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Mackenzie Phillips' revelations about her Papa prompt us to revisit this snapshot of life among pop's royalty in the heyday of Swinging London, summer 1966.--Barney Hoskyns, Editorial Director, Rock's Backpages

The first thing you discover about the Mamas and Papas is that they are not--although Papa John is married to Mama Michelle. The beautiful Holly Michelle Gilliam was, unfortunately, the one member of the folk family unable to make the present British holiday and is at present visiting the Mexican family who cared for her as a child.

When I located the group last Thursday evening they had been entertaining Beatles John Lennon and Paul McCartney until the early hours in a large residence off Montague Square, formerly Mick Jagger's abode.

Papa Denny answered the door--he does things like that--and smiling dreamily, he showed me up three flights of stairs climbed by him as though in a trance. We entered a vast room hung with oil paintings of old soldiers--the kind that never die--and seated behind a huge table was the staggering sight of Mama Cass in a yellow nightie, with a single pink plastic roller perched upon her head.

"Sorry about this," smiled Cass, combing her lank tresses, "but John and Paul didn't leave until about 8 o'clock and I just had to wash my hair."

Cass has a bit of a "thing" about John. "He was charming, courteous and intelligent. Witty, amusing and entertaining," extolled Cass. "It was like everything had been motivating towards that meeting last night.

"It was kind of like a climax for us--meeting the Beatles. We just sat around and talked and Paul played the piano for hours on end. They were everything I hoped they would be."

"I expected them to be a little nasty," said Papa John, who was wearing dark glasses and what looked suspiciously like a white tea cosy on his head. "I don't really mean nasty. But they were so natural."

Surprise

The popular conception of what young millionaires should be like and what the Beatles turn out to be always seems to come as a refreshing surprise to visiting American artists.

In another corner of the room I was introduced to Doris Day's son Terry Melcher, who was thrashing frantically at a Spanish guitar. A lovely blonde with green eyes, matching sweater and blue cord trousers mysteriously appeared and poured me a cup of the most revolting tea I have ever tasted, from a huge blue pot.

We talked about "folk-people." "Donovan is our kind of person," said John, removing his dark glasses, and with his drooping moustache and rustic hat he looked like a mountain man from a John Steinbeck novel.

"Everyone loves Don in the States and although he has not had a hit out there recently, the clubs are packed when he appears."

Cass had a few kind words to say about Andrew Oldham. "Andrew has done so much for us over here that we never knew about. He's paid for advertisements out of his own pocket and spoken well about us to influential people. He even risked his freedom for me by taking me to Buckingham Palace (Andrew's habit of driving through the Palace gates in his Rolls has already made one National paper and it seems likely that his next escapade will mean the Bloody Tower).

"Now I know the Queen's at home. Do you know how to see if the Queen is at home?" Cass challenged John.

"A flag?" hazarded John, giving the right answer.

"No, she waves," pouted Cass, and, on noticing me scribbling notes, said: "I don't trust English reporters--they write down everything."

"He wrote that down," observed John with enthusiasm.

Food

Rattlings in the kitchen seemed to produce vibrations in Cass, who is very strong on vibrations. She gets them on stage, created by a feeling between an audience and herself.

"I hope that's food," said Cass, hearkening to the clatter of crockery. A monstrous pile of luncheon meat sandwedges appeared and Cass dug in.

"Really the press here is marvelous," said Cass. "I went to Covent Garden to buy flowers at 6:30 in the morning and all the lorry drivers knew us. That was nice. It would never happen in the States."

A rather abstruse discussion began as to the origins of Mama and Papa music and John monopolized the conversation with remarks like "all our songs are written from our own experiences"..."the song writers of today deal with existence rather than imagination"..."one of the reasons we took this house with virtually no furniture is that staying in luxury hotels only leads to a withdrawal from life."

Name game

Papa John volunteered the story of how the group got their name. "About ten of us got together and went for a holiday, camping in the Virgin Isles. We lived on the beaches. The girls did the cooking and we got the food. It was kind of a Mamas and Papas existence. It was the beginning of our getting together. I realized right from the start that Denny's musical attitude and his voice would blend with mine and the same with Cass.

"But we never settled on the name until we were back in LA and there was a TV documentary about 'Hell's Angels.' This is one of the huge motor bike gangs who thunder down the freeways in the city.

"The police are almost powerless against them and when one gets into trouble, Sal Mineo zooms downtown on his bike and bails him out. He is making a film about them.

"One of the Angels was interviewed about the group's girls on TV and he said: 'Some people call our girls dirty but we call them Mama's.' That decided it for us."

In the "out" scene with the group are the Four Seasons, who they do not dig, and Gene Pitney, whom Cass describes as having "a dollar sign hung around every note he sings." John described Bob Dylan's "Rainy Day Women" as "carpentry music," and a strange remark was passed about not being able to obtain beef sausages in the States!

Denny, who watched progress through half-closed eyes in an amused bewilderment, contributed his say on the sausage scene.

"Now that's not so," he drawled languidly. "I'm sure that somewhere in that great country of ours, there is a place where you can buy sausages."

It's not yet certain whom the Mamas and Papas will appear with when they return from their autumn tour. Cass mentioned that the Hollies wanted to but they wanted top billing.

"Does being top really bother you?" I asked.

"No, it doesn't bother us," smiled Cass, adding sweetly: "We just don't go out unless we're top, that's all."

It's a big man who puts Cass down or sends her up. I wonder how John Lennon got on.

Backing group

One thing is certain and that is when the group returns here they will have their own backing unit.

"Fast Eddy (drums) is a kind of juvenile delinquent who steals hub caps during the concerts," grinned John. "Joe Osborne (bass) has played for artists like Johnny Rivers and Rick Nelson and he's the best and 'The Doctor' (lead guitar) is a friend of mine who specializes in deafening bird calls. He was frightened by an aviary in the Santiago Zoo when he was a child."

The group are moving on shortly for distant parts! "Well, we thought about going to Paris, but who wants to go to Paris?" "asked John, opening his hands expressively. "So by the time people read this we will be in Tangier."

Nice friendly folk, the Mamas and Papas--I look forward to meeting the other attractive quarter in the autumn.

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