more sassy bounce to it.
Originally released in 1972,
The Divine Miss M
album made it to Number 9 on the LP chart in America, and it was quickly certified Gold, signifying sales of over half a million copies in America. A single version of “Friends,” with “Chapel of Love” on the “B” side, was released in 1973 and made it to Number 40. Very quickly, because of the unprecedented success of
The Divine Miss M
LP, Bette Midler wasn’t just a New York City cult performer anymore; she was suddenly an overnight national sensation.
6
HIGHER AND HIGHER
With the release of Bette’s
The Divine Miss M
album, the obvious course of action was to go out on the road and promote the hell out of it. That’s when Aaron Russo really swung into action.
Russo had come from a New York City garment-district family. The family business was women’s undergarments—and Aaron had no interest in that line of work whatsoever. Instead he opted to get involved in the rock & roll scene. He worked for a nightclub called the Electric Circus in New York City, and in the late 1960s he moved to Chicago, where he managed a group that never made it big, called the Flock. His biggest claim to fame in the Windy City was as manager of a multimedia entertainment club known as the Kinetic Playground. He was also involved in the East Town Theater in Detroit.
In the early 1970s, Russo had been following Midler’s career from afar, having seen her on
The Tonight Show
and having been in the audience with his wife, Andrea, when Bette performed at the Bitter End in New York City. His growing infatuation with Bette was said to be the reason for the demise of his marriage. When Bette had become something of a local legend in Chicago at Mr. Kelly’s, he plotted his course of action and won her allegiance.
His timing was perfect. Things were beginning to happen so fast for her that she was frightened of fouling it all up before she really hit the big time. How could she break away from the Continental Baths and the gay scene and into the mainstream without alienating anyone in thetransition? And how was she going to break into the big time without having to become some sort of “cheese bomb” Las Vegas creation? She knew that she needed help, and all of a sudden . . . there was Aaron Russo.
With her debut album busy disappearing from record-store shelves, the time was ripe for Aaron to make good his promises. In November of 1972, Bette performed again at the Continental Baths. This engagement, at long last, was her final farewell night at the steam bath that had made her a star. She joked onstage that Steve Ostrow was having a difficult time filling her spot—and her bra—at the Baths, now that she was playing there for the very last time. She announced that Josephine the Plumber (actress Jane Withers’s fictional character in 1970s kitchen-scouring cleanser TV advertisements) had been approached, but not even SHE could remove the stains from the drains at the Continental! But beneath the jokes, Bette was not at all happy about that last gig.
Steve Ostrow had obviously sensed that this was to be his last shot at exploiting his gay bathhouse with Miss Midler, and he was going to take full advantage of the situation. So many people were jammed into the place that last night that it was a true fire hazard.
Bette later recounted, “When I looked out and saw how many people that bastard Ostrow had packed into that place, I was sick!” ( 45 ). Although Ostrow was made out to be the villain, one of Midler’s intimate friends confided that Russo “was the one who made her go back to the Baths, because he thought he could milk them for a buck. And she was furious with him ever after for that. He packed the place. She didn’t want to do it. Ostrow has been asking her to come back, but the place was small and everything, and she at that point was very dedicated to growing. But Aaron knew that there was a buck to be made, and he packed the house. It
Originally released in 1972,
The Divine Miss M
album made it to Number 9 on the LP chart in America, and it was quickly certified Gold, signifying sales of over half a million copies in America. A single version of “Friends,” with “Chapel of Love” on the “B” side, was released in 1973 and made it to Number 40. Very quickly, because of the unprecedented success of
The Divine Miss M
LP, Bette Midler wasn’t just a New York City cult performer anymore; she was suddenly an overnight national sensation.
6
HIGHER AND HIGHER
With the release of Bette’s
The Divine Miss M
album, the obvious course of action was to go out on the road and promote the hell out of it. That’s when Aaron Russo really swung into action.
Russo had come from a New York City garment-district family. The family business was women’s undergarments—and Aaron had no interest in that line of work whatsoever. Instead he opted to get involved in the rock & roll scene. He worked for a nightclub called the Electric Circus in New York City, and in the late 1960s he moved to Chicago, where he managed a group that never made it big, called the Flock. His biggest claim to fame in the Windy City was as manager of a multimedia entertainment club known as the Kinetic Playground. He was also involved in the East Town Theater in Detroit.
In the early 1970s, Russo had been following Midler’s career from afar, having seen her on
The Tonight Show
and having been in the audience with his wife, Andrea, when Bette performed at the Bitter End in New York City. His growing infatuation with Bette was said to be the reason for the demise of his marriage. When Bette had become something of a local legend in Chicago at Mr. Kelly’s, he plotted his course of action and won her allegiance.
His timing was perfect. Things were beginning to happen so fast for her that she was frightened of fouling it all up before she really hit the big time. How could she break away from the Continental Baths and the gay scene and into the mainstream without alienating anyone in thetransition? And how was she going to break into the big time without having to become some sort of “cheese bomb” Las Vegas creation? She knew that she needed help, and all of a sudden . . . there was Aaron Russo.
With her debut album busy disappearing from record-store shelves, the time was ripe for Aaron to make good his promises. In November of 1972, Bette performed again at the Continental Baths. This engagement, at long last, was her final farewell night at the steam bath that had made her a star. She joked onstage that Steve Ostrow was having a difficult time filling her spot—and her bra—at the Baths, now that she was playing there for the very last time. She announced that Josephine the Plumber (actress Jane Withers’s fictional character in 1970s kitchen-scouring cleanser TV advertisements) had been approached, but not even SHE could remove the stains from the drains at the Continental! But beneath the jokes, Bette was not at all happy about that last gig.
Steve Ostrow had obviously sensed that this was to be his last shot at exploiting his gay bathhouse with Miss Midler, and he was going to take full advantage of the situation. So many people were jammed into the place that last night that it was a true fire hazard.
Bette later recounted, “When I looked out and saw how many people that bastard Ostrow had packed into that place, I was sick!” ( 45 ). Although Ostrow was made out to be the villain, one of Midler’s intimate friends confided that Russo “was the one who made her go back to the Baths, because he thought he could milk them for a buck. And she was furious with him ever after for that. He packed the place. She didn’t want to do it. Ostrow has been asking her to come back, but the place was small and everything, and she at that point was very dedicated to growing. But Aaron knew that there was a buck to be made, and he packed the house. It
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