A band formed from the ashes of R&B bands The fix and The Roamers, Dr Feelgood debuted with Down By The Jetty (1975), unusual for its mono recording, and broke the UK chart with Malpractice (1975). Popular live, playing mainly in and around London, the band became forerunners of the media-coined 'Pub Rock' movement. Their set Stupidity (1976) topped the UK chart, but their momentum was halted when the robotic guitarist Wilko Johnson left, taking his distinctive guitar sound with him. For Sneakin' Suspicion (1977), John Mayo joined and Feelgood flourished through the late 70s, notably with 1979's UK Top 10 hit 'Milk And Alcohol', allegedly penned by band comrade Nick Lowe after witnessing bluesman John Lee Hooker in concert.

The band broke up in 1982, but vocalist and guitarist Lee Brilleaux perserved with fluctuating line-ups until his untimely death from throat cancer.

Sources: Down By The Jetty

Motley Crue got it wrong. Dr. Max Jacobson certainly was a glamorous man, or at least his clientele was: Upper East Side women "of a certain age", Aretha Franklin (who wrote a song to honor him), Eddie Fisher (and his daughter), Truman Capote, Richard Rodgers, Edie Sedgwick, and even John and Robert Kennedy.

Data on the man is scant. We know, for example that he was born in 1900, in Germany, and by the 1930's had established a clinic in New York. We also know, through analysis of his formula circa 1964, that he had been influenced by Paul Niehans, who had established the La Prairie spa in Switzerland, in that so-called "live cells" were used in the mix, which also included various steroids, bone marrow, placenta, and its most important ingredient, methedrine.

What is certain is his popularity. On any given day, his waiting room would be full of everything from schoolgirls sent by their mothers to shed puppyfat, to various members of the Yankees, to members of the Warhol Factory, all waiting to receive the magic shot that would shed pounds, alleviate stress, lethargy and boredom, and seemingly bring back lost youth. Charming to a fault, he'd see about thirty patients a day, not counting house calls, which he'd see as late as 11 o'clock at night.

What was also certain was that it would bring you back wanting more. And more, and even, more.

At one point, he stopped taking in patients, instead, instructed them into proper injection techniques, and gave them ampules to take home to inject. (Skincare moguls were quick to take up the idea, suggesting "ampules" of "serum" to snap and apply that were far more powerful than simply washing your face and putting on moisturizer.)

Unfortunately, the FDA caught up with him in the mid-Seventies, after several well-publicized deaths. Stripped of his medical license, he nonetheless maintained an "underground" clientele, until his death in 1985.

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