Amy Winehouse Episode 6: Nursing Rodents, Mortifying the Fairy Godmother, and Hitting the Harder Stuff

Amy Winehouse gravitated towards trouble like a moth to a flame. She hung out with the libertines of London’s seedy society, which regularly left her life in shambles. A multi-day drug binge left her on death’s door. She left decorum at the front door when a holiday trip to the theatre turned violent. Yet despite all this, she still managed to give the people the one thing they were never expecting – hope that it would all turn around soon.

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Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:00):
The Club is a production of I Heart Radio and
Double Elvis. Amy Winehouse died at the age of and
she lived a life that gravitated towards trouble like a
moth to a flame. I can give you twenty seven
reasons why that statement is true. Fourteen would be the
number of months Pete Doherty and the Libertine spent behind

(00:23):
bars before linking up with Amy to make some disturbing
videos featuring baby mice. Three more would be the number
of days she went on a binge of class A
drugs shortly after being introduced to them by her then husband.
Another six would be the number of substances coursing through
her body when she overdosed and nearly died at the

(00:45):
end of that binge. Two more would be the number
of years that her marriage would last before she was
served divorce papers from behind prison bars, sending her into
a post rehab downward spiral. Another one for the number
of theater managers she violently assaulted while attending a live
holiday performance of Cinderella. In a final one will be

(01:07):
the number of years she'd have left to live after
making a surprise performance with Mark Ronson and giving everyone
hope that things were finally turning around all totally. On
this episode disturbing videos Class A, drugs, downward spirals in
Amy Winehouse Um Jake Brennan in This Is the Seven

(01:32):
Club m M. The low quality camera was fixed on Amy.

(02:15):
She stood half naked in a dingy room, her fingernails
full of dirt and ash. Clothes hung from her thin frame.
Her eyes were sunken and dark. The room was filled
with an oppressive blue light. It's glow reflected off Amy's pale,
sickly skin, a sharp contrast with the black beehive atop

(02:36):
her head. She wasn't the only one in the room.
Another lanky, gunt figure stalked in the shadows behind her,
a figure who, like Amy's husband, Blake Fielder, Civil, was
no stranger to the inside of a jail cell, a
walking train wreck who also happened to be in indie
rock icon the king ship of London's two only first

(03:00):
century guitar rock Renaissance, Pete Daugherty of the Libertines and
Baby Shamble's Fame, the one and the same who hadn't
met a bottle model or snortable substance he didn't like
in all of England. He had the look of a
man on a perpetual bender, like he was due to
stumble out of his own body at any time. An
atomic bomb of debauchery dropped Drank and Demons, and he

(03:23):
had just entered Amy's orbit. Amy held up a small
plastic container. It was full of two dozen day old mice.
Amy and Pete had been nursing them. The newborn rodents
couldn't even hold their heads up. Their skin was still
pink translucent. They were blissfully unaware that one of the
two junkies providing their care had recently was alleged forced

(03:48):
his own cat to smoke crack with him. Amy's hand
trembled as she reached into the container and held up
one of the mice. She handed it to Pete. She
picked up another, sat it on her law bony finger
and held it to the camera. This one's got a
message for Blake. Blake, please don't divorce mummy. She loves you.

(04:08):
Ever so, Pete turned his mouse to the camera. If
you divorce her, you'll have to deal with me. The
video was a tough watch, and so naturally it was
posted to YouTube, and it was titled Wine Mouse to
Century musical icons out of their minds on another fucking planet,

(04:28):
handling rodents in some nondescript London flat to musical icons
who had respectively been released from police custody and from prison,
both on drug related charges just days before the video's release.
Two musical icons who wouldn't know a brake pedal if
it hit them in their numbed faces, both on a
collision course, with the abyss willingly sarching towards it hand

(04:51):
in hand. The video was shocking, but really not surprising.
It seemingly proved that everything that tabloids wrote about Amy
Winehouse had been accurate. Amy Winehouse and Pete already had
already been photographed popping around town. The paparazzi were onto them,
and the tabloids already decided what was happening. While Blake

(05:12):
Fielder civil was sitting in a jail cell for his
assault on James King at the Macbeth Pub and the
subsequent attempt to extort that victim, Amy was shacking up
with the biggest druggie in the country, getting her rocks
off in more ways than one. And then, to back
up that tabloid thesis remarkably, a second video surfaced. The

(05:33):
camera was shaky, the quality again. Poor Amy sat over
a small cage, holding one of the newborn mice in
one hand and a bottle in the other. She slurred
her words as she bottle fed the mouse. Her mood
was far more subdued, as if she was smack in
the middle of a harsh come down. This one, this

(05:54):
is baby blue. Amy nurse the day's old road and
gently move slowly and deliberately in an almost trance like state.
I'm going to keep a special eye on this one.
He feels very neglected. Amy could relate. Blake was incarcerated,

(06:15):
and she was feeling a little neglected herself. Had already
felt like Blake had been gone for an eternity, but
they still had a long way to go before they
would be together again. And that's when Pete already stepped
in hell. He even looked a little like Blake. Amy
claimed that she and Pete were nothing more than platonic friends,

(06:35):
but to the public's prying eyes, she had a thing
for jailbirds. Pete had just been released from Wormwood Scrubs,
a dirty old relic of a prison. The place was
so dicey and dangerous that an officer once said, if
a prisoner wanted to take a hostage, you would be
at their mercy. Pete had been jailed fourteen weeks for

(06:56):
missing a meeting with his probation officer after a very
public Hero and bust give him Pezz rap sheet. The
fact that fourteen weeks was as long as stint in
prison with something of a miracle. His backlog of brush
ups the law made Amy look bush leak. Two thousand
three robbery. Pete broke into his own bandmate's apartment and

(07:18):
get away with instruments and recording equipment to sell so
he could buy more dope. Two thousand five Robbery and blackmail.
He and a friend attacked a documentary filmmaker who sold
photos of Pete smoking hero into several tabloids. Pete broke
the Guys Knows two thousand five. Possession of Class A
drugs twice, driving under the influence twice within ten days

(07:41):
order to enter a rehabilitation center didn't stick. Two thousand six,
driving under the influence suspected to have been high on
Class A drugs, required to attend eighteen months in rehabilitation.
Fat fucking chance. Drug possession five more times, casual car
theft under the influence of drugs Assault that BBC radio

(08:02):
reporter would think twice before approaching him again. Two thousand
seven driving without insurance, probably high possession of crack, heroin,
cannabis and kennemy possession while at London's v Festival. Assault
the photographer was trying to take pictures of him and
his girlfriend. Thirteen arrests in four years. The British tabloids

(08:22):
dragged Pete through the mud every chance they got, and
he gave them no shortage of chances. Rehab. Yes, actually
he'd been there, but he could never find a way
to kick the habit, not completely. He was addicted not
just to elicit substances. He was addicted to the life
of a zero fox. Given Lawbreaker, his atomic glow shone

(08:42):
brightly on Amy Winos. He detonated on impact. Amy was
scorched earth ground zero. She had pushed her addictions to
the absolute limit. Years later, in an interview with The
Daily Mail, Pete Doherty would confess that his relationship with
Amy did cross over and friends to lovers, albeit briefly.

(09:03):
Towards the end, he said, as only lovers can, she
became quite mean and cruel to me, And when words
weren't enough to communicate exactly how she felt, Pete claimed
her mean right hook did the talking for her. Amy
saved her tenderness, for the mice and for Blake, whom
she continued to love against the odds, even when the

(09:24):
odds were not just sad, they were stacked against her,
even as things were about to go from sad to worse.

(09:59):
First her eyes went out, then her body followed, gravity
claimed her. She dropped straight down, hit the bed full
body convulsions. The partygoers clammed up, and no one said
a goddamn thing. She made noises and slid off of
the bed and hit the floor, collapsed like a dying star.
Was nothing but a dull thud. August two thousand seven.

(10:22):
At this point, Blake Fielder Civil had zero experience dealing
with seizures. He was high as ship, and now he
was panicking. On top of being high, his heart bounded,
his head felt like a squall at sea. In his head,
he thought to himself, somebody do something, someone to save
my wife's life. But the only word that kept coming

(10:43):
out of his mouth was Amy, each time louder and
more helpless than before, Like if he said her name
loud enough, it would reach her and she would snap
out of it. But saying Amy's name over and over
again wasn't going to do anything, and neither was anyone
else fright out of their minds at this house party.
Blake was going out to come to Amy's rescue, so

(11:03):
he quickly dropped to the floor and picked up Amy's head.
He pulled her tongue out of her mouth to make
sure she didn't swallow it or bite it off. Suddenly,
Amy stopped breathing. No, no, she couldn't die, not here,
not now. She had so much left to do. She
was just getting started, and they had just been partying
with some friends. Nothing out of the ordinary. Sure, they

(11:24):
were on a three day drug bench, but it wasn't
even like she had done that much at one time.
They had paced themselves in this moment. It wasn't even
sure if he could remember exactly what she had recently taken,
or in what order mouth to mouth he had seen
that done before. It seemed easy. No, Sweat just used
his mouth to breathe inside her mouth. Blake pried open

(11:46):
Amy's jaw and pushed air into her lungs. Felt for
a pulse nothing fuck had her heart completely stopped. All
he could hear was his own heart practically bursting from
his own body. He tried mouth to mouth again, and
more forcefully this time, hopefully this would do the trick
in her chest would finally rise, blowing more air into

(12:06):
her mouth, hoping for some sign of life, anything at all. Amy,
come on, love, wake up, wake up, Please wake up.
And once more he attempted to blow air into her lungs.
Third time was the charm. Amy coughed and took a
massive in him. Returning back from the other side, back
to the land of the living, she looked around the room, startled.

(12:29):
She didn't know who the hell the man sitting over
her was, and she sure as didn't know where she
was or what she was doing on the floor. All
she knew was that she needed another hit. Someone bring
her another hit. Immediately, her eyes closed again, and then
they opened and then closed. She began slipping in and
out of consciousness every few seconds. A friend rang a

(12:51):
taxi service and had her taken directly to the hospital
to recover. She knew the questions from the press would
come fast and furious us, and they probably already got
wind of this already smelled the blood of the wounded
animal and were ready to pounce, so she got out
ahead of it. Once she recovered, she told the press
to stop speculating, stop spreading rumors. It was exhaustion, plain

(13:14):
and simple. That's all. She checked into the hospital because
she was exhausted. The press had their field day, as
they always did, and it was later revealed and reported that,
of course it wasn't exhaustion at all. Amy Caesar was
doing in an overdose of a mixture of heroin, cocaine, ecstasy,
academy whiskey, and vodka. She shouldn't have survived. She was

(13:34):
so tiny and her intake was so large. Doctors warned
her that the next time she may not be so lucky.
I'm lucky for Blake Fielder, Civil bad memories, Linger and
so Amy's two thousand seven overdose was the kind of
memory running through his mind as he sat in a
prison cell in January of two thousand nine, on account

(13:56):
of the whole Macbeth pub dustop, he lurged over a
some copy of the tabloid News of the World. He'd
heard about the article on the inside, but needed to
see it with his own eyes. Inside he found a
photo of his wife, the Beehive Diva. But in this photo,
she no longer had that beehive. Her clothes looked like

(14:16):
they actually fit her. She no longer had the skeletal
figure that she had been parading around Camden Town just
months before. She was clean. Jamie told the news of
the world that she had escaped the so called hell
of her marriage, traded the stuffy rehabilitation clinics of London
for the sun soaked beaches of St. Lucia, and she
a married woman, even at herself a new man. Blake

(14:39):
read the article imprickled. This wasn't mice man Pete Dharty,
Jimmy wasn't in a drug induced haste. She was clear
headed and making a clear headed decision to move on
with her life. Blake's eyes pulled out quotes. I'll be
with Blake when I get back. Our whole marriage was
based on doing drugs for the time being. I've forgotten
I'm even married, forgotten they were even married. Ouch. It

(15:04):
was tabloid junk, sure, but it was tabloid junk created
out of direct quotes from Amy's mouth. So maybe she
was better off without him. Maybe he was a bad influence.
He was mad enough to admit that. It's not like
she was on the straight and narrow by any means
before they met, But he had introduced her to the
hard stuff, to kenemie, to ecstasy, to smack. That's said.

(15:25):
Here he was stuck behind concrete and bars, and there
she was, his wife, parading around in public with another man.
Blake contacted his attorney from behind bars, started the divorce process,
cited adultery. He wasn't gonna be made to look like
a fool in front of the entire planet, the Sun,
the Guardian, the Daily Mail, news of the fucking world.

(15:47):
They had all picked the relationship apart for years, like
the cynical, desperate vultures they were, and now they'd be
responsible for putting the final nail in the coffin. When
divorce papers reached Amy, she was frankly shocked, and then
she was livid. Blake had done the same thing to
her before he went to prison, shagging her German supermodel,

(16:08):
something widely reported in the tabloids. This after a he
had stood by his side, held a public visual form
for months, called out his name during performances, changed lyrics
to her songs to make them more obviously about him.
She just had to give it time. He would come around.
He had to. Amy told the son that she still

(16:29):
loved Blake and that she wouldn't let him divorce her,
that her behavior in St. Lucia was just her having
a good time. With each tabloid article, in each interview,
it became clearer that this wouldn't blow over. Now that
there was a very real chance of Blake leaving, Amy
was freaking the funk out. She unraveled, and shortly after

(16:50):
the St. Lucia Jazz Festival debacle, the press once again
went on the hunt, and there were reports that Amy
had been banned from St. Lucia bars and hotels, that
she had had stayed her welcome, that she had become
what the locals deemed a nuisance when she's drunk. A
month later, Amy was on her way back to England
to attend a court date for her assault on a

(17:10):
burlesque dancer at the Prince's Trust Charity ball back in
two thousand and eight. When she stepped off the plane,
she burst into tears. It had been eight long months
since she'd been home. She declined to speak to the
media and though she appeared healthy, the press knew things
weren't as rosy as they seemed. In fact, if experience

(17:31):
with Amy Winehouse taught them anything, it was that you
didn't have to go too far below the beautiful surface
to discover an ugly truth. We'll be right back after
this word. We were December two nine, Buckinghamshire, England. Amy

(17:56):
Winehouse was already a few vodkas SODA's deep as she
stood backstage at the Milton Keynes Theater. She watched his
actors and crew members milled around and prepared to do
something magical. Play make believe in a quote unquote all
star production of Cinderella. Translation it started octogenarian Mickey Rooney. Reality,
it was a bunch of washed out blisters performing a

(18:18):
children's fairy tale. Amy knew it would be a bust.
Fairy tales were bullshit. There weren't any happy endings in reality.
Amy was invited to the event by her friend Anthony Kavanaugh,
a blonde haired pop star turned reality star who was
a last minute replacement for Prince Charming. At least he
had the look. Anthony was busy and Amy was bored,

(18:41):
buzzing and funk her wrist was bleeding again. She'd accidentally
cut it earlier in the night before the event, and
now the wound had reopened, and thea Turner, the television
presenter turned fairy godmother, excitedly approached Amy. She treated Amy
like she was some novelty, patronizing her, grabbing her hand
and shaking it vigorously, smiling wide, fake ass TV personality,

(19:04):
and Amy gave it right back. Oh, I love you, Antea.
Amy pulled her in close, wiping her bloodied hand on
the side of Anthea's dress. Hilarious, fuck your fairy tale.
Anthony looked at her costume with dismay. She scurried off
towards wardrobe and away from the malevolent force that was
Amy Winehouse. Amy freshened up her glass. No one should

(19:27):
be expected to make it through this show without vodka.
Amy knocked back glass number five and sauntered over to
her seat at the front of the stage. The curtain
went up, and she began to heckle the actors, at
one point calling the evil stepsisters bitches audibly enough for
the entire general admissionary at to hear. Staff informed the manager,

(19:48):
who was now paying special attention to the patron with
the beehive. One character on stage began to sneak up
on another. Amy couldn't resist. He's fucking behind you. Shishes
and looks of severe irritation from the audience members surrounded her.
Oh boo, fucking who? What were they complaining about? She
was making the show at least palatable. Someone needed to

(20:10):
provide a little entertainment, because it's sure as hell wasn't
coming from the knobs on stage. When Kavanaugh appeared for
his next scene as Prince Charming, Amy couldn't resist. She
unleashed her masterpiece of the evening, Fox Cinder's Prince Charming
Marry Me. A nearby child burst into tears. That didn't

(20:31):
The theater manager had let the slash celebrity slide long enough.
He shuffled towards Amy's seat with a pair of security guards.
Could they perhaps move him his winehouse to a private
luxury box? Private being the operative word. She was fine,
just where she was, thank you, and the manager knew
that she was not fine. He needed to get her out,

(20:52):
and needed to get her out now. She had already
ruined enough of his guest experiences, and the manager stood
his ground with the security guard standing next to him. Amy,
I had the guards. She didn't have the energy for
this fine upstairs in the luxury box. Amy was restless,
Her buzz was fading. On her way to the bathroom,

(21:13):
she passed the theater manager in the hall, mumbling curses
at him under her breath. Why no, at it again.
On the way back to her seat, the theater manager
was standing behind the bar. Amy moved confidently towards him
and asked for another drink. The bartender looked her over
no chance. The manager offered her a glass of water,

(21:34):
maybe something that wasn't a hundred proof of MS Winehouse.
What kind of funckory was this? Amy refused the water.
In her mind, the manager made a scene. He was
the one who forced her to move seats, and now
he was further making a scene, refusing her service, like
she was some sort of child and she was a
grown woman. Amy raised your voice loud enough for everyone

(21:54):
around her to hear, who the funk do you think
you are? Okay, now he was done, The theater manager
requested that Amy leave the building. Two nearby security guards
were watching intently. She eyed them. This story was being
written as it happened. Amy could see the headline. Now,
Amy Winehouse charged with the salt after her foul mouth

(22:15):
tyrede fucking Amy grabbed a fistful of the manager's hair
and twisted with every ounce of force she had. Then
she lined up a kick and released a brutal boot
right to the manager's growing jackpot. He collapsed to the floor,
reeling as the guards and several other staff numbers jumped
into the fray. Amy was escorted out of the theater
in front of thunderstruck guests who were able to catch

(22:37):
a glimpse, and the lobby of police attachment was waiting
with open arms to deal with her. Amy was eventually
booked on a sault and had her court date set
three weeks out. Merry fucking Christmas in the courthouse was
an absolute scene. Paparazzi out in full force. This wasn't
Amy's home, this was public property. The photographer's feared no

(23:00):
or ordered injunction here. They took all the shots they wanted,
and man, they were glad to have Amy Winehouse back
in town, but they didn't quite get the train wreck
they were expecting. Amy walked up to the courthouse in
a miniskirt, low cut button blouse, her trademark ballerina shoes,
her hair and makeup flawless inside the courthouse, staring down

(23:21):
six months on the inside, the district court judge dropped
his gavel and instead sentenced Amy to a fine pounds
and costs a hundred pounds to the manager and his bollocks.
And the judge asked Amy to promise to the court
that she'd do her best to stay in the straight
and narrow for two years. And then he said something
Amy wasn't expecting. It was clear to him that she

(23:45):
was trying her best. Her medical reports proved that, and
so did her appearance in court, and he gave her
credit for that. Amy exited the courthouse brimming, flashed a
grin at the paparazzi. Nothing to see here, you vultures.
She took that positive energy and ran with it. She
recorded music with legend Quincy Jones. She had her first

(24:06):
successful show in years, a surprise appearance at a little
club gig supporting Mark Ronson No getting booed off stage,
engaged receptive crowds reveling in Amy at the height of
her powers, things did feel different, and that's when an
eight months self prescribed beachside reset an injunction against the press,
and a divorce will do for you that long lasted

(24:28):
seeing that the long awaited new Amy winehouse had arrived.
She was no princess, she knew that, never said she
was Fox Cinders. Indeed, maybe she could relate to some
of that story, the one she half watched at the
Milton Keys Theater. Cinderella had her own struggles to overcome,
not least of which were her sisters. They held her
back and said she would never amount to anything, but

(24:50):
she proved them wrong, and no doubt achieved some sort
of personal vindication at the end. Sure Amy could relate
to that. But what the story of Cinderella got wrong
is that it's stopped at the most crucial moment, the
moment that Cinders become someone that she never thought she
would be, never really wanted to be, honestly, and then
what happened She lived happily ever after? Bullshit? How does

(25:11):
she deal with being a fucking princess? How does she
deal with being someone that others in the kingdom fond
overlusted after and ship talked an equal measure? Cinderella wasn't real,
and neither were fairy tales. Amy Winehouse, on the other hand,
was living in the real world, so she passed in
the high, not in the high of an illicit drug
for once, but the high of being back on top

(25:33):
of her game. She knew the high king with a
caveat that there were no happy endings in the real world.

(26:03):
Blake Fielder civil was bleary eyed. He searched through his
pocket for the key card. Amy Winehouse leaned against him.
Both bodies required the other to remain upright. Blake unlocked
the door to their East London hotel room and the
duo staggered inside, and they were exhausted. It was late
another long night at the club. Amy collapsed on the bed.

(26:25):
Blake the camp to the bathroom. He prepared his nightly ritual,
the one that came in clutch. After a night of
ear rattling bass and more drinks than he could count,
he stood over the sink and produced a small piece
of tinfoil, a lighter, and ten pounds worth of white
powder from his pocket. He opened his wallet, pulled a
crisp bill, rolled it tight, and then lit the foil.

(26:47):
He inhaled the smoke through the bill. He felt it
fill his lungs, but taste was different than the steady
diet of cigarettes he'd inhaled all evening. The feeling was euphoric.
It reached out to every receptor like an eraser on
a chalkboard. Every negative thought or feeling was instantly wiped out.
He would call it a dream, but dreams didn't feel

(27:08):
this good. Blake heard a noise from behind him. He
turned around to see Amy in the doorway. She saw
what he was doing. He could tell if she was intrigued,
and this was new territory for her. She asked if
she could take a hit. Blake shook his head. He
couldn't say for sure if he didn't want her doing
heroin because he didn't want her to get hooked on

(27:29):
at her, because he didn't want to share a stash.
Amy kept asking, wouldn't take no for an answer. Blake
was weak. He eventually handed her the bill and lit
the foil. She did as he had done, and she
felt that rush, the rush for the first time, and
there was nothing else in the world that even came
close to the sensation. It was her key to escape,

(27:52):
to escape the tabloids, the fame, the pressure. She wasn't
sure where heroin took her. But it wasn't here, and
it wasn't now, and that was just all right. Amy
couldn't get enough. She and Blake went deep into dope
chase that rush for a month and then another and another,
and by month before Blake was in jail, Amy was inconsolable,

(28:14):
and without Blake she was in pain, not just emotional
but physical pain that there was only one thing she
knew that would help her make that pain go away.
February two, Blake Fielder civil felt the studio lights beare
down on him as he told the story about that
night in a London hotel room some six years earlier.

(28:36):
It wasn't just the lights bothering him. The camera lens
is stared at him like they were judging him, and
the television host, Jeremy Kyle, went right for the jugular
you gave her heroin for the first time, the host said,
more statement than question. They all already knew the answer.
They all saw Blake as a pariah. They all blamed
him for the tragedy that had befallen his ex wife

(28:57):
some two years earlier. They just wanted to hear him saying.
Blake nodded He admitted that he had introduced Amy to
Class A drugs just two months after they married. He
felt responsible for her addiction years later, when he felt
emasculated and humiliated after reading about Amy's affair from behind
prison bars. And maybe that was karma. What goes around

(29:18):
comes around. Maybe he did deserve that. Blake wasn't trying
to make a buck. He just wanted to set the
record straight. He wanted the world to understand that Amy
wasn't some pitiful junkie. She just made some bad choices,
that was all. And God damn it, some of those
bad choices were on him. Sure, he touched the spot
behind his ear where he had a tattoo that read
a m y. He liked the things. She did it

(29:40):
for him so that he wouldn't be alone. That she
did it out of love. And there it was that
word again. Love. Love changed the course of your life,
sometimes for better, sometimes for worse, and sometimes it was
just a losing game. Now, Blake Fielder civil sat on
a stage in front of a video audience and spewed

(30:01):
intimate knowledge to the same people who drove Amy mad,
the ones who took away your ability to live a
normal life. Blake pulled back the curtain and what the
public saw with some truly horrific close calls was crack,
cocaine and heroin. But it was a smoke screen because
as truthful as Blake thought he was being in his
tell all interview, the truth was he wasn't telling the

(30:25):
whole truth. I'm Jake Brennan and this is the seven Club,
and The seven Club is hosted and produced by me

(30:45):
Jake Brennan for Double Elvis in partnership with I Heart Radio.
Zeth Lundie is the lead writer and co producer. This
episode was mixed by Matt Bowden. Additional music and score
elements by Ryan Spraaker and Henry Luneta. The episode was
written by Ted Omo story and copy editing by Pata Healing.
Sources for this episode are available at Double Elvis dot

(31:08):
com on the twenty seven Club series page. Talk to
me on Social Act, disgrace Land pod, and hang out
with me live on my Twitch channel disgrace Land Talks.
For more news on your favorite podcast, follow at Double
Elvis on Instagram. Rock rolla, What's up for your Ears