Bob Weir Sits in with Norah Jones at Outside Lands

Bob Weir with Norah Jones at Outside Lands.

Towards the end of her set at Outside Lands on Saturday, Norah Jones surprised just about everyone when she brought out the Grateful Dead's Bob Weir to assist on a cover of the Dead's "It Must Have Been the Roses." Weir was not scheduled to perform at the festival otherwise, although he was seen on Friday night enjoying a set by Neil Young and Crazy Horse.

"Everybody in Norah's band are just huge Deadheads," guitarist Jason Abraham Roberts told Rolling Stone, directly before taking the stage. "We've actually been playing 'It Must Have Been the Roses' almost every night, because we were like, 'We have to play a Dead song.'"

Roberts met Weir last week when they both performed in Move Me Brightly, an all-star celebration of what would have been Jerry Garcia's 70th birthday, which was filmed at Weir's TRI Studios. After the show, Weir told Roberts that his daughter is a huge Norah Jones fan and that he'd like to take her to Outside Lands to see Jones play. When Roberts invited Weir to sit in – at Jones' suggestion – Weir simply responded, "What guitar should I bring?"

"We're kind of freaking out about it," says Roberts. "Playing a Grateful Dead song, in Golden Gate Park, with a member of the Grateful Dead? It’s pretty crazy."

While Weir headlined Outside Lands in 2010 with his current group, Furthur, the Grateful Dead once staged a number of historic concerts in San Francisco's Golden Gate Park, where Outside Lands is now held.

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Davy Jones Died from Heart Attack

Davy Jones attends the Hollywood Show held at Burbank Airport Marriott.

An autopsy report obtained by the Associated Press confirms that Monkees frontman Davy Jones died of a heart attack. According to the report, the 66-year-old singer had severe build-up in his arteries at the time of his death.

The report shows there were no signs of drugs in Jones' system aside from cannabinoids, a class of drugs that includes marijuana. Those drugs were determined to have played no role in his death on February 29th.

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Davy Jones Died from Heart Attack

Davy Jones attends the Hollywood Show held at Burbank Airport Marriott.

An autopsy report obtained by the Associated Press confirms that Monkees frontman Davy Jones died of a heart attack. According to the report, the 66-year-old singer had severe build-up in his arteries at the time of his death.

The report shows there were no signs of drugs in Jones' system aside from cannabinoids, a class of drugs that includes marijuana. Those drugs were determined to have played no role in his death on February 29th.

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'American Idol' Contestant Jermaine Jones Booted Over Criminal Charges

Jermaine Jones has been kicked off 'American Idol.'

American Idol contestant Jermaine Jones will be kicked off the show tonight after producers learned that the singer lied about his criminal history. The singer confirmed his exit last night in a Twitter post, though his account was deleted within a few hours.

According to TMZ, Jones was arrested twice last year and has outstanding warrants, and one of the incidents involved violence, which was especially troubling to Idol producers. Jones apparently used fake names both times he was arrested.

It also appears that Jones lied about his relationship with his father. Though he told producers that his father abandoned him 10 years ago, his father has told TMZ that they see each other regularly. Suspicions about this issue led Idol producers to more closely investigate Jones' background, which led to the discovery of his arrests last year.

This isn't the first time an Idol contestant was dismissed over past criminal charges. In season two, the show dismissed semifinalist Jared Andrews on assault charges and finalist Corey Clark over pending battery charges. Another contestant, Frenchie Davis, was kicked off the show when sexual photos of the singer turned up online.

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'American Idol' Contestant Jermaine Jones Booted Over Criminal Charges

Jermaine Jones has been kicked off 'American Idol.'

American Idol contestant Jermaine Jones will be kicked off the show tonight after producers learned that the singer lied about his criminal history. The singer confirmed his exit last night in a Twitter post, though his account was deleted within a few hours.

According to TMZ, Jones was arrested twice last year and has outstanding warrants, and one of the incidents involved violence, which was especially troubling to Idol producers. Jones apparently used fake names both times he was arrested.

It also appears that Jones lied about his relationship with his father. Though he told producers that his father abandoned him 10 years ago, his father has told TMZ that they see each other regularly. Suspicions about this issue led Idol producers to more closely investigate Jones' background, which led to the discovery of his arrests last year.

This isn't the first time an Idol contestant was dismissed over past criminal charges. In season two, the show dismissed semifinalist Jared Andrews on assault charges and finalist Corey Clark over pending battery charges. Another contestant, Frenchie Davis, was kicked off the show when sexual photos of the singer turned up online.

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My Date With Davy Jones

Alanna Nash with Davy Jones in 1967. 'Win a Day with Davy Jones' in Tiger Beat Magazine, September, 1967

The year was 1967, and like all nearly 17-year-old daydream believers, I thought anything was possible. Take, for example, a contest running on my favorite Louisville radio station: "Win a Day with Davy Jones." Twenty-five words or less why you wanted to fly to Hollywood for a dream date with the Monkees' main squeeze.

How hard could it be? Nobody could resist the group’s hummable hits or the wacky camp of their eponymous television show. And if some compared them unfavorably to the Beatles (the “Pre-Fab Four,” they’d called them for their assemblage for TV), Davy’s rich, theatrical baritone was one of the most distinctive voices of the era. Bottom line, though, it was The Face – equal parts angel, imp, and brooding romantic – that beckoned the girls and made them cry.

There was, however, one small glitch: I'd interviewed Ken Douglas, the DJ who promoted the contest, for my high school paper. If I won, all my friends would say he gave it to me. And so I signed the entry forms with a fake name, Stephanie Johns (it sounded vaguely literary), and used the address of my best friend. Who would know?

Ten entries later, I laid on my parents' couch with my turquoise transistor radio pressed to my ear as Ken announced the winner's name on the air. "And the lucky girl is…" he teased, pausing for dramatic effect.

"Stephanie Johns," I said out loud.

"Stephanie Johns!" Ken echoed through the tiny speaker.

Oh, holy God. I'm a Believer.

That June, I ironed my hair, threw on my groovy brown-and-white striped mini-dress, stepped into my white fishnet stockings, and boarded the plane for LAX with Ken and my mother as chaperones.

When we landed, I tried to hide my excitement. But somewhere over Nebraska, I'd started to fantasize. Davy might actually like me. He might really, really like me!

But wait, who were all these other girls standing under the "Davy Jones" banner with their mothers? It was then that I realized the ugly truth. The "winner" was A Little Bit Me, A Little Bit You. It was a group date, not a groupie date. Girls were there from everywhere – Miami, Cleveland, even Toronto. Twenty-three of us, each one thinking she was THE ONE, and giving all the others the evil eye.

Davy Jones in 1967 greeting contest winners.

It was at the International Hotel that we got our first look at our mop-topped host. He had the teen idol dreaminess, all right, but 21-year-old Davy, whose early ambition was to be a jockey, was, at five-feet-three, even shorter than I imagined. As we all crowded around him in the lobby, I angled in to get a closer look, and stared down into the crown of his chestnut-colored head. He wore a red-and-white striped jersey, and for reasons I never understood, a lei of flowers. 

"All right, girls, it's gonna be a big day!" he enthused. Teenage squeals filled the air. "You're gonna be mine for the next 12 hours..." And then he tried to say something about Marineland, a recording studio (where Micky Dolenz would make an appearance), a theater (where we would see outtakes of the Monkees' television series), and a pizza and spaghetti dinner – but no one could hear him for the screaming. Then we all calmed down and climbed aboard a private motor coach.

At Marineland, the first stop, Davy was in his element. Porpoises jumped at a Monkee's command. He smiled, and the sun shone brighter. But though the fan magazine Tiger Beat would later report that Davy "thought the girls were loads of fun every minute," I had my doubts. He spent more time cracking jokes with his handlers than he did with us.

"Davy!" called the Phoenix winner, holding up the mic of her tape recorder, "Say something for everyone in Arizona!"

"Something for everyone in Arizona," came Davy's reply.

As luck had it, Ken the DJ had known Davy years before in England. Later at the hotel, as each girl scooted close to him on the lobby couch for a souvenir photo, Davy and Ken renewed their acquaintance, and Ken smuggled me past my dagger-eyed companions for an after-hours Monkee tryst, albeit a journalistic one: A one-on-one interview for my school paper.

In private, Davy was, by comparison, the picture of monk-like contemplation. Yes, he enjoyed having his own contest but, "The thing we have going for us is that when we're on that stage, we are as one." Of course, time was ticking down on that one. The series was canceled the following year, Peter Tork and Mike Neismith soon exited the group, and by the dawn of the Seventies, the Monkees were headed for the cutout racks. 

But Davy and I had one last hook-up. In the early Eighties, I was a partner in a tiny radio production company, where I had the great Brenda Lee under contract. One afternoon, I answered the phone to find Davy Jones and Tommy Boyce, the co-writer of many of the Monkees' hits, on the line. Davy explained that both he and Brenda were popular in Japan, as much for their diminutive height as their talent. Tommy, who was living in Nashville, mentioned that the former Monkee was between gigs, and thought that Davy and Little Miss Dynamite might make ideal duet partners. Could I, as the producer of "Brenda Lee's Country Profile," arrange an introduction?

Davy hadn't realized he was chatting with a woman he'd once snuggled close to on a hotel sofa, and he chuckled when "Stephanie" recalled the moment. But unfortunately, his date with Brenda led to no more than our own had 15 years earlier, when fishnets were the first word in mod, and the Monkees seemed poised to rule the world.

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Exclusive: Michael Nesmith Remembers Davy Jones

Michael Nesmith performs in Marfa, Texas.

Michael Nesmith (best known as the Monkee in the green wool hat) has largely stayed out of the limelight since the group split over forty years ago, though he released a series of acclaimed country-rock albums in the early 1970s and helped lay the groundwork for MTV in the early 1980s. His mother invented Liquid Paper, and left him the bulk of her massive fortune – giving him little incentive to join the Monkees on their many reunion tours. In 1996, however, he shocked fans by reuniting with the band for the album Justus and a brief European tour the next year. That was the last time he spent any real time with Davy Jones, but the singer's death brought back a flood of memories and he agreed to speak with Rolling Stone through e-mail. 

What's your first memory of meeting Davy?
I think, not certainly, that I met him on the stage where we were doing the screen tests. He seemed confident and part of the proceedings, charming, outgoing.

It's clear the producers cast each of you for different reasons. Why do you think they selected Davy? What did he bring to the group that was unique?
I think David was the first one selected and they built the show around him. English (all the rage), attractive, and a very accomplished singer and dancer, right off the Broadway stage from a hit musical. None of the other three of us had any of those chops. 

Is there one anecdote that stands out in your mind that personifies Monkee-mania at its peak?
It was nonstop from the moment the show aired, so there was a constant hyper-interest in the group of us – the meter was maxxed and stayed that way for a couple of years. Once in Cleveland we strayed from our bodyguards into the plaza where a train station, or some public transport hub, was letting out thousands of fans for the concert we were on the way to give. They spotted David and the chase was on. We were like the rabbit – fleeing in blind panic. We saw a police car and jumped in the back seat, blip, blip, blip, blip, – squashed together shoulder to shoulder in our concert duds, and slammed the door just as the tsunami of pink arms closed over the car's windows. We were relieved. The cops were freaked out. They drove us to the station and our guys picked us up and we did the show. But it was like that when the four of us were together, Davy in front – pandemonium. One missed step and we were running.

Correct me if I'm wrong, but the story tends to go that you (and to a slightly lesser extent Peter) got frustrated pretty early on with your lack of control over the Monkees music. Davy had a Broadway background and was pretty used to following orders. Did he share your frustrations at first? If not, explain how his views evolved to the point that he was eager to join your battle against Kirshner and the label.
You are not completely wrong, but "frustrated" is the wrong word. We were confused, especially me. But all of us shared the desire to play the songs we were singing. Everyone was accomplished – the notion I was the only musician is one of those rumors that got started and wont stop – but it was not true. Peter was a more accomplished player than I by an order of magnitude, Micky and Davy played and sang and danced and understood music.  Micky had learned to play drums, and we were quite capable of playing the type of songs that were selected for the show. We were also kids with our own taste in music and were happier performing songs we liked – and/or wrote – than songs that were handed to us. It made for a better performance. It was more fun. That this became a bone of contention seemed strange to me, and I think to some extent to each of us – sort of "what's the big deal – why wont you let us play the songs we are singing?" This confusion of course betrayed an ignorance of the powers that were and the struggle that was going on for control between the show's producers in Hollywood and the New York-based publishing company owned by Screen Gems. The producers backed us and David went along. None of us could have fought the battles we did without the explicit support of the show's producers. 

Some have described the movie Head as "career suicide." How did you feel about it at the time? Did you have concerns that it would alienate and confuse a huge segment of your audience? Looking back, was it a mistake?
Looking back it was inevitable. Don't forget that by the time Head came out the Monkees were a pariah. There was no confusion about this. We were on the cosine of the line of approbation, from acceptance to rejection – the cause for this is another discussion not for here – and it was basically over. Head was a swan song. We wrote it with Jack and Bob – another story not for here – and we liked it. It was an authentic representation of a phenomenon we were a part of that was winding down. It was very far from suicide – even though it may have looked like that. There were some people in power, and not a few critics, who thought there was another decision that could have been made.  But I believe the movie was an inevitability – there was no other movie to be made that would not have been ghastly under the circumstances. 

In your estimation, why did the Monkees burn out so quickly? The whole thing ended after little more than two years.
That is a long discussion – and I can only offer one perspective of a complex pattern of events. The most I care to generalize at this point is to say there was a type of sibling suppression that was taking place unseen. The older sibling followed the Beatles and Stones and the sophistication of a burgeoning new world order – the younger siblings were still playing on the floor watching television. The older siblings sang and danced and shouted and pointed to a direction they assumed the Monkees were not part of and pushed the younger sibling into silence. The Monkees went into that closet. This is all retrospect, of course – important to focus on the premise that "no one thought the Monkees up." The Monkees happened – the effect of a cause still unseen, and dare I say it, still at work and still overlooked as it applies to present day. 

Do you think Davy enjoyed the experience of being a Monkee more than you did? If so, why?
I can only speculate. For me David was The Monkees. They were his band. We were his side men. He was the focal point of the romance, the lovely boy, innocent and approachable. Micky was his Bob Hope. In those two – like Hope and Crosby – was the heartbeat of the show. 

The incident in which you punched a hole in a wall during a fight with Kirshner has been told so many times over the years it almost feels apocryphal. At the very least, the notion you were fighting about "Sugar Sugar" seems to have been debunked. What's your memory of that incident? Did Davy ever convey a feeling to you were rocking the boat too much after scenes like that?
David continually admonished me to calm down and do what I was told. From day one. His advice to me was to approach the show like a job, do my best, and shut up, take the money, and go home. Micky the same. I had no idea what they were talking about at the time, or why. The hole in the wall had nothing to do with "Sugar Sugar." It was the release of an angry reaction to a personal affront. The stories that circulate are as you say – apocryphal.

Do you have a favorite Davy Jones-sung Monkees song? If so, what makes it your favorite?
"Daydream Believer." The sensibility of the song is [composer] John Stewart at his best, IMHO – it has a beautiful undercurrent of melancholy with a delightful frosting, no taste of bitterness. David's cheery vocal leads us all in a great refrain of living on love alone.

What's your fondest memory of your time with Davy?
He told great jokes. Very nicely developed sense of the absurd – Pythonesque – actually, Beyond the Fringe – but you get my point. We would rush to each other anytime we heard a new joke and tell it to each other and laugh like crazy. David had a wonderful laugh, infectious. He would double up, crouching over his knees, and laugh till he ran out of breath. Whether he told the joke or not. We both did.

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My Date With Davy Jones

Alanna Nash with Davy Jones in 1967. 'Win a Day with Davy Jones' in Tiger Beat Magazine, September, 1967

The year was 1967, and like all nearly 17-year-old daydream believers, I thought anything was possible. Take, for example, a contest running on my favorite Louisville radio station: "Win a Day with Davy Jones." Twenty-five words or less why you wanted to fly to Hollywood for a dream date with the Monkees' main squeeze.

How hard could it be? Nobody could resist the group’s hummable hits or the wacky camp of their eponymous television show. And if some compared them unfavorably to the Beatles (the “Pre-Fab Four,” they’d called them for their assemblage for TV), Davy’s rich, theatrical baritone was one of the most distinctive voices of the era. Bottom line, though, it was The Face – equal parts angel, imp, and brooding romantic – that beckoned the girls and made them cry.

There was, however, one small glitch: I'd interviewed Ken Douglas, the DJ who promoted the contest, for my high school paper. If I won, all my friends would say he gave it to me. And so I signed the entry forms with a fake name, Stephanie Johns (it sounded vaguely literary), and used the address of my best friend. Who would know?

Ten entries later, I laid on my parents' couch with my turquoise transistor radio pressed to my ear as Ken announced the winner's name on the air. "And the lucky girl is…" he teased, pausing for dramatic effect.

"Stephanie Johns," I said out loud.

"Stephanie Johns!" Ken echoed through the tiny speaker.

Oh, holy God. I'm a Believer.

That June, I ironed my hair, threw on my groovy brown-and-white striped mini-dress, stepped into my white fishnet stockings, and boarded the plane for LAX with Ken and my mother as chaperones.

When we landed, I tried to hide my excitement. But somewhere over Nebraska, I'd started to fantasize. Davy might actually like me. He might really, really like me!

But wait, who were all these other girls standing under the "Davy Jones" banner with their mothers? It was then that I realized the ugly truth. The "winner" was A Little Bit Me, A Little Bit You. It was a group date, not a groupie date. Girls were there from everywhere – Miami, Cleveland, even Toronto. Twenty-three of us, each one thinking she was THE ONE, and giving all the others the evil eye.

Davy Jones in 1967 greeting contest winners.

It was at the International Hotel that we got our first look at our mop-topped host. He had the teen idol dreaminess, all right, but 21-year-old Davy, whose early ambition was to be a jockey, was, at five-feet-three, even shorter than I imagined. As we all crowded around him in the lobby, I angled in to get a closer look, and stared down into the crown of his chestnut-colored head. He wore a red-and-white striped jersey, and for reasons I never understood, a lei of flowers. 

"All right, girls, it's gonna be a big day!" he enthused. Teenage squeals filled the air. "You're gonna be mine for the next 12 hours..." And then he tried to say something about Marineland, a recording studio (where Micky Dolenz would make an appearance), a theater (where we would see outtakes of the Monkees' television series), and a pizza and spaghetti dinner – but no one could hear him for the screaming. Then we all calmed down and climbed aboard a private motor coach.

At Marineland, the first stop, Davy was in his element. Porpoises jumped at a Monkee's command. He smiled, and the sun shone brighter. But though the fan magazine Tiger Beat would later report that Davy "thought the girls were loads of fun every minute," I had my doubts. He spent more time cracking jokes with his handlers than he did with us.

"Davy!" called the Phoenix winner, holding up the mic of her tape recorder, "Say something for everyone in Arizona!"

"Something for everyone in Arizona," came Davy's reply.

As luck had it, Ken the DJ had known Davy years before in England. Later at the hotel, as each girl scooted close to him on the lobby couch for a souvenir photo, Davy and Ken renewed their acquaintance, and Ken smuggled me past my dagger-eyed companions for an after-hours Monkee tryst, albeit a journalistic one: A one-on-one interview for my school paper.

In private, Davy was, by comparison, the picture of monk-like contemplation. Yes, he enjoyed having his own contest but, "The thing we have going for us is that when we're on that stage, we are as one." Of course, time was ticking down on that one. The series was canceled the following year, Peter Tork and Mike Neismith soon exited the group, and by the dawn of the Seventies, the Monkees were headed for the cutout racks. 

But Davy and I had one last hook-up. In the early Eighties, I was a partner in a tiny radio production company, where I had the great Brenda Lee under contract. One afternoon, I answered the phone to find Davy Jones and Tommy Boyce, the co-writer of many of the Monkees' hits, on the line. Davy explained that both he and Brenda were popular in Japan, as much for their diminutive height as their talent. Tommy, who was living in Nashville, mentioned that the former Monkee was between gigs, and thought that Davy and Little Miss Dynamite might make ideal duet partners. Could I, as the producer of "Brenda Lee's Country Profile," arrange an introduction?

Davy hadn't realized he was chatting with a woman he'd once snuggled close to on a hotel sofa, and he chuckled when "Stephanie" recalled the moment. But unfortunately, his date with Brenda led to no more than our own had 15 years earlier, when fishnets were the first word in mod, and the Monkees seemed poised to rule the world.

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Exclusive: Michael Nesmith Remembers Davy Jones

Michael Nesmith performs in Marfa, Texas.

Michael Nesmith (best known as the Monkee in the green wool hat) has largely stayed out of the limelight since the group split over forty years ago, though he released a series of acclaimed country-rock albums in the early 1970s and helped lay the groundwork for MTV in the early 1980s. His mother invented Liquid Paper, and left him the bulk of her massive fortune – giving him little incentive to join the Monkees on their many reunion tours. In 1996, however, he shocked fans by reuniting with the band for the album Justus and a brief European tour the next year. That was the last time he spent any real time with Davy Jones, but the singer's death brought back a flood of memories and he agreed to speak with Rolling Stone through e-mail. 

What's your first memory of meeting Davy?
I think, not certainly, that I met him on the stage where we were doing the screen tests. He seemed confident and part of the proceedings, charming, outgoing.

It's clear the producers cast each of you for different reasons. Why do you think they selected Davy? What did he bring to the group that was unique?
I think David was the first one selected and they built the show around him. English (all the rage), attractive, and a very accomplished singer and dancer, right off the Broadway stage from a hit musical. None of the other three of us had any of those chops. 

Is there one anecdote that stands out in your mind that personifies Monkee-mania at its peak?
It was nonstop from the moment the show aired, so there was a constant hyper-interest in the group of us – the meter was maxxed and stayed that way for a couple of years. Once in Cleveland we strayed from our bodyguards into the plaza where a train station, or some public transport hub, was letting out thousands of fans for the concert we were on the way to give. They spotted David and the chase was on. We were like the rabbit – fleeing in blind panic. We saw a police car and jumped in the back seat, blip, blip, blip, blip, – squashed together shoulder to shoulder in our concert duds, and slammed the door just as the tsunami of pink arms closed over the car's windows. We were relieved. The cops were freaked out. They drove us to the station and our guys picked us up and we did the show. But it was like that when the four of us were together, Davy in front – pandemonium. One missed step and we were running.

Correct me if I'm wrong, but the story tends to go that you (and to a slightly lesser extent Peter) got frustrated pretty early on with your lack of control over the Monkees music. Davy had a Broadway background and was pretty used to following orders. Did he share your frustrations at first? If not, explain how his views evolved to the point that he was eager to join your battle against Kirshner and the label.
You are not completely wrong, but "frustrated" is the wrong word. We were confused, especially me. But all of us shared the desire to play the songs we were singing. Everyone was accomplished – the notion I was the only musician is one of those rumors that got started and wont stop – but it was not true. Peter was a more accomplished player than I by an order of magnitude, Micky and Davy played and sang and danced and understood music.  Micky had learned to play drums, and we were quite capable of playing the type of songs that were selected for the show. We were also kids with our own taste in music and were happier performing songs we liked – and/or wrote – than songs that were handed to us. It made for a better performance. It was more fun. That this became a bone of contention seemed strange to me, and I think to some extent to each of us – sort of "what's the big deal – why wont you let us play the songs we are singing?" This confusion of course betrayed an ignorance of the powers that were and the struggle that was going on for control between the show's producers in Hollywood and the New York-based publishing company owned by Screen Gems. The producers backed us and David went along. None of us could have fought the battles we did without the explicit support of the show's producers. 

Some have described the movie Head as "career suicide." How did you feel about it at the time? Did you have concerns that it would alienate and confuse a huge segment of your audience? Looking back, was it a mistake?
Looking back it was inevitable. Don't forget that by the time Head came out the Monkees were a pariah. There was no confusion about this. We were on the cosine of the line of approbation, from acceptance to rejection – the cause for this is another discussion not for here – and it was basically over. Head was a swan song. We wrote it with Jack and Bob – another story not for here – and we liked it. It was an authentic representation of a phenomenon we were a part of that was winding down. It was very far from suicide – even though it may have looked like that. There were some people in power, and not a few critics, who thought there was another decision that could have been made.  But I believe the movie was an inevitability – there was no other movie to be made that would not have been ghastly under the circumstances. 

In your estimation, why did the Monkees burn out so quickly? The whole thing ended after little more than two years.
That is a long discussion – and I can only offer one perspective of a complex pattern of events. The most I care to generalize at this point is to say there was a type of sibling suppression that was taking place unseen. The older sibling followed the Beatles and Stones and the sophistication of a burgeoning new world order – the younger siblings were still playing on the floor watching television. The older siblings sang and danced and shouted and pointed to a direction they assumed the Monkees were not part of and pushed the younger sibling into silence. The Monkees went into that closet. This is all retrospect, of course – important to focus on the premise that "no one thought the Monkees up." The Monkees happened – the effect of a cause still unseen, and dare I say it, still at work and still overlooked as it applies to present day. 

Do you think Davy enjoyed the experience of being a Monkee more than you did? If so, why?
I can only speculate. For me David was The Monkees. They were his band. We were his side men. He was the focal point of the romance, the lovely boy, innocent and approachable. Micky was his Bob Hope. In those two – like Hope and Crosby – was the heartbeat of the show. 

The incident in which you punched a hole in a wall during a fight with Kirshner has been told so many times over the years it almost feels apocryphal. At the very least, the notion you were fighting about "Sugar Sugar" seems to have been debunked. What's your memory of that incident? Did Davy ever convey a feeling to you were rocking the boat too much after scenes like that?
David continually admonished me to calm down and do what I was told. From day one. His advice to me was to approach the show like a job, do my best, and shut up, take the money, and go home. Micky the same. I had no idea what they were talking about at the time, or why. The hole in the wall had nothing to do with "Sugar Sugar." It was the release of an angry reaction to a personal affront. The stories that circulate are as you say – apocryphal.

Do you have a favorite Davy Jones-sung Monkees song? If so, what makes it your favorite?
"Daydream Believer." The sensibility of the song is [composer] John Stewart at his best, IMHO – it has a beautiful undercurrent of melancholy with a delightful frosting, no taste of bitterness. David's cheery vocal leads us all in a great refrain of living on love alone.

What's your fondest memory of your time with Davy?
He told great jokes. Very nicely developed sense of the absurd – Pythonesque – actually, Beyond the Fringe – but you get my point. We would rush to each other anytime we heard a new joke and tell it to each other and laugh like crazy. David had a wonderful laugh, infectious. He would double up, crouching over his knees, and laugh till he ran out of breath. Whether he told the joke or not. We both did.

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Surviving Monkees Will Not Attend Davy Jones' Funeral

Peter Tork, Micky Dolenz and Davy Jones in Manchester

Micky Dolenz and the other surviving members of the Monkees will not attend Davy Jones' funeral out of respect to the singer's family. "My understanding is they want to avoid a media circus and the family wants to keep it very, very low-key and very, very private," Dolenz told Billboard.

"You can imagine as soon as one or two or any of us were to show up, it would very quickly be degraded into something that I don't think his immediate family would want to deal with," he said. "So I'm kind of [respecting] their wishes, whatever their wishes may be."

Instead, Dolenz, Peter Tork and Mike Nesmith are planning to take part in a series of public memorials for Jones in New York and England, though no dates have been set. "It's pretty early days, you know, to be making too many plans," says Dolenz. "I'm still in shock."

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Surviving Monkees Will Not Attend Davy Jones' Funeral

Peter Tork, Micky Dolenz and Davy Jones in Manchester

Micky Dolenz and the other surviving members of the Monkees will not attend Davy Jones' funeral out of respect to the singer's family. "My understanding is they want to avoid a media circus and the family wants to keep it very, very low-key and very, very private," Dolenz told Billboard.

"You can imagine as soon as one or two or any of us were to show up, it would very quickly be degraded into something that I don't think his immediate family would want to deal with," he said. "So I'm kind of [respecting] their wishes, whatever their wishes may be."

Instead, Dolenz, Peter Tork and Mike Nesmith are planning to take part in a series of public memorials for Jones in New York and England, though no dates have been set. "It's pretty early days, you know, to be making too many plans," says Dolenz. "I'm still in shock."

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Norah Jones, Danger Mouse Craft Moody, 'Weird' LP

Norah Jones and Brian 'Danger Mouse' Burton

Back in 2009, Norah Jones and Brian "Danger Mouse" Burton got together in the Gnarls Barkley producer's Los Angeles studio to begin work on a top-secret project. "Nobody from my label or management knew we were doing it," says the singer. "Brian said, 'I'd rather actually collaborate, and not just be a producer – let's go into the studio and see what happens.'"

The pair spent five days together in June 2009, working on what would eventually become Jones' fifth solo album, Little Broken Hearts (due May 1st). "I'd never gone in with nothing and wrote songs from scratch, and I'd never played bass before on a record," she says. "I was out of my comfort zone – but I was comfortable because we're friends."

Adds Burton, "The best thing was having just the two of us on those first sessions, not a whole band. Norah had as many, if not more, great ideas than I did."

The sessions were fruitful, but Jones and Burton weren't quite satisfied. They spent the next two years working separately on other projects: Jones completed and released her fourth solo disc, The Fall, and made an album with her alt-country band, the Little Willies; Burton started Broken Bells with the Shins' James Mercer, logged studio time with U2 and produced the Black Keys' El Camino.

Last summer, the duo finally reconvened at Burton's studio to finish up Little Broken Hearts. Jones arrived with a handful of raw, emotionally charged new tunes she penned in the wake of a harsh breakup with her fiction-writer boyfriend. "I always heard the old stories about how you write better songs when you go through some shit," she says with a laugh. "That sucks, but it's true!"

The album's sound ranges from experimental chamber serenades to stark, electronic-embellished confessions. "It's obviously very different than anything Norah's ever done," Burton says. "I don't know what people will think – I hope they like it, and she doesn't lose a bunch of fans."

One of the boldest departures is "Take It Back," which features fuzzed-out guitars and spooky, distorted vocals. "I never knew how to get weird sounds," Jones says. "It was all about finding a balance between those effects and making sure my voice was clear and sounded like me."

She gets even darker on "Happy Pills," singing, "Time to throw this away/Wanna make sure that you never waste my time again," over hooky pop-rock chug. "It sounds happy," she says, "but the lyrics are evil and fucked up, which grounded it a little." On "4 Broken Hearts," she belts like a defiant Dusty Springfield while confronting a mutual infidelity: "We tried to be faithful but didn't get far."

In its own quiet way, Little Broken Hearts hews closer to heartbreak classics like Marvin Gaye's Here, My Dear than to anything in Jones' back catalog. "This time, I've been way less concerned with self-editing," Jones says. "I'm not sad, but there's a lot of hurt in there. And it felt great to say what I felt and put it down on tape. Doing that made me so happy! This album is all about saying things that needed to be said."

This story is from the March 15th, 2012 issue of Rolling Stone.

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Norah Jones, Danger Mouse Craft Moody, 'Weird' LP

Norah Jones and Brian 'Danger Mouse' Burton

Back in 2009, Norah Jones and Brian "Danger Mouse" Burton got together in the Gnarls Barkley producer's Los Angeles studio to begin work on a top-secret project. "Nobody from my label or management knew we were doing it," says the singer. "Brian said, 'I'd rather actually collaborate, and not just be a producer – let's go into the studio and see what happens.'"

The pair spent five days together in June 2009, working on what would eventually become Jones' fifth solo album, Little Broken Hearts (due May 1st). "I'd never gone in with nothing and wrote songs from scratch, and I'd never played bass before on a record," she says. "I was out of my comfort zone – but I was comfortable because we're friends."

Adds Burton, "The best thing was having just the two of us on those first sessions, not a whole band. Norah had as many, if not more, great ideas than I did."

The sessions were fruitful, but Jones and Burton weren't quite satisfied. They spent the next two years working separately on other projects: Jones completed and released her fourth solo disc, The Fall, and made an album with her alt-country band, the Little Willies; Burton started Broken Bells with the Shins' James Mercer, logged studio time with U2 and produced the Black Keys' El Camino.

Last summer, the duo finally reconvened at Burton's studio to finish up Little Broken Hearts. Jones arrived with a handful of raw, emotionally charged new tunes she penned in the wake of a harsh breakup with her fiction-writer boyfriend. "I always heard the old stories about how you write better songs when you go through some shit," she says with a laugh. "That sucks, but it's true!"

The album's sound ranges from experimental chamber serenades to stark, electronic-embellished confessions. "It's obviously very different than anything Norah's ever done," Burton says. "I don't know what people will think – I hope they like it, and she doesn't lose a bunch of fans."

One of the boldest departures is "Take It Back," which features fuzzed-out guitars and spooky, distorted vocals. "I never knew how to get weird sounds," Jones says. "It was all about finding a balance between those effects and making sure my voice was clear and sounded like me."

She gets even darker on "Happy Pills," singing, "Time to throw this away/Wanna make sure that you never waste my time again," over hooky pop-rock chug. "It sounds happy," she says, "but the lyrics are evil and fucked up, which grounded it a little." On "4 Broken Hearts," she belts like a defiant Dusty Springfield while confronting a mutual infidelity: "We tried to be faithful but didn't get far."

In its own quiet way, Little Broken Hearts hews closer to heartbreak classics like Marvin Gaye's Here, My Dear than to anything in Jones' back catalog. "This time, I've been way less concerned with self-editing," Jones says. "I'm not sad, but there's a lot of hurt in there. And it felt great to say what I felt and put it down on tape. Doing that made me so happy! This album is all about saying things that needed to be said."

This story is from the March 15th, 2012 issue of Rolling Stone.

To read the new issue of Rolling Stone online, plus the entire RS archive: Click Here

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Monkees Singer Davy Jones Dead at 66

Davy Jones on the set of the television show 'The Monkees.'Michael Ochs Archives/Getty Images

Davy Jones of the Monkees has died of an apparent heart attack at age 66. The singer, who had been on a solo tour this month, complained of chest pains last evening and was admitted to a hospital this morning in Stuart, Florida.

Jones was born in Manchester, England and started acting as a child. In 1964 he had the misfortune of appearing in the cast of Oliver! on the same episode of The Ed Sullivan Show where the Beatles made their debut. The next year he was cast in The Monkees, a comedy show/band inspired by the success of the Beatles. They were an instant hit in the ratings and the record shops, scoring massive singles with "Last Train to Clarksville," "I'm a Believer," "Stepping Stone" and "Pleasant Valley Sunday." Jones – who played tambourine in the band – was the lead vocalist on the classics "Daydream Believer" and "I Wanna Be Free." At the peak of their popularity in 1967 the group sold more albums than the Beatles.

Photos: Davy Jones Through the Years

The Monkees' music was written by some of the best songwriters of the day, including Carole King and Neil Diamond. As the group grew more popular, they insisted on writing their own music and playing their own instruments. Although their later work has attracted a huge cult audience over the years, their mainstream success quickly dwindled and the group split in 1971. Jones went onto a solo career, and he memorably performed his song "Girl" on an episode of The Brady Bunch.

Jones returned to acting in the late 1970s when his solo career failed to take off, but he found it difficult to escape the shadow of the Monkees. By the mid-1980s Monkees mania was reborn when MTV and other stations began regularly airing old episodes of the TV show. The band (minus Mike Nesmith) reunited for a highly successful reunion tour in 1986. They toured off and on through 2001, when infighting led to another split. Last summer they patched things up for a 45th anniversary tour, though it was called short because of what guitarist Peter Tork called a "glitch."

Nesmith posted a tribute to Jones on his Facebook page. "I will miss him, but I won’t abandon him to mortality," he wrote. "I will think of him as existing within the animating life that insures existence. I will think of him and his family with that gentle regard in spite of all the contrary appearances on the mortal plane. David’s spirit and soul live well in my heart, among all the lovely people, who remember with me the good times, and the healing times, that were created for so many, including us. I have fond memories. I wish him safe travels."

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Monkees Singer Davy Jones Dead at 66

Davy Jones on the set of the television show 'The Monkees.'Michael Ochs Archives/Getty Images

Davy Jones of the Monkees has died of an apparent heart attack at age 66. The singer, who had been on a solo tour this month, complained of chest pains last evening and was admitted to a hospital this morning in Stuart, Florida.

Jones was born in Manchester, England and started acting as a child. In 1964 he had the misfortune of appearing in the cast of Oliver! on the same episode of The Ed Sullivan Show where the Beatles made their debut. The next year he was cast in The Monkees, a comedy show/band inspired by the success of the Beatles. They were an instant hit in the ratings and the record shops, scoring massive singles with "Last Train to Clarksville," "I'm a Believer," "Stepping Stone" and "Pleasant Valley Sunday." Jones – who played tambourine in the band – was the lead vocalist on the classics "Daydream Believer" and "I Wanna Be Free." At the peak of their popularity in 1967 the group sold more albums than the Beatles.

Photos: Davy Jones Through the Years

The Monkees' music was written by some of the best songwriters of the day, including Carole King and Neil Diamond. As the group grew more popular, they insisted on writing their own music and playing their own instruments. Although their later work has attracted a huge cult audience over the years, their mainstream success quickly dwindled and the group split in 1971. Jones went onto a solo career, and he memorably performed his song "Girl" on an episode of The Brady Bunch.

Jones returned to acting in the late 1970s when his solo career failed to take off, but he found it difficult to escape the shadow of the Monkees. By the mid-1980s Monkees mania was reborn when MTV and other stations began regularly airing old episodes of the TV show. The band (minus Mike Nesmith) reunited for a highly successful reunion tour in 1986. They toured off and on through 2001, when infighting led to another split. Last summer they patched things up for a 45th anniversary tour, though it was called short because of what guitarist Peter Tork called a "glitch."

Nesmith posted a tribute to Jones on his Facebook page. "I will miss him, but I won’t abandon him to mortality," he wrote. "I will think of him as existing within the animating life that insures existence. I will think of him and his family with that gentle regard in spite of all the contrary appearances on the mortal plane. David’s spirit and soul live well in my heart, among all the lovely people, who remember with me the good times, and the healing times, that were created for so many, including us. I have fond memories. I wish him safe travels."

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Rapper Jim Jones Arrested After Casino Brawl

Jim Jones attends the Gansevoort Park Avenue in New York City.

The rapper Jim Jones was arrested on Saturday following a brawl at Foxwoods Resort Casino in Connecticut.

The fight broke out around 2 a.m. Saturday morning in the lobby of the MGM Grand Hotel after a party hosted by Sean "Diddy" Combs. Four other people were arrested and one state police officer was treated for minor injuries sustained in the incident.

Jones, whose fifth studio album, Capo, came out in April, was charged with resisting arrest for an alleged assault on an officer as well as breach of peace. He later tweeted that he was released on a $40,000 bond. "This is gettin blown way out of proportion," he wrote. 

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Rapper Jim Jones Arrested After Casino Brawl

Jim Jones attends the Gansevoort Park Avenue in New York City.

The rapper Jim Jones was arrested on Saturday following a brawl at Foxwoods Resort Casino in Connecticut.

The fight broke out around 2 a.m. Saturday morning in the lobby of the MGM Grand Hotel after a party hosted by Sean "Diddy" Combs. Four other people were arrested and one state police officer was treated for minor injuries sustained in the incident.

Jones, whose fifth studio album, Capo, came out in April, was charged with resisting arrest for an alleged assault on an officer as well as breach of peace. He later tweeted that he was released on a $40,000 bond. "This is gettin blown way out of proportion," he wrote. 

To read the new issue of Rolling Stone online, plus the entire RS archive: Click Here

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Norah Jones to Release Collaboration with Danger Mouse

Norah Jones will release Little Broken Hearts, a new album in collaboration with producer Danger Mouse, this spring. Jones and Danger Mouse wrote all of the material for the album together at the producer's studio in Los Angeles, and the duo performed all of the instruments themselves. This is their second time working together – Jones previously appeared as a vocalist on Rome, Danger Mouse's collaboration with Italian composer Daniele Luppi. Though Little Broken Hearts is the result of a partnership between Jones and Danger Mouse, the record will be credited only to her.

Jones will promote Little Broken Hearts with extensive touring throughout 2012, including appearances at festivals, arenas and theaters around the world. Official tour dates have not been announced, though tickets for the singer's gig at the Hollywood Bowl in Los Angeles go on sale today.

To read the new issue of Rolling Stone online, plus the entire RS archive: Click Here

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Norah Jones to Release Collaboration with Danger Mouse

Norah Jones will release Little Broken Hearts, a new album in collaboration with producer Danger Mouse, this spring. Jones and Danger Mouse wrote all of the material for the album together at the producer's studio in Los Angeles, and the duo performed all of the instruments themselves. This is their second time working together – Jones previously appeared as a vocalist on Rome, Danger Mouse's collaboration with Italian composer Daniele Luppi. Though Little Broken Hearts is the result of a partnership between Jones and Danger Mouse, the record will be credited only to her.

Jones will promote Little Broken Hearts with extensive touring throughout 2012, including appearances at festivals, arenas and theaters around the world. Official tour dates have not been announced, though tickets for the singer's gig at the Hollywood Bowl in Los Angeles go on sale today.

To read the new issue of Rolling Stone online, plus the entire RS archive: Click Here

Amazon Music and MP3 Center

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