it was Bobby Goldsboro - ‘so nervous he was shaking, then onstage he was totally relaxed’ - or the Four Tops, despite the fact that, according to Nick Kolokithas, Osterberg had spent much of his time off teaching Nick’s parrot Zorba the Greek to shriek the phrases ‘fuck Sally’ and ‘niggers’, terms which the diligently schooled bird mastered just in time for the Four Tops’ visit to the Iguanas’ chalet. Kolokithas admired Osterberg’s drumming, but wasn’t a fan of his animal husbandry, not least Jim’s habit of running his fingers along the bars of Zorba’s cage to create a metallic clang, waking the bird from its slumbers.
Not for the last time, however, nature wreaked its revenge. One fateful day Kolokithas heard unearthly shrieks coming from the living room, ran to investigate and discovered Osterberg and Zorba locked in a deathly embrace, the parrot’s beak firmly clamped on Jim’s finger as the drummer leapt about the room, attempting to shake him off. Finally, Zorba fluttered away, happy to have had vengeance. Nick never discovered who it was who’d unlocked the door to the parrot’s cage. Frankly, there were too many suspects.
Basking in the adulation of the town’s youth, the Iguanas all felt like celebrities, and would often get pestered for autographs on the main drag. But the authorities started to take notice too. There were complaints from the Harbor Springs Council of Churches over the obscene lyrics of ‘Louie Louie’. When the Kingsmen - who took a paternal interest in the young musicians - played the Ponytail, they mentioned how they liked to run around town in their underwear. This planted a seed in Osterberg’s mind; shortly afterwards, the band protested against the gruelling work regime imposed by Jim Douglas by playing in their pyjamas. Osterberg talked Swickerath into a night-time pyjama-clad roar through the town on Don’s motorbike, but when he turned up for the jape clad in a trench coat, it became apparent that Jim Osterberg’s night-time wear was his birthday suit. After a quick blast through Main Street, during which Osterberg enjoyed a naked streak through the idyllic Michigan moonlight, the two sped back to their chalet opposite the Ponytail.
By the end of the summer, the restrictions imposed by Jim Douglas, who was stingy with both pay and perks, were starting to grate. Although they took some satisfaction in petty insubordination - Don Swickerath found a secret passage beneath the Ponytail which allowed him to steal ice cream from under the unsuspecting club owner’s nose - they were all relieved when their contract came to an end, and they moved to Chuck Bowbeer’s Depot House for a couple more shows. The proprietor was taken with both drummer and band, and boasted of his connections at Columbia and other labels. Encouraged by this news, and the growing fan base, they booked into United sound recorders in Detroit to record their cover of Bo Diddley’s ‘Mona’. The B-side of the proposed single provoked some of the band’s first internal arguments. Jim wanted to use his own song ‘Again And Again’ - a dark, almost gothic affair, with shouted, Dylanesque lyrics (‘I walk through a field of bleak death’) underpinned by Kolokithas’s doomy guitar chords - but the rest of the band opted for Nick’s more conventional, Beatles-y ‘I Don’t Know Why’. ‘We didn’t get what Jim was trying to do,’ concedes McLaughlin. ‘He wanted to do more Dylan material, but we only liked his songs once they were covered by the Byrds.’
The Iguanas returned to Ann Arbor in September, with several more high-profile shows lined up and, for most of them, an imminent return to college. Swickerath and Kolokithas already attended the Eastern Michigan University in Ypsilanti; Jim Osterberg had secured a place to study anthropology at the more prestigious University of Michigan, set in gorgeous Victorian buildings in the heart of Ann Arbor. Michigan had a generous
Not for the last time, however, nature wreaked its revenge. One fateful day Kolokithas heard unearthly shrieks coming from the living room, ran to investigate and discovered Osterberg and Zorba locked in a deathly embrace, the parrot’s beak firmly clamped on Jim’s finger as the drummer leapt about the room, attempting to shake him off. Finally, Zorba fluttered away, happy to have had vengeance. Nick never discovered who it was who’d unlocked the door to the parrot’s cage. Frankly, there were too many suspects.
Basking in the adulation of the town’s youth, the Iguanas all felt like celebrities, and would often get pestered for autographs on the main drag. But the authorities started to take notice too. There were complaints from the Harbor Springs Council of Churches over the obscene lyrics of ‘Louie Louie’. When the Kingsmen - who took a paternal interest in the young musicians - played the Ponytail, they mentioned how they liked to run around town in their underwear. This planted a seed in Osterberg’s mind; shortly afterwards, the band protested against the gruelling work regime imposed by Jim Douglas by playing in their pyjamas. Osterberg talked Swickerath into a night-time pyjama-clad roar through the town on Don’s motorbike, but when he turned up for the jape clad in a trench coat, it became apparent that Jim Osterberg’s night-time wear was his birthday suit. After a quick blast through Main Street, during which Osterberg enjoyed a naked streak through the idyllic Michigan moonlight, the two sped back to their chalet opposite the Ponytail.
By the end of the summer, the restrictions imposed by Jim Douglas, who was stingy with both pay and perks, were starting to grate. Although they took some satisfaction in petty insubordination - Don Swickerath found a secret passage beneath the Ponytail which allowed him to steal ice cream from under the unsuspecting club owner’s nose - they were all relieved when their contract came to an end, and they moved to Chuck Bowbeer’s Depot House for a couple more shows. The proprietor was taken with both drummer and band, and boasted of his connections at Columbia and other labels. Encouraged by this news, and the growing fan base, they booked into United sound recorders in Detroit to record their cover of Bo Diddley’s ‘Mona’. The B-side of the proposed single provoked some of the band’s first internal arguments. Jim wanted to use his own song ‘Again And Again’ - a dark, almost gothic affair, with shouted, Dylanesque lyrics (‘I walk through a field of bleak death’) underpinned by Kolokithas’s doomy guitar chords - but the rest of the band opted for Nick’s more conventional, Beatles-y ‘I Don’t Know Why’. ‘We didn’t get what Jim was trying to do,’ concedes McLaughlin. ‘He wanted to do more Dylan material, but we only liked his songs once they were covered by the Byrds.’
The Iguanas returned to Ann Arbor in September, with several more high-profile shows lined up and, for most of them, an imminent return to college. Swickerath and Kolokithas already attended the Eastern Michigan University in Ypsilanti; Jim Osterberg had secured a place to study anthropology at the more prestigious University of Michigan, set in gorgeous Victorian buildings in the heart of Ann Arbor. Michigan had a generous
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