Jobriath

Today's artist has a very interesting story. Let's allow one of our favorite musicians, Marc Almond, introduce him:

"Britain in the early 1970s was going through a depression: the naive dreams and optimism of the 1960s had soured and evaporated; life was filled with drudgery, strikes, power cuts and unemptied bins. Against this colourless backdrop, Glam Rock emerged, sprinkling glitter over the grime. And its gods – Marc Bolan with his cosmic love songs, Bryan Ferry with his glamorous cinematic sleaze – reigned supreme. David Bowie was busy transforming the musical landscape.

The British music press of the time was a lads' domain, deeply homophobic; the rule was you had to be a serious musician who had paid some dues. Bowie, who had been reluctantly accepted, was becoming a phenomenon. Ferry's sci-fi, 1950s-inspired torch songs were considered fresh and alluring, played on a strange new electronic instrument called a synthesiser. (And Ferry was most definitely straight: scantily clad women featured on his record covers. The edges were not blurred.)

In Bolan, Bowie and Ferry, we had three straight men. The press needed a whipping boy, someone to laugh at. The US was having its own brief, Glam-Rock moment. Enter Jobriath, who introduced himself to the world with the career-killing words: "I am the true fairy of Rock." To the British music press, he seemed a charlatan and, worse, an American who had supposedly plagiarised our beloved Bowie. He was kicked, bullied and beaten by the critics – and I adored him instantly for that.

Jobriath (born Bruce Wayne Campbell) was a readymade entity with no big backstory, yet to those in the know he was thrilling and seductive, a guilty secret. I remember, before hearing a note, taking a journey to the big city to buy his first album, the eponymous Jobriath, on import. Its striking cover showed him with porcelain skin and film-star ruby lips, a fallen, broken, beautiful statue. On a first listening, the music is a baffling mix of Glam, Musical Theatre and 1970s Rock. At a time when we craved simple guitar chords and a Starman chorus, Jobriath seemed just too musical, too clever – not Pop enough. His voice had a touch of Mick Jagger at his most sluttish (like that other wonderful US Glam import, David Johansen of the New York Dolls). He was a mix of wide-eyed innocent and world-weary punk. And though there was a nod to Ziggy in the vowels, Bowie he was not.

For me, above all else, he was a sexual hero: truly the first gay Pop Star. How extreme that was to the US at the time. His outrageous appearances on the hallowed US Rock show The Midnight Special prompted shock, bewilderment and disgust. Everyone hated Jobriath – even, and especially, gay people. He was embarrassingly effeminate in an era of leather and handlebar moustaches.

He was a confused manchild with a kind of magic about him. Knowing yet naive, he seemed a lost soul; behind his bravado and preening there was a sadness in that gap-toothed, mischievous smile.

His was a career built on dreams and illusions (nothing new there), promises and might-have-beens. From his beginnings as a tousle-haired Wolf, singing the song Sodomy in an early, late-1960s production of Hair, to his hugely overhyped launch as the new Bowie, to the plans for a Paris stage spectacular (Jobriath was to burst out of a model of the Empire State building dressed as King Kong), it could only ever go horribly wrong. He had no hits, therefore no live show, and his crash came suddenly. There was a reinvention as a cabaret singer: Cole Berlin, who performed Cole Porter and Irving Berlin songs cocktail-bar style. Then there were his years as a male hustler, and his premature death from Aids (in 1983, aged 36), while living in a pyramid on top of the Chelsea Hotel in New York. It was the rise and fall of Ziggy made real, a Glam-Rock parable. Underneath it all, there was another story: the strange and ambiguous relationship between Jobriath and his charismatic manager, Jerry Brandt.

For all the derision and marginalisation he faced, Jobriath did touch lives. He certainly touched mine. My songs The Exhibitionist and Lavender have Jobriath in mind, and I sing his Be Still in my live shows. The pretty blond boy with hopes and dreams, carefree and gay, got lost in the dressing-up box. He was born too early – and lost too soon."

That was Almond's beautiful piece. Before we begin at the beginning, here are the songs that Marc mentions. First, his own: The Exhibitionist:

... And Lavender:

... And here's Jobriath's Be Still:

Bruce Wayne Campbell (how could somebody named Bruce Wayne not have a double life?), aka Jobriath, was born in King of Prussia, Pennsylvania (December 14, 1946), and raised in Houston, Texas. He was once introduced to Eugene Ormandy as a child prodigy.

Conscripted to the military in the mid-1960s, he went AWOL within months. Renaming himself Jobriath Salisbury, he relocated to Los Angeles. When he arrived to play piano for a friend's audition for the musical Hair, he also secured the role of Woof, an implicitly gay teenager. He appeared in the West Coast production at the Aquarius Theater on Sunset Boulevard. He left the production in 1969 to form the Folk-Rock band Pidgeon, which was signed to Decca Records. They released the single Rubber Bricks and a self-titled album before disbanding.

Here's Rubber Bricks:

From the Pidgeon album, here's Prison Walls:

Here's When She Arrives:

... And here's Dark Bird:

At this time he was traced by the military police and arrested, spending nearly six months in a military psychiatric hospital after suffering a breakdown. During this period he began writing the songs that would lead to his next musical incarnation.

In mid-December 1972 Jerry Brandt, Carly Simon's former manager, overheard a demo tape being played. Brandt located Jobriath in California, where he was living in an unfurnished apartment and working as a male prostitute. Brandt: "In walked this beautiful creature dressed in white. I said, Why don't you come out to Malibu and hang out?" This became a feature of the mythology used to promote Jobriath, and helps to explain the acrimony that followed the dissolution of their professional and personal relationship.

Newly named Jobriath Boone, Brandt signed him to Elektra Records for a reported $500,000; allegedly the most lucrative recording contract of its time. The label's president David Geffen signed Jobriath for a two-album deal. A huge marketing campaign and media blitz ensued, including full-page advertisements in Vogue, Penthouse, and Rolling Stone magazines, full-length posters on over 250 New York City buses and a huge 41’ by 43’ billboard in Times Square. All featured the forthcoming debut album sleeve design by noted photographer Shig Ikeda, which featured a nude Jobriath, made to resemble an ancient Roman statue. Plans were announced for a lavish three night live debut at the Paris Opera that December, at a cost of $200,000 and a subsequent tour of European opera houses. Jobriath informed the press that the show would feature him dressed as "King Kong being projected upwards on a mini Empire State Building. This will turn into a giant spurting penis and I will have transformed into Marlene Dietrich." Elektra, concerned about spiraling production costs, postponed the Paris Opera shows until February, later canceling them due to expense.

Amidst this barrage of promotion, the debut album Jobriath was released, garnering mostly positive reviews. Rolling Stone stated that Jobriath had "talent to burn", Cashbox called it "truly one of the most interesting albums of the year" and Record World hailed it as "brilliantly incisive", referring to Jobriath as "a true Renaissance man who will gain a tremendous following". Esquire disagreed, calling it "the hype of the year". The album was co-produced by Eddie Kramer and Jobriath, featuring string arrangements by Jobriath, recorded at Olympic Studios with the London Symphony Orchestra. Kramer described Jobriath in Mojo as "a romantic soul, really. He wanted orchestrations like old film music, though he knew nothing about scoring. So he bought a book on orchestration and within a week he'd come up with scores of a haunting quality". Peter Frampton is also credited on the album, though his contribution is unclear.

During this period, Brandt continued making extravagant statements such as "Elvis, the Beatles, and Jobriath" and declaring that both he and Jobriath had booked flights on Pan American's first passenger flight to the moon. Meanwhile, Jobriath declared himself "Rock's truest fairy", a comment that did little to increase his popularity at the time but has since confirmed his status as the first openly gay Rock singer to be signed to a major record label.

Jobriath's debut public performance was made on television, when Brandt secured him an appearance on the popular show The Midnight Special. The costumes were designed by Jobriath and the choreography was by Joyce Trisler, of the Joffrey Ballet. Two songs were performed: I'maman and Rock of Ages, the latter substituting for Take Me I'm Yours which was pulled after the producer objected to its overtly sado-masochistic theme. The long-awaited live performance finally came in the summer of 1974 with two sold-out shows at New York's The Bottom Line club. Sales for the album however, were poor and it failed to secure a chart placing.

From the legendary 1974 live performance on The Midnight Special, here's I'maman:

Also from the same, here's Rock of Ages:

Here's the studio version of I'maman:

Here's Take Me I'm Yours ("...take it out on me baby, I'm ready, for your troubles I'm expedient, you're the master, come on faster, to your nature I'm obedient..."):

Here's the campy Movie Queen:

Here's a beautiful song, the Bowie-esque Morning Starship:

... And here's the risque closing track, "Blow Away": ("...and all the pretty boys lay in the passage of every song that etched its way from out my bleeding heart....blow blow blow away, blow blow blow away...it's very gay to blow away")

Six months after the release of the debut album, Creatures of the Street was released, again featuring Peter Frampton, as well as John Paul Jones of Led Zeppelin. Compiled from the extensive sessions for its predecessor, it was launched without any fanfare or media promotion and failed commercially. A US tour followed, during which recordings took place at local studios for a projected third album. Both Brandt and Elektra abandoned Jobriath midway, but despite this the band completed the tour, continuing to bill Elektra for expenses. A final show, at the University of Alabama, ended in five encores and the fire department being summoned when the excited audience set off the alarm.

From the second album, here's Heartbeat:

Here's Ooh La La: it could've been a Rolling Stones' song from that period.

Here's Scumbag:

... And here's another good onee, called Ecubyan:

In January 1975 Jobriath announced his retirement from the music industry and moved into a pyramid topped rooftop apartment at the Chelsea Hotel in New York City. He attempted to resume his acting career and unsuccessfully auditioned for the role of Al Pacino's lover in the film Dog Day Afternoon. Calling himself "Cole Berlin" (a play on both Cole Porter and Irving Berlin), he worked as a cabaret singer at a restaurant called The Covent Gardens, as well as clubs and cabarets, augmenting his income with occasional prostitution.

Here he is, as Cole Berlin, singing Sunday Brunch, and being interviewed:

By the time his 10-year contract with Brandt was finally up, Jobriath was sick with AIDS. He began to feel ill in late 1981 but still managed to contribute to the Chelsea Hotel's 100th birthday celebrations in November 1982. On August 4, 1983, one week after the end of his original 10-year contract with Jerry Brandt expired, Jobriath died, becoming one of the first famous musicians to die of the disease.

Jobriath was gone, but not forgotten; In November 2004, long-time fan Morrissey oversaw Jobriath's first CD re-issue, a compilation called Lonely Planet Boy. That was my first contact with Jobriath.

We have already dealt with Marc Almond. Here's his own version of Be Still:

Def Leppard released a cover of Heartbeat:

He is also referenced (under his name of birth) by the Indie-Folk band Okkervil River on the song Bruce Wayne Campbell Interviewed on the Roof of the Chelsea Hotel, 1979 (2008).