service area was the perfect location to dry the leaves. Unfortunately, they often got high on their own supply, and left the plants drying for so long that they started to cook, filling the building with the distinctive smell of burning grass. Beating a retreat to the trailer, they had to plead ignorance as James Osterberg Senior sniffed the air and asked what they were up to.
Jim Osterberg was still firmly tethered to the parental purse-strings, particularly when major purchases were required for the trio’s musical experiments. Early in 1967, Jim had his eye on a Farfisa organ and embarked on a campaign to persuade James Senior and Louella to finance the purchase. Eventually Louella agreed on condition that Jim cut his hair; there were complicated negotiations about what constituted a sufficiently short haircut, which revolved around the collar length. Negotiations concluded, Jim opted for a style which was short at the back with long fringe up-front. The results were so bizarre that, according to Ron, Jim attracted the attention of the Ann Arbor police. ‘He was wearing baggy white pants, came here to my mom’s to practise, and the cops stopped him ’cause they thought he was an escaped mental patient. That is how weird he looked, with that little haircut and those big eyes.’ It was a 40-minute bus ride from Coachville to the Ashetons’ home on Lake, and according to Jim, even when he got there, with Ann at work, it was often a long wait until the brothers awoke from their morning nap or marijuana stupor and let him in.
Over those early months, Ron, Scott and Jim recruited the Ashetons’ friend, Dave Alexander - ‘A spoiled child and a wild thing,’ according to Scott - to assist in their musical experiments. Once the ever-tolerant Ann Asheton started to bridle at the incessant rehearsals at her house, the quartet moved to the Alexanders’; Dave would supply Ron, Scott and Jim with Colt 45 malt liquors as they crafted an embryonic rock opera. At first, they had debated a line-up with both Jim and Scott on drums; after the purchase of the Farfisa, Jim switched to organ, while Ron fed his bass guitar through a fuzz box and wah wah, and Scotty played drums on a 45-minute instrumental epic, which they named ‘The Razor ’s Edge’.
It was the summer of 1967 when the tiny crew moved into their first band house, a Victorian building on Forest Court, in the heart of the campus. It was being sub-let by a group of University of Michigan students, who naively thought that the earnest Jim Osterberg and his chums were a better prospect than their other applicants, ‘a bunch of broads. But woe betide the day those frat dudes let us in,’ enthuses Ron, ‘’cause we totally destroyed the building.’
Forest Court was where the band’s distinctive lifestyle evolved, summed up by Kathy Asheton as ‘Crazed, pig-style, crazed bachelors, fun times.’ Jim Osterberg was often recognisable as his wide-eyed, charming self, but equally often the entire band could be found slumped, stoned, in front of the TV until early in the morning, giggling at horror movies or rerun comedies. Slowly, they evolved, like cavemen, their own language. At first, after Jim had cleared out the basement, the three worked on developing their embryonic songs, but after incessant complaints from the neighbours about the noise, they found other diversions. Sometimes they would descend like a marauding tribe on family or neighbours, and denude their houses of everything edible. Frat parties around the campus were other useful venues for loot and pillage - the four could fill their stomachs and disappear with armfuls of drink before the hosts realised what was happening. Yet for all the squalor of their living quarters, the group boasted a certain glamour. ‘They were pioneers - cool, special,’ says Kathy Asheton. ‘They got a lot of attention, they got the girls, they were cool guys, people wanted to be around them.’
Both Ron and Jim lost
Jim Osterberg was still firmly tethered to the parental purse-strings, particularly when major purchases were required for the trio’s musical experiments. Early in 1967, Jim had his eye on a Farfisa organ and embarked on a campaign to persuade James Senior and Louella to finance the purchase. Eventually Louella agreed on condition that Jim cut his hair; there were complicated negotiations about what constituted a sufficiently short haircut, which revolved around the collar length. Negotiations concluded, Jim opted for a style which was short at the back with long fringe up-front. The results were so bizarre that, according to Ron, Jim attracted the attention of the Ann Arbor police. ‘He was wearing baggy white pants, came here to my mom’s to practise, and the cops stopped him ’cause they thought he was an escaped mental patient. That is how weird he looked, with that little haircut and those big eyes.’ It was a 40-minute bus ride from Coachville to the Ashetons’ home on Lake, and according to Jim, even when he got there, with Ann at work, it was often a long wait until the brothers awoke from their morning nap or marijuana stupor and let him in.
Over those early months, Ron, Scott and Jim recruited the Ashetons’ friend, Dave Alexander - ‘A spoiled child and a wild thing,’ according to Scott - to assist in their musical experiments. Once the ever-tolerant Ann Asheton started to bridle at the incessant rehearsals at her house, the quartet moved to the Alexanders’; Dave would supply Ron, Scott and Jim with Colt 45 malt liquors as they crafted an embryonic rock opera. At first, they had debated a line-up with both Jim and Scott on drums; after the purchase of the Farfisa, Jim switched to organ, while Ron fed his bass guitar through a fuzz box and wah wah, and Scotty played drums on a 45-minute instrumental epic, which they named ‘The Razor ’s Edge’.
It was the summer of 1967 when the tiny crew moved into their first band house, a Victorian building on Forest Court, in the heart of the campus. It was being sub-let by a group of University of Michigan students, who naively thought that the earnest Jim Osterberg and his chums were a better prospect than their other applicants, ‘a bunch of broads. But woe betide the day those frat dudes let us in,’ enthuses Ron, ‘’cause we totally destroyed the building.’
Forest Court was where the band’s distinctive lifestyle evolved, summed up by Kathy Asheton as ‘Crazed, pig-style, crazed bachelors, fun times.’ Jim Osterberg was often recognisable as his wide-eyed, charming self, but equally often the entire band could be found slumped, stoned, in front of the TV until early in the morning, giggling at horror movies or rerun comedies. Slowly, they evolved, like cavemen, their own language. At first, after Jim had cleared out the basement, the three worked on developing their embryonic songs, but after incessant complaints from the neighbours about the noise, they found other diversions. Sometimes they would descend like a marauding tribe on family or neighbours, and denude their houses of everything edible. Frat parties around the campus were other useful venues for loot and pillage - the four could fill their stomachs and disappear with armfuls of drink before the hosts realised what was happening. Yet for all the squalor of their living quarters, the group boasted a certain glamour. ‘They were pioneers - cool, special,’ says Kathy Asheton. ‘They got a lot of attention, they got the girls, they were cool guys, people wanted to be around them.’
Both Ron and Jim lost
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