As far as the first "Midnight Wire" album is concerned, I don't even have a copy of the music. I wrote one of the tunes on the album and Jose Feliciano played on it. I would love to have a copy, but I don't know it's status.

I'll have to do this in increments as my mushy brain allows. Spring of 1974, my best friend Skip Howlett and I decided to create an adventure for ourselves by trying -- or pushing -- our luck and visiting Europe as musicians. Up till then, I'd been doing lots of sessions in L.A., but nothing too exciting. Skip brought his new bride and I brought my girl friend and her two year old daughter. We bought one way tickets and just enough cash to survive. Within a month, the bread got dangerously low. We decided to at least be hobos in a country that spoke English.

After two weeks of cucumber sandwiches, I answered an ad in "Melody Maker" -- actually, I answered two ads -- BTM was looking for a bass player and in another ad, they were looking for roadies. I applied for both. I had five pounds left to my name when I ventured to Miles (Copeland)'s house for the audition. I got there along with twenty other bass players. I turned heels and started to split. Stewart followed me out onto the driveway asking what I was doing. I said I can't handle cattle call auditions. He called me a rude name and brow beat me into coming back. He made me some tea and told me to sit down and shut up. I listened to the other bass players playing some simple chord charts that Darryl put in front of them.

When it was finally my turn, Darryl told me he was sick of playing that stuff over and over,so how about me suggesting something. I was really into jazz fusion, so I started playing a Billy Cobham/Mahavishnu/Jeff Beck kind of thing. Well, it was just what they were looking for. This style of music was virtually non-existent in London at the time -- right place, right time. They hired me and Miles put me on the payroll -- a huge relief.

My first gig with CA was extremely traumatic. Being from L.A., I had no idea who the band was. We rehearsed in Covent Garden for two weeks prior to the start of our reunion tour. The band had played the songs a million times, and therefore spent more time having tea than practicing. I was struggling to memorize the music and became quite nervous about my un-preparedness. The night of the first gig, we all were driven to some arena in London. As we entered, I kept asking, "What are we doing here? What's going on? etc." I had prepared cheat sheets and brought a music stand -- in a small club, I could conceal it. Well, I had no idea of the enormity of the band -- and when I saw the stage, the roadies, the sound system, the lights and the size of the arena I almost had a heart attack. There would certainly be no room for cheat sheets there. So, I faked it. It turned out fine, but I've never been that surprised before or since.

Darryl had just left his band Wolf. Miles recommended Stewart as CA's new drummer, and he and Darryl clicked. I'm not sure how Mick was recruited, but at the time of my audition it was those three that OK'd my entry. We auditioned singers and chose an American named Butch Hatcher. His background was very southern-rock oriented. He even looked like Duane Allman. We played a few gigs as "Stark Naked and the Car Thieves." The money was lousy.

During all this, the reunion tour was being planned. Darryl was elected to find a bass player. One day at rehearsal, he told us there would be no rehearsals for two months because of the reunion, and "Oh yeah, Kohn, you're going to be the bassist." I said thanks, but didn't know what he was talking about. I only vaguely remember the tune "Stark Naked," but it was truly a group effort at writing a tune derived from jamming in Miles' basement. Stewart was designated our tour manager, which lasted about a week.

Everyone was overwhelmed by the positive reaction the tour was receiving, so the wheels began clicking in a few heads. Francis didn't want to re-join permanently. Florian was the most easy going person I've known -- I'm not really sure how he felt or what the circumstances were, but I truly enjoyed his company and never did see him enough later. Francis... one of my fondest memories was during the mix down of the live album. During a play-back, Francis approached me and said he was very happy with my playing and would I be interested in doing occasional studio work? What a compliment! I still treasure that moment.

There we were, sitting on the floor of Air studio. Sonja and I were talking when I look up and see some guy walk into the control booth. He looked awfully familiar. About 3 seconds later I realize it's Pete Townshend, and he's making a beeline in our direction. He and Sonja embrace and then she introduces me -- I'm pretty sure I'm drooling and stammering -- completely incoherent speech made up of clicks and whistles. Pete compliments us on what he's hearing on the play back and then Sonja asks him how "Tommy" (the movie) is coming. He complains a little as is expected, but says generally things are going well. We hang out a few minutes more and then he excuses himself. Next day I find out that Pete was showing some interest in producing our next album -- I just about come apart with disbelief. For a few days or a week, this looms as a possibility, but sadly I find out that he doesn't feel comfortable producing anyone but The Who. Don't know what the actual reality was, but it was incredibly exciting for a short while.

As for songwriting, Darryl was usually prolific. He was always working on composition. But this time around, Sonja insisted that a new writing partner be brought in: Norma Tager. She was very self assured and confident. Sonja and Norma wrote lots of lyrics -- no music. Darryl, Sonja, and Norma began collaborating and songs began to spring forth. Mick also wanted in. His influence was very bluesy and that was a good thing. I liked Mick's thoughts on music. Obviously, all the music was tried out on unsuspecting audiences. It helped tremendously in working out the bugs. We went into Island studios with an untested producer. He was a very nice man, but unable to control the band.

At the same time, I came up with a tune, actually out of character for CA's style, but I pursued getting it recorded. It was very jazzy. I called it "I Broke My Leg in Yucca Valley, But Left My Heart in Palm Springs." I know, I know. I tried to teach the vocal to Sonja, but it had a difficult range, sort of Joni Mitchell meets Sarah Vaughn. We recorded the rhythm tracks and started on guitar and violin. It was too odd for both Darryl and Mick. They gave up on it. I guess they didn't like the song. So, all I was left with was Stewart and me.

Then along comes Jose Feliciano. Our press agent knew him forever, and on Jose's first trip to the U.K., he stopped in the studio with his Brazilian percussionist, Pauhlino DaCosta. It was a lot of fun. He started laying down tracks on our finished songs. When he heard my tune, he flipped. He jumped straight up and headed to the recording area. He and Pauhlino played their asses off. They saved my song. This is why I'd love to get a copy of the recording. I haven't heard my tune in 25 years. Of course, during the playback for suits and others, most people hated it. Oh well.

Anecdote # 1: We were on the road and stopped at some way station to eat. In the newstand I found a yo-yo for sale. I bought it -- I had a plan. I practiced all day to hone my skill. We always started our encore with "Stretch." As we filed back onto the stage, Sonja would always go directly to the mike and talk to the crowd. This night I was right behind her. As she was talking, I stood quietly next to her playing with my yo-yo. I thought it would be pretty cool. I guess Darryl didn't. All of a sudden, I heard his count of "1-2-3-4" and we were into the tune.

Well, I was thirty feet away from my amp, not plugged in, not re-tuned, nothin'. Now the band is playing a very bottom-oriented tune with no bottom. I'm frantic, trying to dash across the stage, plug in, and get the damn yo-yo off my finger. I accomplished the first two. I'm standing there like an idiot with this thing hanging from my hand. I'm yelling at the roadies to cut the string. Beric Wickens runs out with a screw driver! Beric is huge! He leans over my bass in front of me and all I see is his giant back with his head in my face, and I see his hand screwing or unscrewing something on my bass! I yelled for him to stop. I had no clue what he thought he was supposed to be fixing, but it sure looked like he was disassembling my bass! I stopped playing and began pounding him on the back. He looked up at me and I yelled, "What are you doing?" He didn't reply, but he did stop. Egads! I've got a solo in this song. Somehow during the Beric incident, the yo-yo string has got caught in two bass strings. My heart sunk. I tried to signal Darryl: NO BASS SOLO! He ignored me. It was the one of the most embarassing moments I've ever had on stage. Luckily, the audience loved it.

1980 -- I played in a band called The Attitude. We were signed to an indie label, Siamese Records. Our first release was a re-make of Elvis' "Hound Dog." Little Richard played piano on it. In limited release, we did ok with sales. I met my personal hero, Hal Blaine, the legendary drummer for the Beach Boys, Mamas and Papas, Simon and Garfunkel, and just about everyone else. He quickly became a mentor and we did a lot of recording with him. The attitude folded in '82. I opened a recording studio in Long Beach, started a production company, wrote a music column for two local papers, produced a local tv music interview show highlighting older artists, and then met Butch Patrick -- mutual friend brought us together.

Butch had an idea for a musical project based on the Munsters -- we'd use the theme and give it lyrics. "Whatever happened to Eddie?" was born. I got a record deal with a new outfit called Rocshire Records -- they pumped a lot of money into the project. We did a video, which has some great stories attached to it, and started stumping the country doing personal appearances, TV, radio, etc. One problem: Butch didn't actually sing or play on the song, so live performances weren't a possibility. Our real goal was to provide a buzz about him and get him back into TV. I wrote a movie script and collaborated with an award-winning producer from Australia. Things were going well -- we sold 200,000 units in 3 months. The video was the first un-signed act to ever appear on MTV, leading to the basement tapes show, then the bottom fell out. Butch was a little uncontrollable, the record company's owner's wife had embezzled fifteen million dollars from Hughes Aircraft and funneled it to Rocshire. Well, she got caught -- all my royalties got hung up once the FBI moved in, and the project died.

A year later, Butch got an invitation to pitch his TV show idea to a very influential producer -- can't remember her name, but she loved the whole concept. She called him back a month later and said they were going to film a pilot, and by the way Butch wouldn't be in it. Well Butch was furious. Up till then he didn't let me know what was going on, but as soon as it went south, he called me to whine. I couldn't do a thing. I didn't own the Munsters. According to Butch, they filmed a pilot and several episodes, but they were so bad they were never shown. But a few months later, a new syndicated Munsters show hit the air waves with all new people. The show really sucked -- I think John Schuck played Herman. It was embarassing. Every now and then, someone uses my video and I get a check. I hear from Butch on occasion -- he's living in Florida, I believe.

So, about this time I'd just about had it with the biz...I managed a band that was touring. Did this for about a year. I met my wife, Charlotte in Lake Tahoe where the band was playing. She was a friend of the band. In '85, Charlotte and I married. we came down to southern California, where I had roots. I continued to do session work, but I was getting very tired of the grind. There I was at age thirty-four wondering about my future. It takes a lot of talent and a lot of guts to pursue music as a lifelong career. I accomplished my teenage goals: rock, sex, and drugs. I was afraid of struggling when I was fifty years old. It was a hard decision, but going "straight" seemed to make sense. I've made a living in upper management in the construction trade ever since. While I still play locally with some very good bands, I miss the day to day exposure to the wackos in the "biz". Richard, that's where you come in. By far, you are the most tweaked individual I've known in a long time. You have some serious brain dysfunction. That's why I like you so much. You are terminally bizarre. But you have also done a great service for CA fans. Your efforts are appreciated by a lot of people. You've been able to use that wacked out energy for a good purpose. Your wife, Deb, must be a very strong and forgiving individual."

Uh, thanks, Phil. I think. -- Richard Wynne, 8/8/99.