An evergreen teen dream, Miss Pamela Des Barres remains a cultural icon of the ’60s and ’70s for her torrid love affairs with rock legends like Mick Jagger, Jimmy Page, and Keith Moon. Naysayers dubbed her a groupie like it was a dirty word, yet she welcomed the title with open arms. “I’ve got the G word in my blood and it’s never going away,” Des Barres professed proudly over Zoom. Of course, we would be remiss if we didn’t highlight the fact that she was also a member of her own girl group, known as The GTOs, a traveling dance troupe often cited as being responsible for the iconic style of your favorite rock stars. For years, she’s been performing live readings of her memoir and groupie Bible I’m with the Band all over the country. Now the queen of the Sunset Strip is bringing her one-woman show to the Big Apple at The Cutting Room. Before she touched down in NYC, we hopped on a Zoom call with Des Barres to chat about romancing with Mick Jagger, the GTO girl code, and what it takes to be a groupie today. 

———

ARY RUSSELL: The last time that we spoke, you said that you were going to be in Albuquerque. How was everything?

PAMELA DES BARRES: It was wonderful. I travel a lot. I’ve been doing workshops all over the country.

RUSSELL: What’s your favorite part about doing these shows?

DES BARRES: Sharing my former reality. It seems like a myth to a lot of younger people who weren’t able to be in the thick of the musical, sexual, and spiritual renaissance of the ’60s and early ’70s. This book personifies that era in a way that I didn’t think of when I wrote it. 

RUSSELL: Do you ever have girls coming up to you with similar stories?

DES BARRES: Yes. Groupies always love me, and they want to entrust me with their experiences. I get tons of messages from people I don’t know regarding their wild antics with musicians. 

RUSSELL: I re-read your book for the third time. I first asked for it for Christmas when I was 16. I’ve always considered myself a fangirl, but felt like a weirdo because my parents could not understand why I’d get so obsessed. So, when I read your book for the first time, I was able to say, “I’m not a freak. There’s someone who understands.”

DES BARRES: I’ve had a lot of that response. Because groupie is a state of mind, people think it’s all about sex, which of course—

RUSSELL: It can be.

DES BARRES: If you’re lucky. Groupies are usually a certain age and all our hormones were popping. I was only 14 when The Beatles happened, and no one understood what was going on there. Elvis [Presley] too. All my walls were covered with their photos, and I’d never stopped. I had many rituals I had to do, or I’d never meet Paul [McCartney]. 

RUSSELL: You were very bold for your age, sneaking onto The Beatles’ property or following Mick Jagger to his hotel. Was there ever a moment where you thought, “Okay, I’m taking it a little too far”?

DES BARRES: No. I wanted to take it further. And of course, when I came across Jim Morrison, I did. But it was very different in the mid to late-’60s. We were coming out of the ’50s and men didn’t expect you to drop your drawers for them immediately. I never went all the way until I was 19 and a half with Nick St. Nicholas, another bass player. My first three lovers were bass players. 

RUSSELL: It’s one of those things where you never want to live with regret. 

DES BARRES: “I wish I’d done that.” I was early on in the scene. It was just good timing and I was close enough to the Sunset Strip to get there by hook or by crook. People think that because I was a groupie all I wanted to do is fuck rock stars. I had tons of goals and it was because my mom gave me such a great foundation and believed in me that I remained safe in that scene when a lot of people went too far with drugs and alcohol and sex.

RUSSELL: You knew your limit.

DES BARRES: I had a love foundation, the love-ins, the closeness that people had with each other. The GTOs [Girls Together Outrageously], my girl band, were crazy about each other. I didn’t have sex with any of them, but a couple of them did with each other. 

RUSSELL: I loved reading about the camaraderie that you had with The GTOs. When you’re mixing the hormones with these goo-goo-gaga rock stars, how did you stay strong in that camaraderie? Were there moments where multiple girls were interested in the same rock star?

DES BARRES: Not The GTOs. We were real careful about who we got crushes on. We were more important to each other than the musicians were, especially when Frank [Zappa] turned us into a group and we thought we were going to be world famous, like our rock star friends. That didn’t happen, of course, but it was a real magical time. For people to judge me and anyone from that era who had a blast, I feel sorry for them that they didn’t get to do all that stuff.

RUSSELL: They missed out. 

DES BARRES: It was so much fun. Of course, my heart got broken horribly by Jimmy Page, but a lot of it was just romping and fun like with Mick Jagger. I knew I was not going to land him. 

RUSSELL: Oh, Mick Jagger…

DES BARRES: He was my first sexual crush. I was the right age to go, “Oh, my god. What’s going on down there?” when listening to his music. Actually, I had to fight him off for a while because I was in love with Jimmy Page. I thought he was being true to me on the road, which was ridiculous. But I was an innocent 20-year-old, and I learned a lot with Jimmy. He was crazy about me. 

RUSSELL: Were there any situations that now that you’ve gotten older, you’ve begun to look at differently?

DES BARRES: I didn’t know when I first decided to do these one-woman shows that people would laugh as much as they do. So, I dig a little deeper into it, and a lot of it is very funny. There were some deadly, tragic times, too. I do read a lot about Gram [Parsons], because he was my favorite all-time singer. So, there’s a lot of sweetness to it too, even though we lost him at 26. 

RUSSELL: It’s one thing when your idol that you’ve never met dies.

DES BARRES: Yes. 

RUSSELL: It’s another thing if you knew them. What was it like to get the news, “Jim Morrison died. I spent the night with this amazing person”?

DES BARRES: It was horrible. That’s the downside, the drug side, which I was not addicted to. But I fell for the addictive people, because my dad had that quality. It was addiction that brought a lot of these people down and we didn’t know how deadly it could be at that point. Gram didn’t mean to die at all, and neither did Jim Morrison or Jimi Hendrix or Janis Joplin. Brian Jones got murdered, but I don’t think he would’ve lived much longer anyway. [Laughs]

RUSSELL: A lot of people see groupies as one thing. They’re there to fulfill the sexual appetite of these rock stars. But you are doing a lot of emotional labor for these guys. And then also, culturally, you’re influencing their fashion.

DES BARRES: Oh, totally. We gave as much as we got. Sometimes the other way around. We put so much into these people and spent a lot of time with them, especially the Brits. They would come over here and be bored to death. In those days, you could tell your wife you were going to Utah but they would always come right back to L.A. after the show. The Stones, when I was hanging out with Mick, recorded their album here for six weeks.

RUSSELL: Yes.

DES BARRES: They loved being here, and it was an equal exchange. And a lot of times, I wasn’t a groupie, like for Gram. I babysat his daughter. I just loved the music. So, it goes beyond the word “groupie” a lot of times when you’re spending time with musicians. That was family to me.

RUSSELL: Even the title I’m with the Band indicates, “I’m in a place I’m supposed to be. I belong here.”

DES BARRES: That’s true.

RUSSELL: You were also making these shirts that were being worn by these rock stars who were seen as style icons. 

DES BARRES: Oh, yeah. Jimmy Page put one of the shirts I made him in his photo book, my pink and white velvet 3-foot fringe shirt. But did he give me credit? No.

RUSSELL: A slight oversight. [Laughs]

DES BARRES: Yeah, right. [Laughs] We were very influential and close with these people. They would come to town and we took them shopping. There was only one vintage store in LA at the time and Nudie’s with Rodeo Tailor.

RUSSELL: Were there any rock stars that were completely different from the persona that they shared with the world?

DES BARRES: I mean, Mick was very funny and incredibly self-deprecating. So was Robert Plant. They were amused by the whole thing. Jimmy Page took it a lot more seriously.

RUSSELL: Do you think that your desire to be around famous people truly stemmed from your desire to be famous yourself? 

DES BARRES: Well, a lot of the bands I loved were not necessarily famous. I never, ever liked them because they were famous. It was the music that I loved. When I was seeing Jim Morrison, the first album wasn’t even out yet. I just wanted to be around these creative people.

RUSSELL: To be inspired. 

DES BARRES: I wanted to be an actor for quite a while and then when The GTOs started, I thought, “Oh, boy. Now, I’m in a band myself.” We opened for Alice Cooper at the Whiskey [a Go Go] and Miss Christine, one of The GTOs and his girlfriend, did his makeup.

RUSSELL: I remember reading that.

DES BARRES: Even in his fabulous documentary, Super Duper Alice Cooper, he gives us credit for their look. We put them in skirts.

RUSSELL: Which is crazy, because it’s almost like we’ve gone backwards. If you put a guy in a skirt today, it’s a whole hoopla. 

DES BARRES: The androgyny started really with the Brits. Mick was androgynous, and The Beatles started it with their long hair. We, as females, felt more comfortable with these androgynous guys.

RUSSELL: Because it was a level of being less threatening?

DES BARRES: I guess so. I mean, I always felt heightened when I was spending time with my favorite musicians, my boyfriends. But there were other times, like with Keith Moon, where I had to take care of him. He would be bipolar now, and there’d be medication for it. There wasn’t then. 

RUSSELL: You were playing doctor?

DES BARRES: I was literally a nurse with him. He’d wake up screaming and I’d have to give him another Placidyl. I felt bad for Monika Dannemann, the girl who gave Jimi Hendrix the dose that killed him, because I was doing that too.

RUSSELL: And you had no idea.

DES BARRES: She didn’t know she was giving him too much medication. I got to spend a lot of time with her before she gassed herself. She never got over killing Jimi Hendrix.

RUSSELL: I mean, that’s part of the emotional investment when these people are no longer just an idol, but they’re part of your life. 

DES BARRES: The further we get away from it, it’s going to be even more mythologized because it’s an incredibly unique time, never to come again. I’m with the Band, it’ll be 40 years since it came out next year. I think it will continue to sell long after I’m gone. My spiritual teacher told me my real fame would come after I’m gone. Then she went, “Oops. I probably shouldn’t have said that.” [Laughs]

RUSSELL: Going back to the solidarity that you had with The GTOs and the other women, I also found it a little cheeky when Lori Lightning [Mattix] and Sable Starr make a little cameo in the book.

DES BARRES: They were so mean. Lori was never mean, but Sable was really mean. Lori was just this innocent goofball because she was a kid. They were 14 years old. I didn’t see it that way then, though. I mean, Loretta Lynn got married and had her baby by 14. 

RUSSELL: You settled down earlier.

DES BARRES: Now, it’s viewed in a whole different light and should be. People glom onto that part of the book and say, “Oh, Jimmy’s left you for Lori.” That’s not what happened. He left me when he met Charlotte [Martin] on his birthday. Then he came back to town, and we had a tryst. I expected to see him the following night, too and that’s when he took Lori home. He had so many affairs after that. But Lori wasn’t aware of any of that. So, I wasn’t angry at her, but Sable was always mean to me.

RUSSELL: How did it feel seeing as you were the pioneer? 

DES BARRES: They didn’t see me that way. I was 23. I was too old.

RUSSELL: If you could’ve gone back, would you have said anything to Sable?

DES BARRES: I’m a lover, not a fighter. 

RUSSELL: There was a moment in your book where you were questioning, “Why can’t I settle down with an engineer or a CPA?” To come from being with these creatives to then go with an engineer, would you have even been satisfied?

DES BARRES: I couldn’t have done it. And the people I’ve dated since Michael [Des Barres] have only been creatives. My last boyfriend, Mike Stinson, is a brilliant singer-songwriter. We were together for five years. My last two true loves were both 20 years younger than me. I have a very youthful spirit.

RUSSELL: You’re someone who’s so evergreen. You’ll never go out of style. 

DES BARRES: Oh, thank you. Please write that. [Laughs]

RUSSELL: Is there a star now that you think has the same level of fandom and impact?

DES BARRES: Harry Styles. And maybe the Jonas Brothers for a while there, and One Direction. Now, thank god, it’s a lot of women in the Top 10. I just wish they were saying something more important. It’s all about love and heartbreak for the most part. [Bob] Dylan and Leonard Cohen came along and changed that. That’s why I always call myself a lyric whore.

RUSSELL: Is there someone you wish you’d had the chance to have a love affair with?

DES BARRES: Prince. I know it would’ve been brief. But man, I would’ve loved to get my hands on him. Oh, what a loss. And of course, Paul.

RUSSELL: I was going to ask, “Are the feelings for Paul still fresh and never-ending?”

DES BARRES: Absolutely. I still get crazy about people. It’s just in my DNA. I’ve got the G word in my blood, and it’s never going away.

Pamela Des Barres

RUSSELL: On top of re-reading your book, I was also reading your two stories in Interview. You talked about how there’s no more backstage and how the relationship between the musician and the public has changed. I don’t think anyone could ever do what you did. What do you think happened?

DES BARRES: They can do what I did, but with bands that haven’t been discovered yet. One of my dolls, I call my writers my dolls, her daughter is a big groupie, and they meet on Instagram and TikTok.

RUSSELL: Yeah.

DES BARRES: They slide into each other’s DMs, a term I can’t imagine I’d ever say, but that’s how they meet. [Laughs] The guy in The Strokes—

RUSSELL: Oh, Julian Casablancas. 

DES BARRES: He’s very naughty online and slides into many DMs.

RUSSELL: I’ve heard the stories. For the young girls who want to live the groupie life today, what advice would you give them for getting a rock star’s attention?

DES BARRES: Well, you have to start in whatever city you’re in. Go to local clubs, find a band you love, and start there. That’s the only way to do it now. There’s certainly no way to go backstage at a massive concert anymore. Or become a journalist, like you. After I’m with the Band came out, I was a journalist for many magazines, and that’s how I met them. So, what you’re doing is the right way.

RUSSELL: I had a feeling. [Laughs]

 

Fuck off! Off!” Bill Ryder-Jones barks gently but sternly, swatting at the hand looming over the synth in front of him. Beside him, James Balmont pulls back, the mischief running through his fingers extinguished as he’s scolded like a puppy whose energy is becoming a bit too distracting. As Swim Deep’s keyboardist slinks back to his seat, he protests through a mock pout: “I was going to play the X-Files theme!”

It’s late August 2025, and Swim Deep have decamped to Brussels’ ICP Studios to work on their fifth album, ‘Hum’. After helming 2024’s ‘There’s A Big Star Outside’, Ryder-Jones is back in the producer’s chair, and alongside engineer Giovanni Lando, the cohort are entering the final stages of recording when NME joins them in Belgium.

Over the two weeks that Balmont, frontman Austin “Ozzy” Williams, drummer Thomas Fiquet and new guitarist J.J. Buchanan have spent in the wood-panelled studio (bassist Cavan McCarthy has had to sit out the trip due to childcare commitments), progress has been good. The band are in good spirits, but a slight undercurrent of tension starts to build in the 24 hours NME spends in their company. In a few days’ time, they’ll return to the UK. Before then, fat needs to be trimmed, details nailed down, and ideas fleshed out until each song reaches its maximum potential. The clock is ticking, and each time they listen back to a track, a discussion follows about what needs fixing, adding or taking away.

Once the layers and details are worked out, though, the world is in for a treat. Even on first, unfinished listen, it’s clear that this album is shaping up to be something beautiful. As Williams leaves the room to work on something by himself, the rest of the band play through a handful of tracks for NME – the results of a “purple patch” of songwriting between the frontman and Buchanan. “Each song should go on a journey,” Balmont shares as one track fades out of the speakers, calling the notion one of this album’s “guiding lights”. You can sense that approach in the likes of the slow, grungy stomp of ‘Mud’ and the emotive beauty of the Buchanan-penned ‘Broken’ – songs that grow, change and weave stories.

While there’s often a marked difference between each Swim Deep album, here they dig deeper into the sound of ‘There’s A Big Star Outside’ – softer, grungier, more songwriterly. Lyrically, it’s introspective but accessible, filled with personal reflections that are moving, but also make you consider where you are in your own life. On the bright, bursting ‘You, Me & Mary’, a touching contemplation directed to his wife and one-year-old daughter, Williams wonders with infectious self-observation: “Is this the best that I can be?

ICP Studios is a fitting place for these reflections to unfold. It’s a space Swim Deep have visited at several points in their journey, first setting foot inside in 2012 when, as a rising act backed by plenty of buzz, they came to record their debut album, ‘Where The Heaven Are We’. “That first year, [we were signed to a] major label, [had] three meals a day, private chef, all that stuff,” Williams recalls. When they came back to record follow-up ‘Mothers’ in 2014, there was “one less meal [a day], [the label were] a bit more cautious with us”. In the evening, as we walk to a bowling alley imaginatively named Brussels Bowling – a consistent fixture in the band’s visits to the city – Balmont regales us with youthful tales of drunken festive nights, dragging Christmas trees to the studio, and “tops off in the club” for one of Williams’ birthdays past.

In 2023, they returned to make ‘There’s A Big Star Outside’, no longer those responsibility-free kids but adults in their thirties. At that time, Williams was about to become a father; his experience of that then-impending reality becoming actualised colours ‘Hum’. When NME visits the band, his daughter Mary and partner Nell have also come over to be together for a few days between sessions, reinforcing that sense that the studio is somewhere the band have grown up.

Across ‘Hum’, Williams meditates on family and the ties that bind us together, the shift that comes both with a new life and the grief of departures. In the same month Mary was born, Nell’s father died – a combination of seismic life events the musician calls “mind-splitting”.

Swim Deep
Swim Deep’s Austin Williams at ICP Studios. Credit: Luca Bailey

“Mary was the thing that brought anyone joy in that time,” he says, slouched in a booth at Brussels Bowling after a chaotic round on the lanes (Williams comes out on top; NME and Fiquet hold up the bottom end, despite frantically studying bowling tutorials on YouTube to aid our game). “You’re mourning, you’re trying to be sensitive, and you don’t want to put any of that on the child. A lot of growth came with that and the songs came out of that.” This album, he half-jokes, is one that can be summed up as “live, loss, love”: “The love makes the loss harder, but the love makes the live easier.”

Through that world-uprooting time, the experience of becoming a dad has reminded him of the purpose of the path he’s chosen. “With Mary, I just write my songs like nursery rhymes or whatever,” he explains fondly. “It brings you back to what songwriting is about – sharing stories and keeping stories memorable for people with melody.”

Around the time of Mary’s birth, Williams questioned whether continuing to make a living from music was “the right thing to do” or if he should find a more stable way to provide for his family. It’s the kind of conundrum that’s plagued many musicians, the financial insecurity of band life causing Swim Deep to lose some members over the years. Today, each of the five bandmates works a day job alongside the band – a necessity that also means they can’t be a “proper band” because their clashing schedules make it impossible to rehearse.

Why, then, do they keep going? “I think 10 years ago, a big part of making music was trying to get recognition,” Balmont reasons the next morning as the band gather around a table in a room lined with plaques celebrating albums made at ICP. “I think now, we’re pursuing creative satisfaction as a more personal thing.” He nods to an interview he did with Flaming Lips’ Wayne Coyne a few years back in his day job as a culture journalist. “I remember him telling me, ‘When you get to this age, it’s not about just being with the lads anymore and having a good time – you’ve really got to love the music.’ I feel like that’s a realisation we’ve come to and that’s maybe why we are still here.”

“Me and Cav have always said that our day will come – we just don’t know when” – Austin Williams

“But also, what would we do if we weren’t doing this?” Fiquet says in a tone that suggests there is no alternative for him. “I’ve never not been in a band since I was 15, except for one month when I lived in London. I wouldn’t know what to do.”

“I saw someone in a band that makes a lot of money say, ‘All of our peers have given up’,” Williams adds. “It’s like, ‘Well, yeah, obviously – they haven’t been making money.’ It does feel sometimes like we’ve been left on the shelf, but I think it’s really important that we carry on to show that it’s possible for bands to do that.”

For those who believe in the band – whether fans, peers or colleagues – Swim Deep still elicit a huge passion. As we wait for our lane to be ready at the bowling alley, Ryder-Jones waxes lyrical to NME about the band’s talents in a way that could convince the staunchest non-believer. Midway through, he makes eye contact with Williams at the bar behind us, a bemused look on the frontman’s face. “She didn’t ask, but she wanted to know – I could see it in her eyes,” Ryder-Jones grins.

The next day, the producer isn’t quite as buoyant, that ticking clock getting ever louder. “It feels like there’s still a lot of work to be done,” he sighs, taking a drag of a cigarette. “It still feels like we haven’t quite cracked some things.” Whether they have time left to tend to those areas remains to be seen, but he’s sure of one thing. “They’re definitely going in the right direction. Sometimes it takes two or three records to settle into a new era. It can be a challenge to your audience, so you [just have to] keep putting out good quality records, which I think we are doing.”

Swim Deep
Swim Deep’s Austin Williams and James Balmont at ICP Studios. Credit: Luca Bailey

‘Hum’ might not mark a fresh chapter for the band in terms of sound, but it feels like their energy has been refreshed by the addition of Buchanan. The new guitarist officially came into the line-up in spring 2025 after Robbie Wood had to quit due to the financial constraints of the band. “It’s completely changed the band, in my opinion,” Williams enthuses. “We never really want to use session musicians because, as great as they can be, we always want there to be a brotherhood.”

As they look ahead to what might come next in this rejuvenated family unit, there’s a pause to reflect on how much they’ve grown. “It feels like we’re much more complete and assured of ourselves,” Balmont suggests. “We know who we are as people now, and I feel like the music is much more wholesome and, in a way, more sophisticated. It just feels like us, like we’ve arrived at the conclusion of who we are.”

Back in the booth at the bowling alley, as balls clatter into pins, Williams’ mind turns to a romantic, optimistic streak that’s run through the band for years. “Me and Cav have always said that our day will come – we just don’t know when,” he smiles. Until that day arrives, Swim Deep will be here making music and sharing the stories that mean the most to them for as long as the world will let them.

Swim Deep’s ‘Hum’ is out on June 19 via Submarine Cat Records.

CONTINUE READING