Page 23 - the NOISE March 2013

It’s time you started thinking inside your head that you should stand up and fight
Oh just where will you be when your freedom is dead fourteen years from tonight?
— Spirit, “1984”
frugally. Young offered to lend him money, but Sandy insisted he would rather live hon- estly within his means than be in debt to a friend. So one day Neil declared he was hir- ing Sandy as his personal assistant, to run errands and such. Shortly afterward, Mazzeo realized his life was exactly the same as it was before, and concluded that he was ba- sically getting paid to hang out and party with Neil Young. He supposed it was honest enough work.
In late 1974, Neil Young and Carrie Snodgress went through an ugly breakup. Neil was single again and felt the need to escape the ranch for a while. He and Mazzeo briefly holed up at L.A.’s Chateau Marmont (in the same room John Belushi would later OD in) until Young purchased beachfront property in Malibu.
What Topanga Canyon was in the late 1960s, Malibu was in the mid 1970s: the happening scene. There were some major differences. Topanga was nestled in the mountains, an insular community with one
highway leading through it. The only strang- ers the inhabitants saw were invited guests. Aside from the few actors and musicians looking to lay low, Topanga was populated by weird artists and sculptors living on bare- ly any income.
Malibu was on the ocean smack dab off the Pacific Coast Highway, with one of Cali- fornia’s few beaches that faced south. All of its inhabitants had boatloads of money. Any number of strangers would pass through, mostly movie stars and hangers-on, spread- ing that cash around. Living in Malibu was prestigious, living in Topanga was not.
The Band had set up their Shangri-La Stu- dio in Malibu, and Bob Dylan had a place a few blocks away. Neil Young reconnected with his old band Crazy Horse and they be- gan jamming at the new pad. The big party kicked off.
Another major difference between Topan- ga and Malibu was the choice of substances fueling the scene. Topanga was grass and acid, Malibu was cocaine and cocaine. Lots of cocaine. Malibu’s residents could well afford the drug, and it was everywhere.
Sandy Mazzeo was shocked at the be- havior of some of Neil’s guests. These were movie idols and rock stars that America worshipped, but when the blow came out
The Sandy Mazzeo connection.
they were like pigs at a trough. While one guy was doing his toot, everyone else at the table would eye him hungrily, impatient for their turn. It was disgusting. Mazzeo was like Neil: a couple snorts and he was good for the whole night. He didn’t understand how folks like David Crosby and Rick Danko and Jack Nicholson could vacuum up that much coke without their heads exploding.
It was a wild time. Crazy Horse were av- erage-looking guys, but the women they brought around were all gorgeous and VERY friendly. One morning a few of them were walking along the beach when they came upon The Who’s drummer Keith Moon, dressed in full Nazi regalia and passed out in the sand, the ocean licking at his jackboots.
Mazzeo would spot Bob Dylan at the fring- es of the party, silently observing the goings- on with a bemused grin. He never touched any of the coke or said a word. Neil Young, 28 years old with millions in the bank, had cul- tivated a funky downhome look as camou- flage (he would wear the same reeking shirt for days, then stick his armpit in your face while loaded on tequila and yell, “SMELL THE HORSE!”), but Dylan was way beyond that.
His entire wardrobe could have come off the clearance rack at JC Penney’s. Lately he would show up with his curly hair wrapped in a ridiculous turban. If Neil’s Malibu per- sona was Stinky Hoser In Tijuana, Dylan’s was Minnesota Tourist Just Back From New Delhi. He certainly didn’t resemble an Ameri- can icon. All the ladies cooing over Neil and Crazy Horse completely ignored him. They had no idea who he was, and Mazzeo had a hunch Dylan liked it that way.
One of Mazzeo’s duties in Malibu was scor- ing the dope. Neil Young himself obviously couldn’t be seen taking care of business, so Sandy was introduced to Captain Coconut, purveyor of the finest Peruvian flake cocaine and the gnarliest Hawaiian bud in LA. He was a smooth character whose customers were all millionaires. The scene at his pad was never a hassle.
Mazzeo was Mr. Mellow in all situations il- legal, where steady nerves were an asset. He could deal with the police coherently and nothing ever fazed him. Then he picked up his first package from the Captain. He had never held that much coke in his hands be- fore. His cool was being tested, but Sandy
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