Over all, Jerry Shirley's Best Seat in the House, is an exhaustive look at a band he played drums for in the early 1970's, Humble Pie, (or, translated into French: l'Humble tarte) In fact, it is addressed to musicians interested in this great English blues band, and it kinda feels like there is too much information for the rest of us. Shirley is a very generous man, and cannot leave anyone out of his antidotes. Or, so it would seem. He probably had to chop the manuscript in half as it was. Even the roadies are thanked for their long suffering, and stunning, jobs at putting a huge stadium band together for five years out of one truck. One truck. Their pictures appear in the book's intimate gallery of small portraits.
But let's meet the Band. Shirley , a 17 year old drummer who was hand picked from the kids on the scene, Peter Frampton: need we say more? Greg Ridley, whose experienced bass line fell right into place with Shirley's drumming. And later, "Clem" Clemson took over lead guitar and was found from listening to one record. Was there any other member's of the band of straight up pros, and great musicians? Well, oh, were being naughty here. We are forgetting someone important. Who is it?
It is l'Humble tatre himself: the 5"4', redhead with no freckles and "trouble making Chinese eyes", a broad Cockney accent, smoked more cigarettes than used swear words - or vice versa. He had a singing voice you could hear up and over the shattering guitars, a voice never, never to be duplicated. The Man looked like an ordinary guy walking down the street, but in those same street clothes he could find his way on stage with his guitar, lean into the microphone, and there you had it: all his star power would bust out, and, well, where was that glamour hidden off the stage? He didn't need makeup, fancy clothes, or tattoos, or jewelry to tell you was a rock star. He just had to play. It was Steve Marriott (1947 - 1991)
Steve, brilliant, singer, guitar player, blues harp player, front man, bossy boss. He was either the grooviest cat around, or in his other mood, trouble making, stern as an Austrian music master, stubborn, and all around juvi f- - -.
Steve drives the story because Jerry is a particular protege of his from the beginning. And as Steve's and the Pie's uber talent skyrocketed, Steve became mired in cocaine, alcohol, and all the vices that work in the moment to get the band going all through the night. To this end, the stars fell out of Jerry's eyes, and band AWOL on each other. The pieces were never picked up.
Well, Steve was difficult, yes. {But sometimes I feel Jerry is simply gaslighting Steve.} But that's our Steve, that's the way he was, and the way we loved him. RIP l'Humble tarte.
"It's too late,
there's no one left that I even wanna imitate
you see, you just don't know
I'm here to give you my heart
and you want some fashion show
but it ain't no contribution
to rely on an institution
to validate your chosen art
and to sanction your boredom
and let you play out your part"
- "It's Too Late" Jim Carroll Band