'Interview Room B': The Collaboration Between Phil Spector And Charles Manson

News of a potential musical collaboration between two inmates of Corcoran Prison in California is not something which would ordinarily accrue much in the way of media interest. However when Charles Manson, a long-term inmate famed for his brief career as head of ‘The Family’, which carried out a series of gore-slathered cult killings towards the end of the 1960s, reportedly sent a missive to new arrival Phil Spector, another '60s icon who’d only recently downgraded from ‘gun-waggling pop impresario’ to your common or garden ‘dangerous lunatic’ after his (usually successful) party trick of waving a revolver in the face of whoever happens to have recently irked him quite literally backfired, leaving the contents of actress Lana Clarkson’s head splattered across the producer’s apartment walls like a stroppily chucked trifle, the media sat up.

Apparently no sooner had Spector had his trademark novelty wig ripped off, had his wizened face snapped for a mugshot and been trussed up in a standard issue prison tracksuit than Manson had got in touch asking for tips on songwriting. Hal Lifson, a spokesman for Spector, hastily quoted Spector as being ‘disgusted’ and declared that no reply from the producer would be forthcoming.

This initial note, however, did lead to a brief correspondence which, in turn, led to an informal meeting between the two which, in turn, has led to a series of musical collaborations. The fruits of these collaborations, Scunt can exclusively reveal, have been committed to tape and Spector and Manson are currently in talks with a number of high-profile record companies in what Lifson has referred to as ‘a concerted effort to get these songs released in the form of a full-length album so that the public can see that there is a great deal more to the pair than just extreme psychotic episodes and senseless murder.’

Full details of the record which, according to the sticker on the tape at least, is provisionally titled 'Interview Room B (Add Date, Interview Suspect And Investigative Prison Officer As Appropriate)', are to be released to the media in the forthcoming weeks. Here at Scunt however we have been able to use out extensive network of prison contacts to obtain a copy of the recordings.

So what do they sound like? The first thing the listener notices is that all the hallmarks of both Manson’s unique brand of charismatic insanity and also Spector’s ‘wall of sound’ are present, albeit, so to speak, a ‘prison wall of sound’. Nowhere is this more obvious than the opener, the poor-taste ‘Staying Alive’, an ill-advised cover of the Bee Gee’s 70’s hit, which has clearly been put together using only the prison's sole cheap Casio keyboard and, in place of a drum kit, a cardboard box with a towel over it being hit with a shoe. Instead of the usual choir of backing vocalists that traditionally marked Spector’s ‘sound’, a handful of fellow inmates scream at apparently random intervals, seemingly more concerned about ‘torching the old barn’ and ‘Big Poppa Satan coming through the ceiling’ than the disco-nightlife content of Gibbs’ lyrics. Manson too hastily loses interest in the original’s words and, after the second chorus, switches from singing to manic laughter, continuing to do so until the songs clatters to a close and then for a further twenty minutes during which Spector can be heard in the background pleading with Manson to calm down, then laughing himself, and finally crying. It is, by any standards, a bold opening track.

The remainder of the record is somewhat less striking. ‘Prison Shower’, for instance, will disappoint listeners hoping for some seamy gossip regarding the more squalid aspects of celebrity incarceration: it’s a song which is as innocuous it is self-explanatory: ‘First I get myself nice and soapy,’ coos Manson, his singing voice always threatening to teeter into insane giggling, ‘then I shampoo and rinse my goatee.’ The song then goes on to describe Manson’s process of lathering up, rinsing off, and then, at the song’s close, towelling himself down. A song simply titled ‘Tate’ is similarly disappointing, relating as it does a seemingly random list of some of the permanent collection at London’s Tate Museum.

Likewise, only in the final two tracks does Spector’s ‘sound’ begin to become more expansive. A clearly hastily cobbled-together version of ‘Don’t Have Any More, Mrs Moore’, complete with Manson attempting a cringe-inducing cockney accent, was no doubt recorded solely because one of the prisoners had managed to smuggle a pair of spoons into the prison’s ‘recording studio’. It is, however, an improvement.

The final track, however, comes closest of all to replicating Spector’s ‘wall of sound’ and is in effect a duet between the two lifers. Clearly dissatisfied with the prison’s rudimentary recording equipment and the perfunctory selection of instruments on offer, Spector provides backing for a cover of the Gilbert and Sullivan song, ‘Willow, Tit-Willow’, by imitating all the instrumentation, over which Manson jabbers excitedly on a range of unconnected subjects including ‘the singing cheeses’, ‘the creeping skunk-butcher’ and ‘racial Armageddon’.

A leaked statement from Antonio Reid, Chairman and CEO of the Island Music Group, declares the label’s interest in releasing the album. It says: ‘I have enjoyed listening to these recordings. They will no doubt come to be seen as some of the most important milestones in the history of popular music. I wish to sign Manson and Spector immediately. Nothing is wrong. Do not send help. I do not have a gun aimed at my head.’