Seven Dirty Words_ The Life and Crimes of George Carlin - James Sullivan [64]
Though he may have felt that way about the small gathering at the Cellar Door, the record-buying public responded enthusiastically to FM & AM. The album was released in January 1972, quickly selling hundreds of thousands of copies and earning a gold record certification. Although he wasn’t sure how his makeover would be received, it was suddenly apparent that the audience he was seeking had been looking for a comedian to call its own. Carlin’s new album put him in some good company. Cosby’s records, released at an annual pace, had been consistent top sellers for years, and Newhart’s Button-Down Mind and Vaughn Meader’s The First Family were bona fide landmarks. But whereas those records appealed to the Ed Sullivan audience, FM & AM spoke directly to the next generation. A classic example of an overnight success that was years in the making, the album presented a thoughtful, socially relevant comedian who, with his Christlike hair and beard and his embroidered bell-bottoms, now looked reassuringly like his evolving audience.
When Rolling Stone magazine, the countercultural Bible, interviewed Carlin that year, the comic explained that he understood fans needed to warm up to his new image. “It’s natural for people to distrust what appears to be a change,” he said. “Especially from entertainers. They assume you’re trying to trick them somehow. That’s because they’ve been tricked and shucked so many times already.”
His record sales were undoubtedly boosted by Carlin’s recurring appearances on Carson and The Flip Wilson Show. After an involuntary hiatus from The Tonight Show, he was welcomed back to the set in Burbank with open arms, making a rash of visits in 1971. According to Carlin, Carson and his staff had been reluctant to book him for some time. The comedian’s confrontations were becoming common knowledge, and some in Hollywood knew he’d missed a taping for the game show Beat the Clock. “They’d heard about it in show business—‘It’s the acid,’” he said. At one point he’d gone in to see the mighty Carson to plead his case. He brought a new, tongue-in-cheek press kit that Brenda had prepared for him, which he’d signed with his left hand. Unfortunately for Carlin, as he later admitted, he was high on cocaine at the time, and his manic state didn’t help his cause: “I went over to explain to him that it was a rational choice I had made. . . . The trouble was that I was on a coke run when I went over. I was kind of speedy, I had a tie-dyed T-shirt on, and I think it further distanced them from me.” But Carlin was undoubtedly an entertaining guest, and he could always get a laugh out of Carson.
Just after the album release, he joined Flip Wilson on the Tonight Show panel. Before Carlin was called out, Wilson spoke about Little David’s role in his friend’s new direction. “It’s an opportunity for George to feel freer as an artist, and for me to be a part of maybe, in some way, helping a guy that I admire,” he told Carson. Though the host referred to Carlin as “Crazy George,” the only thing outrageous about the guest was his appearance. His hair was now long enough to be pulled back in a ponytail, his beard was bushier than a lumberjack’s, and he wore a form-fitting pullover over his twiggy frame. After amusing Carson with his advice for Ed Sullivan impressionists and noting that RCA had forbidden him to include the “Birth Control” routine on his first album four years earlier, he thanked his host and his colleague for giving him the television exposure that was easing his transition into the college