And Party Every Day: The Inside Story of Casablanca Records Read Online Free PDF Page B

maybe a little less insistently enthusiastic, more reflective about what he doubted or didn’t like. We’d discuss other labels, or artists and their managers, occasionally drifting into the realm of politics. (Neil was a fan of Richard Nixon; he believed that Nixon’s economic policies helped put money in his pocket.)
    The gatherings would go on for an hour or more and were often attended by people from various departments, including Nancy Lewis (who avoided the drugs but usually supplied the Blue Nun) and Sherrie Levy from publicity, Jerry Sharell from promotions, Joe Fields from sales, Jude Lyons from creative services, as well as me, Neil, Cecil, and, on occasion, Buck. No business environment I’ve been in before or since has created a more intimate bond among coworkers than those hangout sessions in Neil’s office did. It was us against the world. It was family, and that’s exactly the way Neil wanted it.
    Neil hadn’t always been so expansive or casual. When he started at Buddah, he had been far more conservative, insisting, for instance, that all the women—with no exceptions—wear skirts. He was so militant about it that during one of his trips to the West Coast, all the women in the office wore pants as a form of rebellion, but his secretary ratted them out—she called Neil and told him about the fashion coup. Drugs and that whole scene were completely verboten as well. Anyone caught doing drugs in the office was fired. In those early days, despite the fact that he was married to Beth (his first wife), Neil had lots of girlfriends on the side, one of whom, Mitzi, worked for Buddah. Neil was more serious about Mitzi than the others, and they would often stay late at the office and have sex on his desk. At some point in 1970, Mitzi convinced Neil to start smoking pot. Not long after that, Buddah released a debut LP by a singer/songwriter named Biff Rose. A press party was held in a small recording studio, and it was the first time Neil endorsed open drug use at a company function. He wanted tons of joints to be on hand, and Soozin Kazick, Buddah’s publicist, had to roll them all herself at home during the evenings leading up to the party.

    One evening, a few months after I had joined the company, Neil walked into my office and informed me that I wasn’t doing my job well. He wasn’t screaming, and he didn’t appear to be mad; his voice completely matter-of-fact, he told me I wasn’t living up to his expectations. I’d been blindsided. I turned green as my stomach rolled over. How could he say this? Here I was, putting in fifteen-hour days (and loving it), visiting record stores and radio stations that had never seen a representative of the company before. I was establishing myself and Buddah at all three of the area’s major rock stations. WLIR in Long Island had been particularly easy for me, as I was good friends with both the program director, Mike Harrison, who coined the term AOR (album-oriented radio) and his eventual replacement, Ken Kohl, with whom I’d gone to college.
    I couldn’t believe that Neil was disappointed with my work. When I asked him what he meant, he pointed to my expense account. I cringed. And then I began to get mad, because I knew that I was always very frugal with my expenditures. How could he possibly think I was being wasteful? Then Neil said, “You’re not spending enough.” I blinked. Huh? “Larry, you can’t do your job well unless you’re spending money, and you’re not spending enough of it.” I thought that by being money conscious I was helping the company. But, what the hell, if he wanted me to spend money, I would accommodate him.
    I began to spend more freely. I found that it was pretty easy to have breakfast with a DJ, lunch with a music director, dinner with a program director and drinks with a writer, all on Buddah’s dime. Sending chocolates to the secretaries, buying gifts for the elevator operators—it all became second nature to me. I would