It isn't easy being The Sherry Fairy!
When you fall hard for the original Animal, Eric Burdon.
When I first met Eric I had just turned eighteen and he was in his late thirties. He hadn't had any hits on the radio lately, or built up much of a solo career touring in the States. I guess you might say he was in a bit of a slump. It was nothing like the days on the road when he was a star of one of the biggest bands in the world. However, times had changed, and so had popular music. Punk and disco were not his forte or his friends, and they were not my taste either. I did not buy those records or know who any of those people were, but I sure knew who he was. His original band, The Animals was one of my favorite groups. He was so gorgeous then, extremely sexy and extraordinarily talented, even if the fickle fans of Top 40 seemed to have lost interest. Dark shaggy hair, fantastic smile, that sexy soft English accent combined with his fame, charm, outspoken personality and big, rich, soulful voice. He had a powerful presence, impossible to overlook or ignore.
He had always seemed pretty tough, quite serious, very hard and rough, when I had seen him in pictures in fan magazines or on TV.
However, he was much softer than I ever expected or imagined at the time I met him. He was charming, joyous and lighthearted. Playful and mischievous, with an impish quality that could completely disarm you, which women all over the world found irresistible.
Enter the Shiny Happy Sherry Fairy. A perfect landing. Right on cue. Front row and center. Where I could get a good look at him and be sure he got one of me.
Done up like a birthday present in a pink sundress and white hair ribbons and a pair of sky-high--heeled platform sandals.
Clearly, it was a match made in rock-and-roll heaven. I was struck deaf, dumb, blind, and stupid by the size of the stars he put into my eyes. But I gave up the whole ridiculous scene long ago. The time had come.
Rock and roll is a cold, ugly business and was bound to break your heart, ruin your life, steal your spirit, and destroy your soul sooner or later, inevitably.
If it did not kill you first.
However, odds are it would do them all eventually.
if you did not get out when you had the chance, or if you were not very smart, very tough, very lucky, or very careful.
Deep down, I suspected I was not enough of any of the above.
In fact, I was sure of it.
So I gave up the men and music, the makeup and miniskirts, the drugs and the decadence, the hard living and easy dying and traded it all in for self-respect, security, safety, and sanity. I paid my dues and earned righteousness and responsibility and bought a ticket to ride on the "American Dream"
Through the years, I still went to every gig to see him. Our unlikely association had now gone on for over twenty years, which was quite surprising, to us just as much as anyone else, because our lives were so very different. Especially since the average length of most of his relationships with girls on the road was lucky to be room service breakfast the next morning.
After 20 plus years of trying (and often failing) to resist his considerable charms I was finally single again and was going to risk it all to find out how much if any of it, he really meant.
My showing up at this time and place was priceless and going to be totally worth it! Or so I hoped. One never really knows for sure about this sort of thing. But you won't ever find out, will you? Unless you are ready and willing to actually take a chance and make that choice when you are offered the option.
My best advice? Once and awhile, just pick the one you would have to be crazy to choose, whatever it may be. Just fling yourself headlong into the cosmic storm and let it spit you out where it may.
And do it fearlessly or not at all. You may disagree.
And perhaps you should, and you might be turn out to be right.
Decide for yourself.
After you hear my story.