Diamond Stylus
"Cold War Lover"
Words-and-music Bucky Wunderlick
Copyright © 1969 Teepee Music
All rights administered Transparanoia Inc.
"Protestant Work Ethic Blues"
Words-and-music Wunderlick-Azarian
Copyright © 1970 Teepee Music
All rights administered Transparanoia Inc.
"Diamond Stylus"
Words-and-music Bucky Wunderlick
Copyright © 1970 Teepee Music
All rights administered Transparanoia Inc.
Complete transcript of interview conducted by Steven Grey, editor-in-chief of Ibex, a Journal of Rock Art.
grey: Hey, man, glad you could make it over. Just like to start off the proceedings by asking a couple or three questions about the mountain tapes. Are you figuring to just sit on this material or is there a release date for this material or what? It's been a long time between releases and people are starting to wonder about that and in a business like our business you hear all kinds of things and I wanted to start off by asking straight out… wunderlick: (garbled)
grey: Could you try to aim your words right at the thing there? Where you going? Hey, man, where you going?
wunderlick: (garbled)
grey: Hey, man. Aw, hey. Aw, come on back, man. Aw, no. Aw, hey. We just got… we just… aw, man, no.
Feature story, reprinted in its entirety, from Celebrity Teen, volume 19, number 8, copyright © 1971 by Star System Inc., all rights reserved, reprinted by permission.
Rock stah reveals sweater fetish!!!
by Carmela Bevilacqua
After I'd interviewed hard-to-interview Bucky Wunderlick in his spectacular mountain retreat overlooking a shimmering lake in the rugged, scenic Adirondacks, I came away feeling just a mite dazed by his gentleness and quiet charm. After all, the supercharged world of rock 'n' roll isn't my usual beat, in addition to which everybody knows how difficult and temperamental Bucky is supposed to be, so imagine how delightfully surprised I was by his feather-soft nature. In fact it was a day full of surprises, including a strange and bizarre visit from an unexpected guest.
But to get back to the beginning, maybe "interview" is the wrong word. Bucky didn't actually answer any of my questions. Formal answers, no. But talk to me he certainly did! Nodding his head slowly at my queries about his personal and professional life, Bucky chatted slowly and with a kind of sleepy charm about his dreams and his fears, about music and love and poetry, about people, oceans, streets and trees. Such was the hypnotic quality of his voice that at times it was difficult to catch what he was saying. Sometimes his voice would drop away to a whisper and other times he just seemed to ramble on, stringing words together in an aimless pattern. As Bucky talked, his lady of the hour drifted in and out, occasionally joining the conversation. Since you're probably dying to know, I won't waste any time telling you that she's slim and dusty-blond, and she goes by the name of Mazola June. ("They named me after the corn oil," she said in a lil ole drawl of a voice.) After she drifted off thataway, I asked Bucky to fill in the details on this female friend of marriageable age.
"We're running death sprints," he said mysteriously, and although I tried to prod him on the subject of marriage in the near future and the possibility of children and a life far removed from the tawdry glitter, he never returned to the subject of his pretty (and private) companion.
It was about this time that one of Bucky's ever-present aides, flunkies or what-have-you came slouching in to report that "some creep" had breached security and was hanging around in the hall outside, hoping to be granted an audience with the star himself. Bucky replied with a shrug and the intruder was ushered in. He was a smallish, pale man and he looked directly into Bucky's eyes, spoke four sentences and then left without waiting for a reply.
"What you have to teach is greater than our capacity to learn. You must stop so we can understand what you've been doing. I've come a thousand miles to see you. Now begins the long wait until you come to me."
Later, Bucky and I watched the sun sink into the lake in a riotous blaze of color. I asked him about his obviously undeserved reputation for controversy and mayhem, and when he made no reply other than a clown's sad smile, I wondered aloud how difficult it must be for him to occupy the stormy heights of his profession, how hard to endure the constant stress of being number one in a business where the roadside is strewn with casualties.
"Wear sweaters," Bucky said softly in the fading glow of twilight, sitting just a yard away from me on the spacious patio behind the house in the gathering chill. "Sweaters absorb the major impact. I wear three and sometimes four sweaters everywhere I go, weather permitting. Not on stage. I'm not talking about on stage. On stage you've got to be naked at the moment of impact. That's the moment of ultimate truth and ultimate falsehood, and the only way to go is go naked. Off stage, I wear sweaters. One on top of the other. All kinds. Three and four and sometimes five sweaters."
Mazola June came out then, wrapped in the longest scarf I've ever seen in my life, and before too long they'd both nodded off to dreamy sleep, right there in front of me, a pair of babes in the northern wood.
Title track from
pee-pee-maw-maw
Recorded on Anspar Records amp; Tapes
International copyright secured
Pee-Pee-Maw-Maw