This Ain’t No Outer Space Ship, You Space Cowboy: The Music of Jim Sullivan
The Lost Career of the ’70s Phantom Folkie
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“I’m a space cowboy. Bet you weren’t ready for that.” — Steve Miller
The New Jersey punk band Adrenalin O.D. lamented about Crusing with Elvis in Bigfoot’s UFO; Husker Du pontificated on “Books about UFOs.” And Roky Erickson . . . when didn’t he write about aliens and the mystically weird? Don Van Vliet crooned about . . . well, we really never knew what the hell Don was going on about in the grooves of our beloved Captain Beefheart albums — he made Frank Zappa’s sounds seem “strictly commercial.”
Then there was the wild, astral musical tales of Jim Sullivan. The dude hung out with our beloved Six Million Dollar Man, Lee Majors, and “Brain” from Escape from New York, aka Harry Dean Stanton! Phil Spector, who produced the Beatles’ Let It Be and solo albums by George Harrison and John Lennon, produced Jim’s debut album. How cool is that!
“Who?” you ask.
Guys like Jim are the reason for this writer riding the keyboard with an insatiable need for you to meet the “phantoms” of the music industry whose careers failed not because they were lacking creative talents — Clotho, Lachesis, Atropos, the three weaving witches of the looms of fate, decided otherwise. That’s how rock ’n’ roll . . . rolls (and spins). Just ask the Jim Morrison’s “ghost,” the Phantom of Detroit.
During my years as a customer and later, a retailer, in the vintage-vinyl aftermarket (i.e., used record stores), we record geeks swapped tales of those lost and forgotten groove-fillers of old and the mysterious, tragic black circles of Jim Sullivan spun our imaginations.
I make a point of choosing subjects — in my case, musicians and actors — that no else has written about or, if they have, it’s scoffing bits n’ pieces and half-hearted dismissives meant to insult, not honor the subject. I do my best to rectify those journalistic injustices and that melodious goal was the driving force in chronicling the career of the musician behind the 1974 Capitol album, Phantom’s Divine Comedy: Part 1. It’s why my slice of the Medium web servers now stores extensive histories on Jerry Zubal and Rockicks, Lori Lieberman, William Kyle Eidson II, Kim Milford, Lane Caudell, and Roger Wilson.
As I set out to research for additional Intel to fill in the blanks of what I already knew of Jim Sullivan, I was gobsmacked to find his career is extensively covered — with well-researched articles — by several other writers. (There’s even a Wikipedia page?!) So, Jim Sullivan — unlike most of my chosen journalistic subjects — got respect. And that warms the black vinyl cockles of this old, vintage analog hobo riding the digital rails of the Internet.
There is nothing this keyboard jockey can report beyond the admiration these music-journalists and musicologists have uploaded to the clouds of the worldwide wonderful web (did I just use the word “wonderful” to describe the Internet? I believe my hard, analog cassette-candy shell is breaking in acceptance of all things digital) to honor the music of Jim Sullivan.
Now this writer will step back in brevity and allow those keyboard jocks before me — to tell the tale.
This initial introduction to Jim comes courtesy of a great, on-point summary by writers Morris M. and Brian Boone of Grunge.com as part of their article, “Celebs Who Are Still Missing Today.”
If Jim Sullivan’s name isn’t ringing any bells, that’s because he’s the definition of a cult artist. A folk-rocker who was part of the LA scene in the ’60s and early ’70s, Sullivan cut just two records before disappearing. Not “disappearing” as in “fading into obscurity” — he literally disappeared. In March 1975, Sullivan was heading to Nashville for what was meant to be his big break. His car was found abandoned in the desert outside Santa Rosa, New Mexico. His wallet, clothes, and guitar were all found in a nearby motel. Of Sullivan himself — there was no trace.
As the record company Light in the Attic explained in its liner notes for the re-release of Sullivan’s UFO album, he was a guy who should have been famous. Phil Spector cut his first record. He was pals with guys like Harry Dean Stanton. He had a small part in Easy Rider. Oh, and he was an excellent writer of depressed melancholy pop. (NPR called UFO a “masterpiece.”) Had he reached Nashville, he might be up there with the greats.
But Sullivan never made it to Tennessee. As one of his friends said (via NPR), Sullivan would’ve never left his guitar behind if he planned to vanish. Appropriately for a dude who released a record called UFO — which featured lyrics about driving into the desert and being abducted by aliens — one of the more prominent theories is that he was (you guessed it!) abducted by aliens.
So, are you intrigued by Morris M. and Brian Boone’s summary? Then check out the extensive chronicles from Theories of Atlantis, Ultimate Classic Rock, and National Public Radio/NPR . . . and Wikipedia (banner-linked, below).
Jim’s 1969 debut album, UFO, on Monnie Records and his 1972 eponymous-sophomore effort on Playboy Records. Light in the Attic Records reissued Jim’s debut to compact disc.
Jim’s 1970 single release on Century City Records with “Rosey b/w Roll Back the Time” and his 1971 single on RCA Records with “Highway b/w Lorelei Lee.”
This “Music of Jim Sullivan” playlist features both sides of Jim’s two 7" 45-rpm singles and both of his albums.
Just one listen to Jim’s debut single of “Rosie b/w Roll Back the Time” and you’ll be hooked to listen to more. So enjoy the music as you read about Jim’s life and music.
Jim Sullivan is truly one of the great “phantoms” of the music business.
END
— R.D Francis is the writer of The Ghosts of Jim Morrison, the Phantom of Detroit, and the Fates of Rock ’n’ Roll and Tales from a Wizard: The Oral History of Walpurgis. Both books explore the life and times of the musician responsible for the mysterious 1974 Jim Morrison “solo album,” Phantom’s Divine Comedy: Part 1.
You can learn more about about both books by visiting the Facebook Author’s Page of R.D Francis.
Bonus “Phantom Folk Musician” Dissertations with Steve Tilson and Sixto “Sugar Man” Rodriquez:
Steve Tilston
In 1971, 21-year old Bristol, England, folk musician Steve Tilston released his critically acclaimed debut album, An Acoustic Confusion, and the 1972 sophomore follow up, Collection.
In a 1971 ZigZag magazine interview, Tilston admitted — inspired by the editor/writer’s accolades for Tilson’s work — that he feared wealth and fame might negatively affect his songwriting.
Inspired, John Lennon wrote to Tilston — in care of ZigZag — to offer the upcoming musician encouragement, “. . . Being rich doesn’t change your experience in the way you think,” Lennon wrote. It was signed, “Love, John and Yoko.” It turned out that, upon receipt of the letter, the magazine’s editor, believing Lennon’s letter “had value,” greedily kept the document; it was never turned over to Tilston.
How wicked the Fates: If the Lennon letter had been turned over to Tilston, would he and Lennon have forged a friendship? Would Lennon’s words have encouraged Tilston not to give up on the music business?
Tilston did not become aware of the letter’s existence until 2005, when a collector contacted him to verify the document’s authenticity. When the story was officially reported in the music trades in August 2010, it inspired the 2015 Al Pacino-starring film, Danny Collins.
Sixto “Sugar Man” Rodriquez
Music history reflects on Arthur Pendragon as “The Ghost of Jim Morrison” and “The Phantom of Detroit,” but seems to forget Rodriquez was cast as
“The Ghost of Bob Dylan” and was Detroit’s original musician-phantom.
As with fellow folk musicians Jim Sullivan and Steve Tilston, Sixto “Sugar Man” Rodriquez threaded the silken wheel of the Fates with two critically acclaimed but commercially ignored albums, 1970’s Cold Fact and 1971’s Coming from Reality. Both albums were reissued to compact disc in 2009 by Light in the Attic Records — the home to Jim Sullivan’s new life in the digital world. The renewed interest sparked by the reissue led to the 2012 film documentary on Rodriquez’s life, Searching for Sugar Man.
Time will tell if the Fates will honor Jim Sullivan and Arthur Pendragon with their own documentary — biographical or fictitious — film based on their lives.
