This recent missive to Clive Davis, major label majordomo and Svengali to the Adult Contemporary set, discusses Uncle Donnie’s ideas for a post-comeback Whitney Houston comeback. Whether Clive or Whitney do anything with his advice is another matter entirely.

This is the last Uncle Donnie memo to be posted in 2009. On behalf of Lev and his uncle, I wish you a happy holiday. See you next year. – RS

TO: Clive Davis
FROM: Don Skwatzenschitz
RE: Career Advice for Whitney

Shalom! And a great big Gut Yontiff to you and yours! I hope it’s been a great year for you, what with Kelly coming back into the fold (is she putting on weight for a role? Did some studio finally option the script I did for From Justin to Kelly II: Alexa’s Revenge? I’ll have to check). Getting Whitney out there was a feat of pure chutzpa, as well, though her televised performances left something to—well, let’s just say they had me wishing I could see Bobby Brown scoop poo out of her toochis.

But what can you do, Clive? What can you do? You tried everything—you marketed it perfectly, you got her in the studio with passable songs and half-decent production. There were poppy/dancy tracks and big, melisma-showcasing ballads. She used to knock that stuff out of the park. Maybe she just doesn’t have it anymore. I know, I know—it’s hard to believe, much less have to face yourself, that your little doll, your female side personified for the last 25 years, has turned into a whacked-out, coked-out has-been who can’t hit the high notes anymore. It’s tough to write that, my friend. I imagine it’s even tougher to live it.

I do, however, have an idea that will help you set Whitney up for the foreseeable future—another Christmas album! One Wish was good, but very traditional. Too traditional, if you ask me (and I know you didn’t, but trust me—no one needs another “Christmas Song” or “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas”). What you need are unexpected gems that she can cover, Whitnify, if you will. Things that no one in a million years would expect her to even know about, much less record. I happen to have quite the collection of Christmas songs (I know, what’s a good Jewish boy like Albert Skwatzenschitz’s son doing with a Christmas song collection? It so happens my family celebrated both Hanukkah and Christmas. We were more confused than observant). Here are five tracks you simply must have her record:

• “It Never Snows in L.A.” In rock and roll, the road can be a fickle mistress (not that I would know what a fickle mistress was like—Mitzi is fickle enough for ten men to deal with). Once, I was compelled to spend the winter in Hollywood, working the second Ratt album to country stations (don’t ask), and I recalled this wonderful ditty by the young but worldly Jimmy Osmond. Whitney’s world-weariness would lend some gravitas to this otherwise poppy tune.
• “My Christmas Card to You.” Why record “Joy to the World,” when she could put pure joy to tape (or hard drive, or whatever) with this classic, originally recorded by a family of Partridges?
• “Listen, the Snow Is Falling.” Yoko Ono—so underrated. Imagine Whitney wrapping her voice around this one. I even have a bit of orchestration in my head that might work. I’ll hum it into a USB mic and send you an MP3.
• “Jolly Man.” Kanye did that Autotune record, and it was a huge hit, right? Well, this Zach Curd track would be a great way for Whitney to get into some of that Autotune action. And you wouldn’t have to worry about the high notes, either.
• “Snoopy’s Christmas.” Totally left field, I know, but it falls in the great tradition of story-songs, and Whitney could use a story other than her own to discuss next time she does Oprah.

Consider these, and I’ll give you a call after the new year. Be well, my friend.

All the best,
Don

I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised about this, but Lev brought over this missive in which Uncle Donnie weighs in on the ongoing Aerosmith drama.  -RS

TO: Steven Tyler
FROM: Don Skwatzenschitz
RE: Career Advice

Steven, let me be the first (or if not the first, the most emphatic) to say it’s about time you do what you’re doing, whatever that is. You’re 61, and you’ve been carrying that band for years, if not decades. I mean, think of all the great moments in Aerosmith history you’ve been responsible for—the bass lick that starts “Sweet Emotion”; the sis-BAM-buh-boom-boom-BAM backbeat in “Walk This Way”; the energy and melody in “Let the Music Do the Talking” (it’s criminal that wasn’t a huge hit); getting hooked up with Run DMC (totally your idea); writing “I Don’t Want to Miss a Thing.” Where would that band be without you? And who’s responsible for Aerosmith having 14 greatest hits albums to its credit? Seriously, who’s responsible?

And who does Joe Perry think he is? Doesn’t he remember the late Seventies and early Eighties, when he bailed and you carried the band on your back? Has he forgotten the masterpiece of rock and roll that was Rock in a Hard Place? You carried the band on your back so much, you quite often couldn’t make it through shows without passing out! Has Joe Perry shown that much dedication? Granted, he makes a mean hot sauce, but you are the spice of the band.

Small men throw sticks and stones, but they can never break the bones of the true heroes of rock, and you, good man, are a hero of rock. It’s time to move forward. Time to take the next step. I have the answers for you:

Make a solo album. You need to hook you up with the primo writers and producers that are making the biggest waves in the marketplace. Have you heard Lady Gaga? I know someone who can set you up with her production team. Like Justin Timberlake? I’m sure he has a song or two laying around you could do (I know you’re still pissed that his “Cry Me a River” was a bigger hit than yours, but yours was cooler by far). I even have a title for the project: Joe Perry. You know how you like to slide his name into songs on occasion (“F.I.N.E.,” “Shame on You,” “Rockin’ Pneumonia”)? Just name the record after him. That’ll tweak him good. It can’t help but be better than the self-titled solo record he put out.

Start a scarf emporium. How have you not done this before now? Silk, acrylic, cotton, wool—you are the king of scarfiness. You need your own line, as well as your own chain of high-end retail locations in major cities. I also know someone who can build you a wicked cool Web presence to compliment your brick-and-mortar locales. We can have it up and running, with your cooperation and permission, before the next prêt a porter week in Paris.

Go into acting. You were tremendous in Be Cool. I mean, you could really tell you felt that character very deeply, so much it was almost a part of you. Did you study Method acting? I mean, honestly, I haven’t seen DeNiro do anything that good, that naturally, in ages. I have some contacts in Hollywood who could help set up auditions for you. I understand Michael Bay is proposing a remake of Almost Famous, this time with more explosions. Perhaps we can get you the Jeff Beebe role—can you grow a beard?

Go Vegas. I cannot imagine a better situation for you right now as a performer than Vegas. Do you really want to schlep around the country next summer for the 3,168th time, playing open-air sheds and dealing with the riff-raff of roadies and groupies and dealers and, well, Joe Perry? It’s undignified for a man your age. What you need is your own theater and a long-term engagement. I know someone with connections to the CEO of Harrah’s who can get us into the Main Showroom on the nights Rita Rudner is out of town. And it’s perfect! We can call it Harrah’s Smith!

Put on a Carol Channing tribute. Do you like Carol Channing? I saw the pics of you in a liquor store a few months back. With the right wig, you’d be a dead ringer for her. We should have a Plan B, right? Particularly if, for whatever reason, the Harrah’s thing doesn’t pan out and Joe Perry won’t take you back.

All the best,
Don

This is a memo written in 1977 to the Canadian management of Rush. If pictures from this period are any indication, Uncle Donnie had taken to sporting a green Mohawk for at least several months that year. -RS

TO: Managers of Rush
FROM: Don Skwatzenschitz
RE: Career Advice

You, my friends, have a great property in this band Rush. I just saw them the other night at the Fitchburg Theater, and I was really surprised. Well, the first thing that surprised me was the fact that the Vibrators weren’t playing at the Fitchburg—I’d gotten my nights mixed up and missed their concert with Stinky Toys and Métal Urbain. This really sucks, because, as it turned out, most of Stinky Toys got deported back to France after the show. That, and, well, I found out the Vibrators, Stinky Toys and Métal Urbain weren’t even booked at the Fitchburg, but at Needles and Pins, a bar down the street from the Fitchburg. What can I tell you? It was a long week.

Anyway, so I stayed to see Rush and some band called Max Webster put on a hell of a loud show. And even though I realize I’m not exactly the biggest authority on this so-called “progressive” scene (I was the only one in attendance with any kind of nose piercings, but I don’t think anyone else noticed), I think there’s something really special about a band that can perform 15-minute-long songs about space travel and intergalactic politics. And by special, I mean—well, special. Not my usual cup of vinegar, but I didn’t leave early, and that’s saying something.

Now, since I am a member in good standing of this “industry,” such as it is, I feel I am uniquely qualified to offer you some advice on how to best position your property, this band Rush, for maximum effect, both in the U.S. and abroad. Certainly, you’re aware of a new form of revolutionary sound sweeping through England and certain pockets of the U.S.—call it punk rock, call it just punk, call it whatever you want to call it; it’s here to stay, my friends. If you handle Rush properly, you should be able to grab a piece of this uprising and prosper. Here are my ideas:

Get rid of the drummer. Nobody likes a showoff, and this joker puts more paradiddles, stick twirls, and polyrhythmic nonsense into a 4/4 than anyone this side of Bill Bruford. Besides, he’s the lyricist, too? I jotted down a few choice lines from the show I saw:

I set a course just east of Lyra
And northwest of Pegasus
Flew into the light of Deneb
Sailed across the Milky Way
On my ship, the ‘Rocinante’
Wheeling through the galaxies
Headed for the heart of Cygnus
Headlong into mystery

I think they introduced it as “Cygnus X-1.” I want a big fattie of whatever they’re having.

Okay, for the drumming, you might be able to talk that kid from the Ramones into joining—Danny Ramone, or Barney or Paulie or whatever. He’s good and he’s not some flyboy who thinks he’s a wizard or something. And as for the lyrics, maybe you could get the band to do a 180 on this—go from sci-fi silliness to something more rustic, with, I don’t know, Mark Twain references. I’m thinking Huckleberry Finn would be a great source of lyrical inspiration.

Get rid of the guitar player. Who the hell is this kid? Wanky-wanky-wanky—that’s all I heard. Squee-diddly-diddly-WAAAAW. And was he wearing a kimono? With a Gibson double-neck? You need to sack this joker. I think Wayne Kramer is available, if you want someone whose guitar playing has to be set on “stun,” or it’ll hurt people.

Get rid of the bass player. Jesus Christ, where did you find this guy? He sounds like a coyote being castrated, and his playing is all over the place. Replace him with two people – I think the bassist from the Stooges might be looking for a gig. As for the singer—there’s this young lady in London, goes by the name Siouxsie Sioux. I think she’d be perfect.

You’ll want to do these things gradually, so nobody notices. Maybe by ’81 or ’82, you’ll have something worth talking about. You could do a big club tour and have yourself a nice little perennial touring machine in the lower-end markets. By then, this punk rock thing should be more universally recognized, and you’ll be perfectly poised to take advantage of it with the only punk rock supergroup—Rush.

All the best,
Don

TO: Rick James
FROM: Don Skwatzenschitz
RE: Career Advice

Hi, Rick. Don Skwatzenschitz here; we met at the Motown building about a year and a half ago, while you and the Mynah Birds were recording “It’s My Time.” That should have been a hit, but we all know you had to meet your military obligation, and it’s good you ‘fessed up and faced the music, so to speak. Feels good to not having that hanging over your head, doesn’t it? By the way, how’s the food in the Brooklyn Brig?

Rick, you are a singular talent, but it has to be nurtured. I know you’re thinking about going back to Motown, but I ask you to reconsider. There are new musical worlds being discovered in places like San Francisco, Berkeley, and right around the corner from where I’m writing—Haverhill, Massachusetts (we have a swingin’ acid rock collective nearby called Captain Dusty Verkota and His Electric Hookah All-Stars. You should come by and check them out, next time you’re around). Soul music is great—you know me; I’m all about the soul of things. But there are other avenues of expression to consider. And, for God’s sake, don’t act so scared around the ladies! You’re a good-looking guy!

All great artists have a 15-year plan for success. It’s true! The Beatles know exactly what they want to be doing in 1982, and they’re working their way toward those goals (though I think that Sgt. Pepper thing might have been a step too far, don’t you? I mean, even the Jefferson Airplane haven’t freaked out that badly, and I’da put money on them to be the first ones to fall down the rabbit hole, you know?). Here are some things to consider for yours:

Try marijuana. I’ve never extolled the use of drugs, but I think in your case it might be a good idea. A little wacky tobacky will loosen you up a bit. And I know you, Rick—you’ll keep it under control; you won’t go overboard. Just try it. It’ll be fun!

Think about a new hairstyle. The short-cropped hair might be fine for Uncle Sam, but this is 1967! Get some relaxer and some beads and grow it out a little. You’ll look great!

Look into this “funk” thing. Remember George Clinton, that songwriter in the Motown mill? Strange guy? Said things like “Shazamalockin’” and things like that? He’s got this new sound that he laid on me a couple months ago—kinda like the James Brown records from a few years back, with the accent on the one beat, only George is throwing all sorts of distortion and electronics and such into the mix. It’s a pretty heady thing; you should check it out.

Change how you introduce yourself to people. “Hello, I’m Rick James. Nice to meet you?” No, you need something a little snazzier. Like, “I’m Rick James, madam!” Or, “I’m Rick James, Mon Cheri.” I’m sure you can come up with something that works.

Update your lyrical output. You played a song-in-progress for me back at Motown—”Pretty Young Lady” or something. I remember the lyrics:

She’s a very pretty young lady
The kind you take to meet your parents
And she’ll never let your spirits down
‘Cause she’s in church all the time

It’s a good start, but I think it needs some work. Once you get around a bit, get back into the swing of things, I think you’re perspective will change, and you’ll maybe want to spice things up a bit. You know, you should hold onto that one until you get it right. Fifteen-year plan—remember!

All the best,
Don

Uncle Donnie has a soft spot for lost causes, and there are none more lost than Ms. Love. This recent missive outlines his concerns, and his plans to help her rise again. -RS

TO: Courtney Love
FROM: Don Skwatzenschitz
RE: Career Advice

You know, dear Courtney, we all feel a little lost sometimes. I remember the two and a half years between Jackson Browne’s Running on Empty and Hold Out records—you were just a kid, but trust me, they were long, lean years with no new JB poetry to get us all through. Jimmy Carter was in the White House, and you could just see the effect Browne’s absence had on him. Everything seemed to go straight to hell, without passing “Go,” without collecting $200 in worthless cash.

But we all snap out of it. In the summer of 1980, I turned on the radio and heard those wonderful words—”Down on the boulevard, they take it hard / They look at life with such disregard.” I wept. Openly. Mitzi and I were in the old Impala, cruising down Highway 1 at night, looking for a place to pull off and have a little shtup, you know? And then I heard the song and all thoughts of shtupping vanished, disappointing Mitzi horribly. But the voice was back, and his new words had … well, they had very little meaning, but I clung to them anyway. Didn’t help Jimmy Carter, though.

But you, Courtney, have taken feeling lost to a whole new level. We all had such hopes for you, too—the brave widow, newly single mom, protecting her husband’s legacy while establishing one of her own. That was before the anus wax meltdown in 2003, and the feud with Dave and Krist, and the Pam Anderson roast, or any of the other numerous breakdowns. The latest breakdown, though—the whole Kurt/Guitar Hero/Bon Jovi thing—is the last straw. We were merely worried about your safety before, dear—now we’re concerned about your sanity. You simply must turn it around—and I have just the plan:

Record new music—now! Art is a great diversion, maybe the best diversion. Not even you can play guitar, snort cocaine, sing, and get a facelift simultaneously. I’d say stick with the playing guitar and singing. You may never come up with something as cool as “Malibu” again, unless you get Billy Corgan to write another one for you and let you take the credit, but there’s lots to be gained by trying. Speaking of Billy Corgan, what do you get when you take Smashing Pumpkins and subtract D’Arcy, James, and Jimmy? You get Zwan. Do not, under any circumstances, “re-form” Hole without bringing back at least the drummer and that cute little bass player you had.

Take Kurt merchandise all the way. Okay, you want kids to remember Kurt for singing “You Give Love a Bad Name?” Be ready to get into it, full bore—and it’s a slippery slope. Be ready to sign off on the action figures and lunch boxes and “Buddy Kurt” dolls and ironic stapler accessories and detergent tie-ins (“Smells like Clean Spirit”) and even Kurt Kaskets. In fact, you should take Gene Simmons out to lunch—I’m sure he’ll have all sorts of ideas for you.

Give Frances Bean conservatorship over what’s left of your fortune. Yes, she’s just a kid; and yes, she probably doesn’t know investments from Incesticide. She certainly couldn’t do any worse, though, and whatever she loses in the market, she’ll make back when she tours with Foo Fighters in a couple years.

Get a theater in Branson. Vegas and Atlantic City are where washed-up artists go to reinvigorate themselves. Branson, Missouri is where they go to die. I hate to say it, Courtney, but you’re closer to Branson than Vegas. So check out where Yakov Smirnov and Jim Stafford have their theaters, get some land, and start building.

And if you ever get asked to play the Andy Williams Moon River Theatre—well that’s just like crossing the river Styx. In fact, I think Styx is playing there in January.

All the Best,
Don

According to Lev, Uncle Donnie served in some capacity in the Def Leppard camp during the recording sessions for

TO: Def Leppard
FROM: Don Skwatzenschitz
RE: Career Advice

First of all, yes—I wanna get rocked. Ha! Remember that, back in ’92? Man, those were good times. I mean, not great times—Clarky was dead, and everyone felt bad, but didn’t we have a good time hazing poor Vivian? I’ve never had a better time on tour with a rock and roll band. Thanks for including me, and for putting up with Mitzi lifting up her shirt in the front row for 64 shows. It couldn’t have been easy for you, particularly Joe, who would invariably be trying to sing to a babe on one side of Mitz or the other.

Anyway, since we go back a ways, I feel compelled to talk with you about a serious issue, namely, your recording career. It needs to stop. Now. The last two albums prove it, if the previous two or three didn’t. A covers record is typically a sign of desperation, and Yeah! was no exception. Face it, people would rather hear All American Rejects do your songs, or Taylor Swift, or some anonymous kid, or even you, 20 years ago, than to hear you do T. Rex or Bowie covers. Not to mention David-effin’-Essex. “Rock On?” Ain’t no rock to be found there, buddies.

And I don’t know where to begin with Songs from the Sparkle Lounge. It’s a good record, but there’s something missing. Suffice to say, regardless of how much you like Tim McGraw, putting him on a stone-cold rocking Def Leppard track like “Nine Lives” was a bad idea, regardless of how many times they played it on NBA broadcasts. And “Only the Good Die Young?” Why not just write a song called “Scenes from an Italian Restaurant,” and see how that works?

You are one of the most consistently high-grossing concert attractions to hit the sheds each summer. You don’t need to record ever again. Knowing you guys, though, my gut tells me you’re going to do it again. And again. So let me give you some advice on what to do the next time out:

• Get back with Mutt Lange. The divorce from Shania might be bad for him, on many levels, but it could be a boon for you. Apparently, Maroon 5 has him locked up for the next few months (poor bastard). When he’s done, get on his calendar. You want a reason you should do this? I’ll give you three: High ‘n’ Dry, Pyromania, Hysteria. Whatever might be holding you back needs to be put aside, not only for the good of the band, but for the good of rock and roll itself. For Christ’s sake, he produced Nickelback. Nickelback! What’s Nickelback, but the new Def Leppard, albeit without the cool vocals, instrumental prowess, or great songs?
• Come up with a cool name for the record. Songs from the Sparkle Lounge? Sounds like you recorded it in a room in Barbie’s Dream House. You need something more rockin’. If you can’t come up with anything, just ask Mutt; I’m sure he’ll think of something. Other names you’ll want to avoid: Krap Rekkurd, Fecalize, and Songs from the Ramrod Bar.
• Stop touring. Like I said, you’re one of the best out there right now. It’s a catch-22, though—you’ll never get people to listen to your new material with fresh ears as long as you’re reminding them of the hits they like a hell of a lot more. Reminding people of all your past glories every summer just makes following up on those glories that much more difficult. Take a summer off—it’ll be good for your new stuff. Besides, shouldn’t Cheap Trick and Poison be able to headline on their own by now?
• Take five or six years to make the record. Remember how everyone pined for Hysteria for years before you finally put it out? With the right marketing touch, you could get the same kind of anticipation now. And anticipation might be the only ace you have in your hand at this point. Fortunately, given the amount of time Mutt takes to make a record, this shouldn’t be a problem.
• Give yourself over to some excess. You’re far too clean now; it’s time to spend some serious time getting seriously messed up. Alcohol? Better in excess than in moderation. Drugs? Be careful, but go nuts. You see how much press Pete Doherty gets? You guys could go on a two-year bender and return as revered as Zeppelin. Besides, Phil, you look better at 51 than you did at 25. Go eat a sandwich, pal! Then down a bottle of Yukon Jack or something.

All the best,
Don

TO: Barry Gibb
FROM: Don Skwatzenschitz
RE: Career Advice

Barry, old pal, how have you been?  It’s been so long since we last saw you at your brother Robin’s birthday party in Miami—what was it, five years ago?  Nine?  I don’t remember much about that night, but I do recall thinking the nude caterers were a bit much.  The spinach balls were lovely, though; Mitzi’s been trying to recreate them in our kitchen ever since.  I tell her the nudity had nothing to do with the quality of the food, but she never listens.

Speaking of my beloved, the other night, she was watching repeats of French television (this satellite TV gets damn near everything), and came upon a performance of “To Love Somebody” by a couple singer/songwriter types, and we got into a discussion about you.  You did such a good job on American Idol a couple years back (though I didn’t quite get the Dr. Zaius costume—was that supposed to be ironic?), yet never capitalized on it.  That’s a shame, particularly if you want to have a place at the table in pop culture these days.  With such an enormous back catalog of hits, you should be out there reminding people of your greatness, and getting new fans to bask in that greatness.  I think I can help you, if you take my advice in several key areas:

Reform the Bee Gees. You and Robin are two-thirds of the Bee Gees—that’s more, percentage-wise, than are touring as Creedence, Jefferson Starship, or even Santana.  If you insist on getting a third voice, consider Cynthia Gibb (she played Karen Carpenter once).  Or, if Robin’s not game, you can certainly get soundalikes (maybe from American Idol) and rename them to your liking—perhaps Marky Gibb, DeeDee Gibb, Johnny Gibb, etc.

Endorse products. There are folks out there who will buy whatever you tell them to buy.  Perhaps there are hair care products that you use, for which you could vouch to your fawning public.  Or maybe you enjoy going to amusement parks or other destinations.  It’s up to you; I can’t imagine a product provider turning down Barry Gibb.

Reissue, reissue, reissue. How many quality records did you put out there that went nowhere, because the public thought they were “too disco” or “too Gibby” or “too not very good?”  Put them back out there and see what happens.  Seriously, I think “Living Eyes” or “For Whom the Bell Tolls” would just kill on AC radio.  Only one way to find out.

Give Kenny and Dionne the Guilty Pleasures treatment. You revisited your collaboration with Streisand with Guilty Pleasures, and though it couldn’t touch the original, you still sold some records.  Consider revisiting other collaborations from that area.  Think Eyes That Still See in the Dark.  Kenny could really use a hit.  Or Heartbreaker II—Dionne could use … oxygen.  There’s not much of it that deep in space.

Watch your real estate purchases. You buy Johnny Cash’s house; it’s been there for decades.  John and June lived there.  Presidents had visited it.  Rick Rubin built a rabbit hutch in the backyard and actually lived there for a year and change.  But that house isn’t there anymore, is it, Barry? You buy it, and it burns to the ground.  Now, I’ve heard Conway Twitty’s old fishing cabin is up for sale.  Please think long and hard before making a purchase.

Write a book on politics. I’ve seen your talk show, and I think it’s wonderful.  You’re a little excitable, but no more so than Bill O’Reilly.  There’s a lot to do in publishing, if you’re excitable/batshit insane.  Throw your hat into the book ring; we could use a new voice in the debate—whichever debate you choose.

All the Best,
Don

This is a recent missive Uncle Donnie sent to one particular toothy Mormon Vegas singer. Methinks there might have been ulterior motives in play, though. -RS

TO: Donny Osmond
FROM: Don Skwatzenschitz
RE: Career Advice

From one Don to another, Donny, we need to get you out there, in a real way. Twenty years since your last hit is too long. Now, I understand you might not think the public is ready for you to reemerge, but you’re wrong, Donny-Boy. Really wrong.

Right now, this very minute, I could get on the facsimile machine and book you a US tour that would take you from Utah to the Florida panhandle, up to Maine, over to California, and back to Utah again. Seventy, eighty shows. And we could do it all in around six weeks, because we’d be playing in under-utilized performance spaces: abandoned Circuit City storefronts. Not inside the stores, mind you; outside them, on the sidewalk. Guerrilla style, like those Rage Against the Machine guys. Set up, play a half hour—”Puppy Love,” “Sacred Emotion,” “Go Away Little Girl,” “One Bad Apple,” “Love Me for a Reason,” maybe a cover of something current, then “Soldier of Love,” done—then pack up and move on to the next place. We could do three or four a day, depending on the routing. Think about it. People hanging around outside abandoned Circuit City storefronts are hungry for your music, and they don’t even know it.

I have more ideas to kick-start your career and put you back on top:

Do more with Marie. It never hurts to have a little eye candy onstage and in the videos with you, now does it? And she’s got it, man. I mean, really, she’s got it. Has from the beginning—what was she, 13 or 14 when “Paper Roses” came out? She had it back then, too, but, you know, in a girly kinda way. Now, I know you have that engagement in Vegas that you do together, but why stop there? Go out on tour with her; go into the studio with her. Bring her over to my house next time you’re in town. Hey—the third week of October, Mitzi and her sisters are going on their annual Coochi-Coochi Cruise with Charo—you and Marie can stop by then! Or, you know, if you can’t make it for whatever reason, you can just send Marie over.

Four words: “Soldier of Love 2009.” You know, it’s been 20 years since “Soldier of Love” hit, and if you’re like me, you still can’t believe the damn thing got to Number Two. Time for a new version. You don’t even have to do much re-recording—just maybe one take where you “ooh” and “ah” and maybe “uh” or grunt or something. Hey, it worked for Benny Mardones, didn’t it? He’s re-recorded “Into the Night” three or four dozen times. Did the guy ever write another song? Did he have to? Oh, and maybe you could get Marie to re-record “This is the Way that I Feel” for the b-side. That song is just so sexy. I’m telling you, it’s a guaranteed hit. Marie’s song and yours. Guaranteed.

Embrace new bands. You have to be hip these days, and that means collaborating with the best. Remember the mash-up somebody did of “Crazy Horses” with that Prodigy song a bunch of years back? That’s the kind of thing I’m talking about. I’m thinking “Puppy Love” with Akon. Or maybe you and Marie can re-record “Make the World Go Away” with, like, Kelly Clarkson (if Clive Davis says it’s okay). Hey, Beyoncé would be great on that one. And Jay-Z can rap on it! I know them; maybe I can arrange a meeting when Marie comes out in October while Mitzi’s gone. And Beyoncé and Marie can do the video together, maybe on the beach or something. And you’d be in there, too, of course, and Hova as well. Wouldn’t that be something?

Make a Prince cover album. To be honest, it’s been a while since I’ve produced a record (that Dio lullaby album was a great idea, it’s just that the A&R people didn’t hear a single), but I could totally get into working with you on something daring—an album full of Prince songs. Now, I’m not talking about “Let’s Go Crazy” or “1999″ or the obvious stuff. We’ll need to go for street cred—get deep into the man’s catalog, show that you’re into more than just the hits. Here’s my wish list:

• “Sister”
• “Head”
• “Gett Off”
• “Sexy M.F.”
• “Pheromone”
• “Le Grind”
• “Soft and Wet”
• “Do It All Night”
• “Jack U Off”
• “Do Me, Baby”
• “Let’s Pretend We’re Married”
• “Slow Love”

Now, you wouldn’t necessarily want Marie on the record, but we could dedicate it to her, if you want. That would be a nice gesture.

Perform a calendar soundtrack. This is an original—nobody’s doing this, at least that I’m aware of. It’s a cool family thing—Marie does a swimsuit calendar, and you provide the soundtrack for it, on an accompanying CD. I’m pretty handy with a camera (particularly since they stopped requiring film), so we wouldn’t need a big budget for the photo shoot. As for the recordings, we could get a small studio space, hire a wedding band or something. Or you could do an album of demos, with just you and a guitar or piano or something. Or, you know, you could skip the soundtrack altogether, if you’re not that into it. Let me know soon, though—we’ll need to shoot the calendar in warm weather.

All the best,
Don

Unbeknownst to me and many others, Uncle Donnie was an adviser for Van Halen from roughly 1980 through ’85, when David Lee Roth bolted the band. Apparently, he came aboard to be in charge of their concert merchandise line (including the oft-overlooked Diamond Dave dildos, in six flashy colors—suck on

TO: David Lee Roth
FROM: Don Skwatzenschitz
RE: Career Advice

Dave, I know this is a good time for you. The solo EP is selling like hotcakes; you’re all over MTV; you’re on magazine covers galore. I think it’s time you consider a—how to say it?—”Jump” in your career. A quantum leap. Time to “Run with the Devil” and “Dance the Night Away” with success. “Unchain” your potential. You get my drift? If you don’t, um, “I’ll Wait.” Here are some things to consider while I’m waiting:

Leave the band. You don’t need them now; you haven’t needed them since you stopped playing Gazzarri’s for beer money; you’re not going to need them next year, nor will you in ’88, nor will you in ’91—do you get the picture? On and on and on, in perpetuity, David Lee Roth is Van Halen. You can pick up a garage band and make them sound great. You can pick up a group of virtuosos and make them sound better. You are the pick that strums the guitar, the stick that hits the drum, the thumb that slaps and pops the bass. Dump ‘em. Go solo, for good.

Record foreign language records. There was that line in “Everybody Wants Some”—”Ah seegah boogah lyah luka fowa mookbeek.” Is that Swahili? Guamese? French? I love how you stuck it in there, though I think you really should have translated it. For the fans, you know. What does it mean? But then I got to thinking, if you’re going to be an international star—truly international—you should do translations of your records. Pick a handful of dialects—eight or ten, a dozen if you’re feeling energetic—and lets put together a greatest hits in that language. Swahili Van Halen? Only if you dream big, buster.

Embrace your inner Earl Scruggs. I think Van Halen songs would sound great in multiple contexts. Bluegrass, for instance. Don’t you?

Think about radio. Remember that time you and I were talking about how good a McDonald’s cheeseburger value meal is as hangover food? And that led us to discussing how hot the grill had to be to make the perfect cheeseburger; then you calculated that temperature on the Kelvin scale and bemoaned the fact that no one uses the Kelvin scale anymore; and how you used to use the Kelvin scale to calculate the color temperature of Van Halen’s lighting rig, when you weren’t contemplating using a figure-eight pattern next time you performed cunnilingus; and how the one groupie in Des Moines liked to put Elmer’s glue on you, let it harden, then remove it without using her hands; and how when your mother used to put Elmer’s glue in your art case in grade school, you never would have imagined that particular use for it; but how you could imagine your fourth-grade teacher, Mrs. Gebelhauser, being a lot like the groupie in Des Moines; and how Mrs. Gebelhauser was the original inspiration for “Hot for Teacher,” which Eddie didn’t even want to put on the 1984 album, but relented when you offered to give him two cases of Blue Nun if he left it alone; and how good the wines in Chile were; and how you spent the day at a chili cookoff in Texas and went unrecognized; and how much Pearl beer you drank, and how good Pearl tasted when chasing shots of Jack Daniels; and how you woke up the next afternoon with a slammer of a hangover and immediately had room service go out and get you a McDonald’s cheeseburger value meal? Remember all that? You’d be great on talk radio.

Remember: You can always go back. Say you make another solo record, it becomes a big hit, you leave the band, and then have second thoughts—you know, you miss arguing with Eddie, or you want to see what stupid tricks Alex will come up with on the road, or you want to send Michael out to get you Taco Bell after a show. Believe me—these guys are going nowhere without you. Who are they going to get to replace you? Rob Halford? Lou Gramm? That little douchebag from Journey? Forget it! You are truly irreplaceable. They’ll be there if you decide you want to go back and deal with it all again. But I think you’ll find that life will be good on your own, Dave. Life will be good for a long, long time.

All the best,
Don

TO: Billy Squier
FROM: Don Skwatzenschitz
RE: Career/Video Advice

Bill, I just heard the test pressing of Signs of Life your guy sent over — what a record! Even with all the keyboards and the effects and the overall smaller sound (would it have killed you to let Bobby Chouinard have a damn solo? He’s a monster, man!), it still rocks. You were really able to rein Steinman in, to get to his best essence without all the pomposity and orchestral flourishes. He had a good effect on you, too, particularly on the songwriting front — let’s just say it’s a relief to hear an album of yours without a line like “I can see you comin’ on me.”

The first single has got to be “Rock Me Tonite.” Got to be. It’s got that new-wavy vibe the kids dig, plus there’s enough guitar in there to keep your old fans from throwing Schlitz cans at you when you play the Texxas Jam this year. One thing you need, though — a video. And I’m not talking just the performance clip-type things you did for Don’t Say No and Emotions in Motion. There needs to be a set, with furniture, and something of a concept, all the while giving you the opportunity to swagger, strut, and sashay.

Yes, sashay. You have to learn to dance. It’s a new world out there, Billy-Boy. You’re a rock and roll maniac , but you have to get on the floor and you’ve got to dance like you’ve never danced before. I’ve got just the guy to work with you, though — his name is Kenny Ortega. He choreographed Xanadu. Xanadu, Billy! Gene Kelly! Olivia Newton-John! He’s great, totally perfect for you.

Kenny and I have sketched out a storyboard for a “Rock Me Tonite” video, which I’ve sent along with this memo. Just to give you a little taste, here are some things you’ll be expected to do:

• Wake up naked. The chicks will go NUTS! Plus, we’ve got you in satin sheets — so smooth on the legs and belly, don’tcha think? Of course, you’ll put on some clothes — pants first, then a shirt, one with one of those fashionably torn sleeves. I think Mitzi still has one of your Emotions in Motion t-shirts. I know what you’re thinking, and you shouldn’t worry — nobody will be able to tell it’s one of Mitzi’s shirts. She’s washed and dried it probably ten times, so it’s shrunk at least three sizes; it’ll fit you fine. And even if it’s a little loose, it’s not a problem — you’ll be ripping it off yourself pretty quickly.
• Snap your fingers. It’s part of the choreography. Kenny can show you how to do it in a forceful, manly, rockin’ fashion, so you’ll look like you really mean it. In fact, your entire routine in the video will likely be built around your finger-snapping prowess, so I suggest you start practicing. Each time you snap your fingers, throw your arms down, like you intend to loosen your elbow sockets. See what I mean? That’s how a rocker snaps his fingers. We’re even going to have you crawl on the floor on your elbows, so you can keep snappin’.
• Preen. You’ve got that fluffy Kevin Cronin hair, and you need to work it a bit. In front of a mirror. Probably like you do every afternoon, when you get out of bed.
• Rock the pastels. Pastel colors are everywhere — peaches and pinks and powder blues. This video will be bathed in the stuff. It’ll look great, let me tell you.
• Get the band in the video. There will be a performance aspect of this, with your band. It’ll be fun — you’ll get to run into each other and mug for one another, just like you probably do in rehearsals. Couple things to keep in mind — we’ll need the keyboard player to exaggerate playing every note. We’ll also need the bass player to show off his shoulder toward the end of the video — Kenny said he has great shoulders.

So take a look and let me know what you think. If you say it’s a go, Kenny will hook up with you and the boys in LA next week. I’ll be out of town, at the Rod Stewart Impersonators convention in Atlantic City (no, I’m not competing this year — three consecutive wins is enough), so I’ll just see the finished video when it’s done. I know it’ll be great, Bill.

All the Best,
Don

TO: Billy Squier
FROM: Don Skwatzenschitz
RE: Kill the video

Bill, I’ve been trying to call you all weekend, but you’re not picking up the phone, so I’m sending this urgent message via overnight delivery, at considerable personal cost to myself.

Billy, you can’t possibly release that video out into the public. Holy mother of God, what was I thinking? It’s an obscenity, and not in a good way. Offer to pay the record company whatever they want to destroy all copies of it. Do you understand? ALL copies. Every last one. I’ll lend you some money, if you need it.

Please call me. Jesus, Billy, just call me.

Don