Martoni’s

In the 1960s, if you worked in the L.A. music industry, the bar at Martoni’s (1523 N. Cahuenga Blvd.) was as much a part of your job as the office or stage. Promo men shopped artists and product there, trying to gain favor with program directors and DJs. Gifted arranger Jack Nitzsche picked up work there, thus saving many a pop recording session gone awry.

Drinking was heavy, and sometimes things got out of hand. The Real Don Steele got punched out at the bar. Ian Whitcomb almost clocked Emperor Hudson after the latter wiped his clam-juiced-sotted hands on Whitcomb’s velour pullover. Occasionally a hush fell over the beehive when a giant like Sinatra, Phil Spector, or KHJ honcho Bill Drake walked through. Sonny Bono, togged in bellbottoms and bobcat vest, was refused entry in ’65. He went home and wrote a hit record about it: “Laugh at Me.”

 

Tip Top Club

A couple miles east of the old Cockatoo, at 3955 Imperial Highway, sits a vacant lot that has served many different enterprises. In the early 1950s, it held burlesque house The Irish World, where dancers mixed with customers at the bar. Comedian Lenny Bruce, during his strip-club-purgatory period, emceed for at least three weekends.

In the late ’60s, the place morphed into the Tip Top Club. As Inglewood’s demographic posture changed from white to black, the Tip Top was indicative of a city in transition, hosting the Shirelles, Ike and Tina Turner, Gladys Knight and the Pips, Lowell Fulson, Dap Sugar Willie, and the fabulous female impersonator Sir Lady Java. Eric Burdon, in his autobiography Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood, recounts getting off a plane at LAX, badly needing a drink. A cabbie deposited Burdon at a place the singer remembers as “The Carousel Club,” where he sat at the bar beside Big Joe and heard Jimmy Witherspoon wail the blues. Spoon and Big Joe welcomed the “leaping gnome” to the tiny stage for round-robin blues. The area had no Carousel Club, but the Tip Top fits Burdon’s description. That cab driver deserved a real big tip.

 

Malibu Drift Inn

When 22878 Pacific Coast Highway – now a motel called the Malibu Beach Inn – was the Malibu Drift Inn, for several years beginning in the late ’50s, its top-floor cocktail room provided a view of the Malibu Pier. West Coast Jazz and an early strain of surf music coexisted here. (Before Brian Wilson pegged surfers as a record-buying demographic, they often listened to jazz.)

Presented by one Danny Vaughn, the room featured “jazz by the sea,” beginning Sunday afternoons in October 1958. Bud Shank, the leading exponent of the cool West Coast alto saxophone and flute, led an exceptional quartet with Larry Bunker on vibes, forward-looking bassist Gary Peacock, and drummer Chuck Flores; later, Peacock and guitarist Dennis Budimir, replacing Bunker, took the music into uncharted areas. Shank let the youngbloods run free and wasn’t averse to letting one tune last an entire set, something John Coltrane would get credit – or damnation – for years later.

 

The Turkey Joint West

British expatriates can turn to several public houses in Santa Monica for a draught or bite from home. One is the Olde English Pub, at 116 Santa Monica Blvd. The next time you’re there, raise a glass to the Doors.

In 1965, South Bay surf band Rick and the Ravens played the beach towns, including that spot at Second and Santa Monica. It had an odd name: The Turkey Joint West. Rick was guitarist Rick Manzarek; in May 1965, his band was augmented by his piano-playing brother Ray, a UCLA film school student. “Screaming Ray Daniels” added a blues dimension to that shirt-and-tie band. He also attracted a retinue of rowdy beat types from Venice: fellow film school students, artists and heads who liked to drink beer and howl. One of them continually screamed for “Louie Louie” from their back table. One night, Ray announced a guest vocalist to whooping and yelling.  A surprised Jim Morrison took the stage and sang publicly for the first time – sang himself hoarse, in fact – on “Louie Louie.” In a very real sense, the Doors began that night. But lingering questions remain: Was there a Turkey Joint East, and, if so, where was it?