Loving John By May Pang // Paul Mccartney Interviewed In Come Together: Lennon And Mccartney In The Seventies

eveeyones got it wrong your mid 20s arent for going to the club or partying or picking up new crafts. your 20s are for discovering how much more autistic you are than you thought you were in high school

“PEANUTS” (Sept. 4, 1953) By Charles M. Schulz

HAPPY FRIDAY! ENJOY THE TUNES.

sometimes u are rly rly rly sad and then u dance in ur underwear to a song u used to love when you were fourteen and like. ok yeah hope will find me again. and u too

i wonder if beatlemania people talked abt the beatles the same way people nowadays do. like was there a 15 year old girl in her bedroom in 1964 staring at a poster of paul mccartney saying “hes so cute i need to put him in a blender on high speed” while her friend nods excitedly

to dress like the rockstar or the groupie, that is the question.

In my opinion, The Monkees in Paris is the episode that’s most similar to Head. 

TW: Suicide

In The Monkees in Paris, Davy, Mike, Peter, and Micky get fed up with the writers and director and leave the set. This is all part of the script. They go to Paris and get chased by obsessive fans. (Side note: I read that this storyline was probably inspired by A Hard Days Night, which makes sense.) This is especially interesting because, usually on the show the Monkees are portrayed as a struggling band that most people haven’t heard of. However, in this episode, they’re immediately recognized in Paris. A group of girls attacked Micky and attempted to rip his clothes off. Later, all four of them fall off the Eiffel Tower and die, but they’re alive and back on the usual set in the next scene. This episode illustrates the illusion of choice that’s often depicted on the show and even more in the movie and their bizarre self-awareness. 

In Head, the Monkees are significantly more famous. Micky, Davy, Peter, and Mike’s presence is either met with enthusiasm (an understatement) or annoyance. After a concert, they get attacked by some fans who rip their clothes off. Their bodies are actually mannequins in this scene. This adds to the theme of them being 'manufactured'. Throughout the movie, they walk off the sets because they don’t like the writing and argue with the director. The movie started with Micky committing suicide by jumping off a bridge, but he was perfectly fine in the next scene. The movie ended with all four of them committing suicide together, but in the next scene, they’re shown alive in a tank on the set. 

I hope some of that makes sense. It's like 2:30 am but I wanted to get that out of my head. No pun intended. Also I think I might've switched up my tenses so bear with me.

These posts are cousins to me.

Reposting this photo I shared yesterday because I think I finally put together what Micky and Peter were actually doing. Micky “shot” Peter and Peter had to “die” so Micky could photograph his dramatic demise.

In They Made a Monkee Out of Me, Davy Jones explains a Monkee game called Killer.

We defused a lot of the tension with humour, naturally. On the set, and on the road, we had a game we used to play called Killer. Jim Frawley invented it. The idea was each person was allowed three shots per day. You could shoot whoever you liked—you just mimed your hand as a gun, like kids do, y’know—tssshhh! And whoever was shot had to die. But you couldn’t just fall down, nice and simple—it had to be a spectacular death. You had to moan and kick and fall over furniture and people and take about three-quarters of an hour to do it—like they used to in all of the best Westerns. And if you didn’t die loud enough, or long enough, or imaginatively enough, or if say you just didn’t die at all, because you were being introduced to the Queen Mother at the time, then you lost a life. And if you lost three lives—you were out of the game. Forever. No second chances. That was as good as being really dead. So, of course, we’d look for the best moments to shoot each other—when it would cause the most commotion. Not everyone was included. It was a clique of about eight. Sometimes we’d have a different director—we used to have a guest director to do one or two shows. They’d be in the middle of a scene and somebody would get shot and the whole scene would be ruined because this was very serious business—you couldn’t lose a life. The game produced no end of possibilities for going right over the top. In the middle of a love scene once—I had the stars coming out of my eyes, the whole bit—I’m walking over to the girl with my arms outstretched and she says, “Oh, Davy!” We’re just about to kiss when … Tssshhh!—Peter shoots me. I have to go into an epileptic seizure routine for about five minutes—knocking lamps over, fall over a drum kit, out the door, roll around the parking lot, up the stairs, across the president’s desk—“Oh my God, are you all right, David?”—“Aaargh! Shot, sir!” Back out the door, down the stairs, onto the set, collapse in a heap at her feet. Wild applause. One time in Australia, in front of about five million fans at the airport, Micky got shot and he fell all the way down this gigantic escalator. People were stunned. They thought he’d been assassinated. It was very rarely someone wouldn’t die—not even a token head slump. One time was the Emmy Awards. I think it was Bert Schneider stepped up to receive the award for “Best New Comedy Show.” We shot him, but the moment was too special for him to spoil it. He won an Emmy and lost a life. Towards the end of the second year—to show you how badly things were going—even Frawley couldn’t be persuaded to die anymore. Everyone had been up all night, as usual. We were on the set—first diet pill of the day—started fooling around, messing up takes as always. But somehow it wasn’t the same. Nobody was laughing. Frawley was so mad. The only thing we could do was shoot him. Dolenz shot him—he didn’t die. Mike shot him—still standing. I shot him—nothing. What a bummer. All the feeling was gone. The beginning of the end.