Welcome to the web site of
Richard Margolin and what was once
his Rock'n'Roll House!
Text exerpted from an article by Musician and Writer David J-
Photography by Max Haynes-

On the day that Johnny Cash died, I stopped by Richard Margolin’s ‘Artistic Tribute To Rock n’ Roll’. This being an Art Brut garden of rock n’ roll’ delights. An artfully contrived explosion of broken glass shards, Spinning windmills, light bulbs, Mardi Gras beads, stuffed toy monkeys and paint, everywhere paint, mostly purple hues but also flaming orange and red offset with cool blue and green. The location of this raging holy goof ball palace of dreams is a little wooden house nestled down a back alley just off of Highway 101 in Encinitas.
Before he embarked on his artistic mission, Richard was ensconced in a cheap motel with only his demons for company and no direction home. Then came the move of address and a lightening bolt of inspiration that resulted in the construction of this glittering monument to the glory of rock n’ roll. A sacred place of sorts that the untutored artist describes as “miraculous”.
To help in it’s realization, Richard enlisted the service of many of his homeless friends who labored in a grand united effort, each one investing something of themselves in it’s ultimate manifestation. There are many small but magnificent landmarks spread throughout the garden.
There’s the Etta James Bike, a gold sprayed push bike with stiletto shoes stuck in the spokes, the handlebars dripping with Fat Tuesday beads and reflective ribbons, Etta mounted on the grips and a bejeweled light bulb on the saddle.
There’s the reconstructed basketball hoop, multiple purple windmills spinning on the backboard that features a grinning Timothy Leary in place of the target square and a suspended Jimi Hendrix dressed in a black and silver spangled tuxedo jacket (a gift from a passing Rastafarian admirer) swaying in the breeze. The Last Waltz themed hot tub, a mosquito plagued tribute to the movie of the same name with The Band depicted on plaques embedded in the open top.
The Surrealistic Sofa, it’s center piece being a goldfish bowl containing the refracted image of a pink tinted Muddy Waters.
The JC Tree , still living and home to a thriving hive of bees despite the thick coating of (what else?) purple paint , it’s two main branches extended, Joshua like, to the heavens and it’s trunk bearing a A numinous Christ supporting a cut out of Fats Domino.

Then there is the Table Of Chaos which contains all the residue left over from the creation of everything else, which has been fused together with epoxy.
According to Richard, “Sometimes people go, ‘Oh, this is too much!’ but I want a sense of chaos and insanity. That’s where I come from. It’s like with my art and rock n’ roll, the true creativity has to come from chaos and insanity, don’t you agree? But then you have to put order to it to make it art and make it have a balance and also, what’s the term? . . . Beauty! I like to start out with chaos and then create order with some beauty. You throw those three in the soup and you got a good meal! (laughs) “I’m writing some poetry here, baby!”
Looking up, I noticed another Jimi Hendrix, framed by a large hole in an upper bedroom window, it’s shape outlined with ruby red stones. Richard explaines, “ That was from when I got pissed at this chick one night, I threw something and it ricocheted and broke the window. So, about a week later, I’m looking at it and I say, those are kind of nice lines. So I did the red gems and put Hendrix there, ain’t that a trip!”
He then showed me the wall of the All Pompadour Team, which features various individuals sporting that particular outré hair style set against a 1950’s evocative background in sparkling silver and black.
In the bottom right hand corner, next to a very young Charles Manson is an even younger Richard Margolin, complete with Elvis kiss curl. I asked him if this was when he was first hit by rock n’ roll.
“Oh, I was hot into by then but I remember the first time I ever heard rock n’ roll was in 1955. It was early one morning and ‘Tutti Fruitti’ by Little Richard came on the radio. I still remember that moment.”
The man has never been the same since. High up above us, nailed to yet another spinning windmill was that seminal hero himself, looking down on the garden like a benevolent gargoyle protecting all from evil spirits and squares.
Above the garage doors, which are covered with “brothers” (the founders of rock n’ roll), is a large purple plaque which quotes Levon Helm:

“Blue Grass and country music. It comes down to that area (cotton belt) and it mixes there with rhythm and it dances. Then you got a combination of all those kinds of music, country, blue grass, blues music, show music. What’s it called? Rock n’ roll.”
The soul of this magical place has got to be the ‘Kick Wheel’. A pyramidical mounted spinning wheel which depicts the fondly remembered, dearly departed musical greats who merge into one blurred visage as the wheel spins fast in the ocean breeze. Both shrine and kinetic sculpture, it is, like the whole screaming mad enterprise, a thing of reverence and beauty.
“Hey, Richard, you know you’ve got another face for the Kick Wheel, right?”

“He’s already there, man.”

He pointed to the newly constructed shrine by the front door. Encased in a painted bird feeder decorated with the familiar motif of broken glass mosaic and silver baubles was a red stained photo of Johnny Cash. His expression, pensive and deeply sad.

“Yeah, he was special, he was real special, man, and it wasn’t just his music, ya know?”
“It was his energy, he was right down there, man.”
“He was from The Source.”

In the center of the ‘Kick Wheel’ , stuck onto a coiled metallic spring, was Johnny’s face, as Richard pointed it out, so it turned, slowly at first, then picking up speed until it was flaring like a Catherine wheel on the Fourth of July.

“Hey look at Cash! Don’t he look good there? YEAH! He’s rollin’ baby!”

Richard let out a hearty cackle of a salty sea dog laugh and I could do nothing but join in.