tape as soon as the last chord plays on "All The King's Horses." He removes the tape and hands it back to Mike as if it's a hot potato.
Mike eagerly asks Don, "So, what do ya think?"
"They're not the sound I'm looking for."
"Not the sound you're looking for? What do ya mean by that?"
"They're too country. Teenyboppers won't go for these songs. You're not a pop singer."
"Well, I coulda told ya that."
"Told me what?"
"That I'm not a pop singer."
"You know what I think you are?"
Mike swallows hard before asking, "What do you think I am?"
"I think you're a two-bit protest singer who can't write a hit song. You're all ego and no substance. You're just a cocky young kid who thinks he's a rock star because he plays one on TV. Well, I have news for you, kid. Me and my stable of hit makers will make you stars. You'll be nothing without me. So, just sit back and collect the checks and the rewards, and leave the music to the professionals."
Mike can't contain his anger. He shouts back, "Soon, I'll be famous in my own right and for my own music, you'll see. Mark my words, one day soon, you'll just be a bad memory, like your buddy Snuffy. We won't need you and your plastic song factory."
With that said, Michael storms out of Kirshner's office.
A/N: This is a fictionalized account of the infamous Snuff Garrett recording session that happened in June of 1966. Don Kirshner and Snuff Garrett's characters are based on the author's interpretation of their accounts of the actual recording session (read: they're assholes in real life).
Song Credits:
"Some Of Shelly's Blues" (1965?"). Written by Michael Nesmith.
"You Just May Be The One" (1965?). Written by Michael Nesmith.
"Take A Giant Step" (1966?). Written by Gerry Goffin and Carole King.
"The Kind Of Girl I Could Love" (1965?). Written by Michael Nesmith and Richard Atkins.
"I Don't Think You Know Me" (1966?). Written by Gerry Goffin and Carole King.
"All The King's Horses" (1965?). Written by Michael Nesmith.
"Sweet Young Thing" (1966?). Written by Michael Nesmith, Carole King and Gerry Goffin.
