Gone Hollywood

"I'm in this dumb motel near the Taco Bell", an axiomatic statement whenever one is such a situation, in a lodging near a fast food chain. I love this line.

i think this song is about how he thought that hollywood was going to be this great place but it ended up being terrible. he is tired of always seeing the same things "nothing new in his life today"

then he realizes that he is able to make the cut and there is no use in quitting

Kind of an inspirational song and the Boulevard of Broken Dreams.

"No, I think "Gone Hollywood" was not…it was third person, not autobiographical. I think Rick knew what despair was like; he's gone through lots of periods of despair and you can hear that on Crime of the Century, I think that was definitely him, he was talking about, but I think he was putting himself in an American's shoes here - a little bit. I'm not going to say that totally. I mean, he's probably has felt like he's in a dumb motel in the middle of nowhere in Los Angeles. It was definitely Rick tuning in to the valleys of Hollywood. And seeing the shallowness and the difficulties. It's a pretty neurotic place".

--Roger Hodgson, In the Studio with Redbeard for The Making of Breakfast in America (first aired in June 1990).

This song is a story from the narrator's point of view, who started off thinking the Hollywood life would be all that and a bag of chips, but realizes that it isn't all that it's cracked up to be. He still feels this way even at the end of the song as he becomes a start and a success.

"I'm in this dumb motel near the Taco Bell", an axiomatic statement whenever one is such a situation, in a lodging near a fast food chain. I love this line.

"I'm in this dumb motel near the Taco Bell", an axiomatic statement whenever one is such a situation, in a lodging near a fast food chain. I love this line.

The Hollywood depicted in magazines and on television only sporadically exists: I spent twelve days in a (not-so-dumb) hotel (although it was near an IHOP and a Carl's Jr, though I went more often to the 7-Eleven and the chinese joint down the street). The hotel was in an interesting location: just on the street right next to Hollywood Boulevard, right in the Walk of Fame area. Mann's Chinese Theater was literally on the other side of the block, with a multi-level indoor/outdoor shopping complex connected to it, from which one could stand in the middle of any level and stare straight out at the white HOLLYWOOD sign in the distance. Honestly, THIS was the only glamorous spot I saw in my twelve days there, and I walked for hours down the streets, into the Hollywood Hills (I only found out, years later, that I stopped to rest and admire the interesting house-within-a-house architecture of the then abode of one of my favorite female singers, Stevie Nicks of Fleetwood Mac! Had I known this, I would NOT have been singing an Eagles tune at noticeable volume at the time.), to the Hollywood Bowl, down to Pink's Hot Dogs, down Sunset Boulevard, Hollywood Boulevard, and Santa Monica Boulevard. Most of the landscape is taken up by odd shops and anonymous slabs of concrete. Yes, I went to the same movie theatre depicted at the beginning of the "Crash" movie (released in 2006?), as well as another nearby theatre. To say I saw glamour? Hardly. They rolled out the red carpet for invitees to the charity premier of "The Longest Mile", then rolled it right back in again.

Why all of this? Imagine someone landing in Hollywood, hoping to make connections, looking for sights to see and things to do. Surprise #1: famous companies hide behind doors with signage referring only to the suite number, with no name or other identifying text. Surprise #2: everyone lives outside of Hollywood (or almost everyone: I bumped into one or two people I recognized from TV... but perhaps they were on a work break). Surprise #3: apart from the palm trees, colorful choice of house paint and rust-free antique cars, Hollywood pretty much looks like any other city in the USA. Surprise #4: doors are not open.

Add to this certain reports that "the business" (whichever art you wished to pursue in this city of the stars), back in the day, was not very open to new or up-and-coming talent. Mogul manager David Geffen started out in the mail room of a talent agency where the agents were fighting each other to represent artists who had already attained success and recognition. David chose to break from the pack, and go to the most entry-level clubs and watering holes to hear new artists present their own compositions. Through this method, he signed... Jackson Browne, the Eagles, America, Carly Simon, possibly Joni Mitchell, and the list goes on. Despite this, the biz still wanted to represent the best: Fleetwood Mac's biographies contain humorous episodes of "industry heavies" insisting the band needed outside representation even after they made it big, and trying to muscle in on the Mac's success. Apart from punk rock's explosion onto the scene in the late-'70s, everyone was primarily focused on the stars and the star-makers. The second "verse" of the slow section depicts this: people pretending to be busy and out of reach are all chasing the same dream of success, from different angles, with none of them feeling they have the time (nor, perhaps, ability) to give someone else a career jumpstart.

The closing "chorus" is a bit prescient, if not ironic: despite notable success with at least two of their albums (1974's "Crime of the Century" and 1977's "Even in the Quietest Moments...", as the jury's out with 1975's "Crisis? What Crisis?"), Supertramp had yet to have a blockbuster album. This would change with "Breakfast in America", the album which starts off with this very song. Apparently, Rick placed a friendly wager with drummer Bob "C. Benberg" Siebenberg during the mixing stage that their next album would sell a million copies. (Rick won.) So the success to which Rick alludes at the end of this song was more of a hope at the time, than an actual accomplishment... though it did come, and was briefly enjoyed.