LIFE & TIMES AT THE RAINBOW
(April 1984 - Daily News Magazine)

They had long hair, wore blue jeans and drove Rolls-Royces. Money beyond their wildest dreams brought them lifestyles that strained the borders of acceptability. They were a rich and funky elite, the young rock 'n' rollers --- musicians, managers, press agents, friends and the like --- who set the trends and tone for the city in the early '70s.

The Sunset Strip was still alive then, and rock 'n' roll still could be both financially rewarding and decidedly anti-establishment. Bands had not yet turned themselves into multi-national businesses concerned about corporate sponsorship and stock portfolios.

Then, rock 'n' roll was still dangerous, a threat and challenge to the more mainstream elements of society. Led Zeppelin would stay at the Hyatt House --- aptly nicknamed the "Riot House" --- on Sunset Boulevard, and drive motorcycles down the hallways or throw television sets out the window just to kill time and for the sheer thrill of it. This was a time when it seemed like every record sold in the millions, and even people like Alice Cooper or Emerson, Lake and Palmer were making a fortune. The tone was hedonistic and excessive: remember Alice Cooper's rat -skin coat? And the musicians consumed enormous amounts of alcohol and drugs and otherwise indulged their every whim. Rock 'n' roll was hip, happening and rewarding, and everyone in the in-crowd was as caught up in the sheer pleasure of consuming conspicuously as they were in making music.

This was a breed apart from the movie crowd -- although a few younger movie people, like Jack Nicholson and Dennis Hopper, crossed over to the rock scene. The levels of overstatement and ostentation that distinguished the movie world paled beside the excesses of the rock 'n' rollers.

Compare the movie mogul's Porsche with John Lennon's psychedelic Rolls, and you see the difference. The movie people might have been "new money," but the rock 'n' roll crowd was "nouveau new money." Theirs was a life that involved spending nearly every night out, drinking, shmoozing, making deals and checking out other bands. But given their reputation for extravagant excess, most establishment restaurants discouraged their patronage.

The management at a place like Chasen's would have shuddered at the thought of seating Rod Stewart next to Jimmy Stewart; the hat-check girl might have had trouble distinguishing Elton John's furs from Liz Taylor's.

Clearly, the rock 'n' rollers needed a place of their own. And they found it at the Rainbow Bar & Grill. For a time in the early and mid '70s, it was the in-spot, the trendiest of the trendy watering holes, a rock 'n' roll equivalent of the Polo Lounge, the Russian Tea Room and the Bohemian Club all in one.

The Rainbow in those days was usually enveloped in a haze of cigarette and marijuana smoke. It was the place where rock 'n' roll movers and shakers could hang out with their peers without having to worry about dress or conduct codes. It was the place where one was most likely to find the biggest rock 'n' roll names acting out the lifestyle that had made them notorious.

The private club upstairs -- it was called, in typically flashy '70s style, Over the Rainbow -- was a place where the rock 'n' roll powers could relax. "It was originally intended to be an elitist, cozy hangout for us," says Bob Gibson, who conceived of the place and assembled a partnership of rock 'n' roll heavyweights to buy it. Now head of The Group public relations firm, he was then a principle of Gibson and Stromberg, the first great rock 'n' roll P.R. firm. "Back then, you were still hassled if you had long hair. You couldn't get service in a good French restaurant. This was going to be our revenge."

A decade ago everybody went there. Boy, did they. The memories --- and the outrageous stories -- remain. Some of them are even true. One person remembers spotting a famous Southern musician passed out in a plate of spaghetti. Others remember the most famous rock 'n' roll groupies gathered around the bar. The leader of a popular trio at the time was often seen going booth to booth, trying to score cocaine. And, of course, it was the last place anyone saw John Belushi on his feet.

Before the Rainbow opened -- on April 1, 1972 -- the Troubador on Santa Monica Boulevard in West Hollywood was the center of the local music scene. Acts like Elton John, James Taylor and Carol King made their local debuts in that cramped club while the managers, agents and record company executives crowded into the bar. "After a while, we got tired of spending all the money to get drunk at someone else’s place," Gibson recalls. In addition, Troubador owner Doug Weston soon fell out of favor by trying to lock bands into restrictive, long-term contracts. "We said, 'Let's get our own bar."

Gibson --- who had once owned the Cheetah, a trendy psychedelic ballroom on a pier in Ocean Park -- and a group of record company publicists figured that if they owned their own bar it would be that much easier to throw the obligatory lavish parties for their clients. A few others, including producer Lou Adler, were included in the partnership. Elmer Valentine and Mario Maglieri, from the Whisky a Go Go down the street, were brought in to run the operation.

They bought the bar-restaurant, complete with liquor license, for $55,000. The original plan was for the Rainbow to serve gourmet food in plush surroundings. "It was one of the best restaurants in L.A. at the time," recalls Corb Donohue, currently director of artist relations at Motown and one of the original partners.

Unlike almost all the other original investors, Donohue still owns his share. "The idea was to price it moderately and deliver good food and drink without the curled lips we got in more establishment places in town."

The Rainbow Bar & Grill was an instant success.

"It opened for a party for Elton (John); he wanted to be first," Gibson says. "Then the next week we had a party for Rod (Stewart), then the Stones and suddenly we were on the map. Around the world the Rainbow became the place to be."

Soon it seemed like everyone in the music business wanted to own a share in the Rainbow. This led to in-fighting between groups of partners, and the casual exclusivity that had originally been the concept behind the place began to unravel. "Everyone pretty much dropped out after the first year," Donohue recalls. "I stayed in because I was still single and making reasonable money. I also stayed because my father said it was the stupidest thing I'd ever done, but it's paid off like a slot machine."

In the meantime, Adler, Valentine, Maglieri and a handful of managers and label executives bought the Largo next door --- a strip club populated largely by bus loads of tourists -- and turned it into the Roxy. That ensured that the Rainbow would remain a rock 'n' roll hangout, but also meant more street people would fill the place.

But the Rainbow holds on. A quick scan at all the long hair, leather clothes and red eyes on almost any night will tell you that it's still a rock 'n' roll gathering spot.

"It continues to be a remarkable success. The loyalties are astonishing," Donohue says. "It has some sort of strange mystique that I've never understood."