Phil Spector: Bizarre Lunatic

Loony Phil
Originally uploaded by alco-beat.

Certainly you saw this photo last week when it was making the rounds. If not, here ya go: definitive proof that Phil Spector is nuttier than a fruitcake or a shithouse rat or whatever it is that the kids use to measure craziness by these days (For my money, the Phil Spector trial smokes the Michael Jackson trial for sheer weirdness. Speaking of which, Drudge provided a singularly unpleasant detail - as he so often does - from the final moments of the latter. 'Ew' doesn't quite begin to cover it...)

Not that that any big suprise for anyone who'd taking even a passing interest in the man's life and work up till now. Sure, you've probably heard all those stories about Phil pointing pistols at everyone from John Lennon to the Ramones. But the true Spectorainia fiend is advised to head straight to the book store and pick up a cheap used copy of Ronnie Spector's autobiography, called - what else? - Be My Baby. Flip over to the part where, long since forced into early retirement and virtual house arrest by her jealous maniac of a husband, Ronnie is about to go ape with cabin fever. She pesters Phil to let her have a car so that she might, y'know, leave the house every now and again. After several weeks of being nagged, Phil gives in and presents his long-suffering spouse with a new ride in the driveway; Ronnie is delighted. But hold on, says Phil, I haven't even shown you the best part yet...

"I was amazed as when he reached into the trunk of my brand-new car and pulled out that life-sized inflatable plastic mannequin.

'What do you think?' he asked, holding it in the air like a giant trophy. I didn't know what to say. The thing was as big as he was, and it was dressed in a pair of his best pants and a freshly ironed shirt. In fact, the thing looked exactly like Phil in every way, except that its knees were bent in a permanent sitting position. 'Well,' I said. 'It's you, right?' He nodded his head.

'C'mon,' he said. 'Is it perfect or what?'

'Yeah. Its...really...' I paused, wracking my brain for the right word. 'Perfect. But, Phil. What is it supposed to do?'

'I'll show you,' he said. I watched in utter amazement as he walked to the passenger door, opened it, and carefully placed the inflatable Phil in the bucket seat. Then he fastened a seat belt across the guy's lap, straightened its shirt collar, and adjusted the cloth hat that sat on top of the thing's pink plastic head. 'There,' he said, stepping back. 'Oh, wait,' he added. 'Almost forgot the finishing touch.'

Then he ran back over to the inflatable man, pulled out a cigarette, and fitted it into the thing's mouth. Finally, he slammed the door and stood back. 'Tah-daah!' he said, turning to me with a crooked little smile. 'What do you think?'

'It's great, Phil,' I said, and I wasn't lying. Sitting there like that this plastic guy really did look almost real. 'But I still don't get it,' I said. 'Why do I want it to look like there's somebody in the car with me when there isn't?'

'Don't you get it?' he asked in a tone of voice that made me feel like I must've missed something. 'It's for when you're driving alone.' I still looked completely confused, so he spelled it out for me. 'Now nobody will fuck with you when you're driving alone.'

So that was it. Phil had actually gone to the trouble of making a dummy of himself to watch over me when he wasn't around. I was wondering if he'd gone insane as I watched him make a few last-minute adjustments in the tilt of the guy's hat. He really was proud of his little masterpiece.

I wonder if, after Phil takes a ride in the gas chamber, they'll put the inflatable Phil in the Rock 'n' Roll Hall of Fame?

Oh, note to Suge Knight: this may be your future.