When I started The Memory Tourist, I wrote a piece about Ringo Starr’s “The No No Song.” Along with diving into the wacky world of The Beatles drummer’s solo career, I learned something even more bizarre. For a song that was a comical poke at sobriety, it had way more ties to Cheech and Chong than I ever would have thought. A cover by the song’s original writer Hoyt Axton actually featured the duo offering Axton a doobie, to which he said (what else) “No.” It was becoming clear that even if there was a trace of sincerity in this song, there was no better feeling than getting high.
I figured that would’ve been the end of seeing the words “The Beatles” alongside “Cheech and Chong.” However, I found out in researching their song “Basketball Jones” that guitarist George Harrison was crucial in making the song into what it is. Before I get into it, I’ll start by saying that, supposedly, Cheech Marin claims to have smoked with every member of The Beatles except bassist Paul McCartney.
That is quite something when you consider that most stoner comedians don’t have the luck that Cheech and Chong have had. For a duo whose prolific output doesn’t often hold up to scrutiny, they clearly have friends in high (no pun intended) places, able to get them in the door as voice actors at Disney. Marin’s even become an enthusiast for Latino artists. Somehow for a group that you wouldn’t think amounted to much of anything, they haven’t gone anywhere. Before the Coronavirus, chances of them performing together were (sorry) high.
So, in a proverbial sense, what WERE they smoking?
I can’t say, but clearly it got them in the right doors. Even if I’m not their biggest fan, I recognize what’s so appealing about their work. Even if Marin or Tommy Chong never played terribly bright characters, there was something inventive about how they approached a routine. They took vaudeville routines and added a little pot smoke to them, appealing to a stereotype that they helped form. Chong especially was known for playing a slow-talking dimwit. He just had a voice that could convince you that he was perpetually lethargic.
It’s what makes bits like their most famous, “Dave’s Not Here,” work. It’s basically a play on words much like the “Who’s on First?” routine, but with a drug dealer losing his mind. He doesn’t have to say more than “Dave’s not here” and you begin to get the joke. They tapped into something brilliant, and it’s what makes their comedy albums a wonderful curiosity. I’d argue that their early stuff embodies a form of comedy records that should be made more often: high (sorry) production values and well-acted routines. I’ve been frankly perplexed why these aren’t as popular as stand-up albums, but that’s beside the point.
Though if you want to understand what makes Cheech and Chong greater, you may as well notice what lies underneath their facade. It comes somewhere lost in the shuffle. In the case of their 1973 album “Los Cochinos” (Spanish for “The Pigs”), it came with a song that most people of my generation first heard in Space Jam (1996).
Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome “Basketball Jones.”
To be honest, I wasn’t aware that the Space Jam cover was by Chris Rock and Barry White. Then again, that explains why it took me many years to be surprised that it was by Cheech and Chong. Really… them? The guys who gave Pee-Wee Herman his big-screen debut in Cheech and Chong’s Next Movie (1980)? The ones who were coughing out smoke if they weren’t saying “man” in a lackadaisical fashion? The same.
Very few details have felt as strange as knowing that Cheech and Chong are genuinely decent singers. Even if they’ve never released a conventional pop album, they have never hidden their talent from fans. Every now and then they would pull out a song and surprise you. That falsetto couldn’t be Marin, and yet it was. If they didn’t get into comedy, there’s a good chance that they could’ve gone into music without batting an eye. They wouldn’t be as successful, but odds are that Marin would still be getting high with The Beatles.
The song was actually a parody of Brighter Side of Darkness’ “Love Jones.” The idea was that the song’s protagonist Tyrone Shoelaces (a play on “tie your own shoelaces”) was so addicted to playing basketball that he was jonesing. If anyone knew about joneses, it would be Cheech and Chong. From there the story wasn’t necessarily that involved, serving more as a repetitive anthem where everyone joined in with Tyrone. On the record, this was preceded by a sketch where he’s interviewed by Red Blazer with his coach Umgwana Kickbooti in a style parodying Wide World of Sports. Marin sang lead while Chong played piano.
Great if it ends there, right? Well… remember how I mentioned that George Harrison was involved? I still have to get to what took this from a minor b-side cut to a full-on phenomenon that leads “Los Cochinos” to Grammy-winning status.
The story goes that Cheech and Chong were recording at A&M Studios next door to Harrison. Curious to collaborate with the legend, the duo sent producer Lou Adler over to play him a demo. He liked it enough that he signed on. From there, a whole host of collaborators would come on board to flesh out the world of “Basketball Jones.” This wouldn’t just be studio musicians. The people that worked on this song would include:
Carole King
Billy Preston
Darlene Love
Fanita James and Jean King (The Blossoms)
Michelle Phillips (The Mamas and the Papas)
Ronnie Spector (The Ronettes)
And that’s just the famous collaborators. There are other studio musicians who were well-respected. Together they came together to make this song into something anthemic. Even if it was a parody, you could argue that there wasn’t much that was funny about it. There was something genuine about it. You could feel the energy growing as if every new member cheering Tyrone on was somehow making him stronger.
To put it simply, this is a great song that transcends the appeal of Cheech and Chong’s sensibilities. It’s an origin story about loving basketball so much that you want to be great at it. It’s a feeling that everyone wants to achieve and few have made it feel as essential in the form of a song narrative quite as effectively as them. This was an all-star collaboration that defied the odds by becoming a radio hit.
Whereas Cheech and Chong had gained success thanks to underground radio, this was one of the few times that they were played on AM frequencies. This became a mainstream hit and wasn’t only big for them, but also became Carole King’s biggest hit in 1973. This song was inescapable, even managing to outrank “Love Jones” in terms of overall success. Would the song have been anywhere as successful if Harrison never signed on? It seems doubtful, though even then its structure has made it an infectious little number that’s been covered a few times in the years since.
The success was apparent. It was so much the case that it even leads to an animated short that would play in theaters. In 1973, you could see it play before films like Hal Ashby’s The Last Detail (1973). It was also featured in California Split (1974), though later cuts would not feature the audio due to copyright issues. Finally, and most significantly, Ashby would feature it a second time in the Oscar-nominated film Being There (1979).
The short was animated by Paul Gruwell, himself an animator for such shows as The Banana Splits, Scooby-Doo, and the film Heavy Metal (1981). The story focused on Tyrone, a Black child who grows up in an urban community and finds himself addicted to basketball. What starts as a simple song about dribbling a ball (there’s also play on words with him doing a different kind of “dribbling” as a baby). It builds to a scene where he calls upon groups like Cheech and Chong, Viet Cong, King Kong, alley cats, men in business suits, a mountaintop guru, The Singing Nun, and Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band to sing along. There’s even a predictive quality where President Richard Nixon is impeached (it wouldn’t happen for another year). The video wasn’t officially available for public viewing until recently due to the music video existing before MTV and never having an official outlet.
If you had to assemble a list of the best and most noteworthy songs about basketball from throughout history, it’s doubtful that “Basketball Jones” would not be on that list. There is something timeless about it. While everything about it feels of its time, it’s also got this myth-making quality to it that makes you understand the goofy nature. It’s a story about an underdog that we can all relate to. It’s about overcoming your own shortcomings and becoming the best player you can. Even if references like Bill Russell and Chick Hearn may go over some’s head, the ambiance doesn’t. We want to believe that the world is on our side, and that’s what makes us addicted to the sport.
It is said that this song lead “Los Cochinos” to a Grammy win for Best Comedy Album. That in itself is funny given that reviews of the time suggested that this was the duo reaching the limits of their comedic appeal. Given that it reached number two on the Billboard charts and that their cinematic careers, starting with Up in Smoke (1978), was still ahead of them this was more than a fluke. It was a sign of their ability to partner with the right people and that there was more to their career than gimmicky jokes. They were a phenomenon capable of lasting longer than the last puff on their joint. They weren’t going anywhere.
All things considered, I am curious to know if I can keep the Venn Diagram of The Beatles and Cheech and Chong going for this column. Is there any song that they collaborated on with John Lennon? Given that they’ve sung about stuff other than marijuana, there just has to be a song out there where they gave back-up vocals to a “Give Peace a Chance”-style song. They’ve worked with so many people that you wouldn’t expect their modern equivalents to collaborate with (what is Doug Benson’s “Basketball Jones”? I’ll wait) that it makes me respect them more. They were so much more than stoner comedy, even if it all comes back to that.
Not bad for a duo who defied the odds at every turn. As one of the most successful non-white comedy duos (Marin was Mexican while Chong was Chinese) of their era, they did plenty to make them stand out. For better or worse, it’s impossible to forget their name not only in comedy, but film, TV, music, and even basketball. In my recent entry on Shaquille O’Neal’s “Shaq Diesel,” I forgot to mention that The NBA star referenced the duo TWICE.
Yes, everyone loves Cheech and Chong. Even if their comedy may have not aged all that well, they still have their moments where they are borderline brilliant. Like most aspects of their humor, it feels like something they randomly stumbled upon by accident through dumb luck. Everyone who proudly supports marijuana wishes they were as successful as these two, though they never take into account that being stoned was only one of the facets of their career. Even in terms of addiction, drugs were only one of their vices. There was also basketball. By finding a way to reflect the high you get from dribbling a ball, they transcended another medium with a Beatle in tow. Now that’s trippy.
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