The indefatigable Matt Sullivan is hard at work on Light in the Attic’s reissue of Jim Sullivan’s lost classic, U.F.O. Planned for a fall release, Matt has encountered more than his share of obstacles in trying to complete this project. He’s been kind enough to catalog his experiences working on this title, and the result has been an insightful look into how a reissue comes together (you can find Matt’s previous dispatches here and here). Matt’s getting close to the end of his journey, one that now finds our intrepid hero in the blistering wilds of the desert Southwest. Godspeed, Matt:

The last few months have borne witness to a whirlwind of Columbo-style mysteries surrounding our upcoming re-release of Jim Sullivan’s 1969 masterpiece U.F.O. The pile of unanswered questions about Jim and his last known whereabouts keeps stacking up. One thing is certain; we finally set a release date for U.F.O. – Oct. 24. That means I don’t have long before I have to fight my OCD and put this baby to bed.

Jim recorded U.F.O. – with the almighty Wrecking Crew as his backing band – for the Los Angeles-based one-off private-press label Monnie in late 1969. Years later, the man mysteriously vanished in New Mexico, never to be heard from again. I’ve obsessed over this record for sometime: traveling to San Diego to meet Jim’s wife, Barbara, and son, Chris; driving to Calistoga, Calif., to meet U.F.O. co-executive producer Al Dobbs; finding Wrecking Crew bassist and U.F.O. producer and arranger Jimmy Bond in the Westwood neighborhood of L.A. As my obsession grew, I knew I had to get to New Mexico. Fortunately, I wasn’t alone in my quest. After hearing the record, and learning the small clues I knew about Jim’s life and music, Wheedle’s Groove director (and Humpday co-producer) Jennifer Maas, and music video director and cinematographer Mel Eslyn, knew that the only thing we could do was grab some filming gear, load up the car with 5-Hour Energy drinks and a case of Slim Jims, and head east to New Mexico, retracing Jim’s last known whereabouts, a trail that ended in a place named Santa Rosa.

We decided to head out at dawn. Upon waking up that Sunday morning, we discover thieves have broken into the car. The driver’s side window is smashed, ignition destroyed, and a bunch of stuff is missing from the trunk. After working on this project for well over a year, it seems like another surreal sign. Sign or no sign, we push on. Fortunately, my insurance covers the cost of a rental car, so Monday morning we pick up a stylin’ Ford Taurus, hit Yuca’s Tacos in Los Feliz (are there better tacos in Los Angeles? If so, I’m dying to know), and hit the highway.

The plan is to drive east and stop for the night in Jerome, an eerie old mining town near Flagstaff filled with bikers and folks who’d rather not be found. The first track on U.F.O. is called “Jerome.” I’ve always imagined Jim having a beer at a little dive on the hill. The stories we’ve heard about Jerome seemed to be another intriguing insight into his lyrics, life, and music. In 1903, the New York Sun called it “the wickedest town in the West.” It was one of those places filled with gold, silver, prostitution, and classic Wild West shootouts. Jim’s song touched on the golden days of Jerome:

And I found a magic man.
I bought a pound of magic and
I kinda dream and plan
where you lay your hand.
I found a magic man.
Where is where it’s at Jerome?
Where is there I want to go?
Where is where it’s at Jerome?
Is it a place out there?
Just a town down there,
if you’re driving slow.
Where is where it’s at Jerome?
If you take your magic slow
maybe you can find Jerome.
Sits on top of a hill
over ‘neath a hole.
If you’re driving slow,
maybe you can find Jerome.
Maybe you can find Jerome.
Maybe you can find Jerome.
Lookin’ around and see if you can spot Jerome.

We realize our previously scheduled interview with Jim’s family in San Diego is on Thursday, and it’s clear we don’t have the time to make a trip to Jerome. A bummer, but we press on.

The skies are clear, and temperatures are well into the 90s. We drive east on I-10, turn onto Highway 95 in Blythe, where we stumble upon an abandoned house. Stretching our legs, we wander around. The spot looks like a scene from a creepy horror flick with its cellar door around back covered by piles of crap. Images of Breaking Bad and meth labs are difficult to avoid. We drive on, landing in Topock, where we hop on Route 66. As we snake through windy roads, temperatures climb into the 100s, and we pass through gorgeous canyons made of red rock, and strange little towns carved into hillsides, the kind miners once flocked to. Today, they are little more than gas stations, kitschy outposts, and souvenir stops for tourists. Still, I can’t help but love the Southwest. The spirit of a strange, timeless America still exists here.

Next stop, In-N-Out Burger in Kingman. In-N-Out is a traveler’s oasis, especially when you can’t bear the thought of another extra-value meal at Mickey D’s. Do you know about In-N-Out’s “secret” menu? Well, I learned about it on this trip. Jennifer orders a burger “Protein Animal Style,” which translates to: they add mustard to the meat before cooking, throw in grilled onions with extra sauce, and the bun is replaced with lettuce. A burger with no bun? Guess so. I go for the bun. Mel orders the veggie burger. The girl at the counter does a double take. The damn thing doesn’t even have a patty, just lettuce and tomato in a bun, and it’s only a quarter cheaper than the normal burger. Too funny.

Back in the Taurus, we put on two of our recent obsessions, Kazemachi Roman by Happy End, followed by, of course, U.F.O., which we must have listened to 10 times in a row. It’s the perfect soundtrack for riding through the Southwest. The Taurus is equipped with Sirius Satellite Radio, so we do the scan, combing through 150 stations. Hours later, Jennifer and Mel have crashed, and the only thing keeping me awake is some foreign news station. All I remember of it was that it wasn’t the BBC. A couple hours later, I pull into Gallup. It’s a sad dump of a town. We walk into six motels looking for a vacancy. In the end, Best Western wins. Dude at the counter is kinda creepy. He reminded me of someone from Happiness mixed with a dash of Milton The Stapler Guy from Office Space. We covered 652 miles since leaving Los Angeles around 11 a.m. Tired. Beat. Time to sleep for the big day tomorrow – we finally reach Santa Rosa.

Tags: Jim Sullivan

Tags: Jim Sullivan
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