On February 3, 2003, police arrested music legend Phil Spector on suspicion of the murder of club hostess and actress Lana Clarkson. Now, obviously everybody in this bloody shithole of a civilization knows the story here (crazy Phil says suicide, rest of the universe says murder), but I felt it necessary to post the date of the arrest itself. Take a close look at that date again. That’s right, people, this Phil Spector shit has been going on since before the goddamn invasion of motherfucking Iraq.
So yeah, it’s about time this nonsense ended. After a deadlocked jury (10 yea, 2 nay) led to Spector’s 2007 mistrial, the jury in his current retrial has gone out to decide whether or not the fucking composer of “Be My Baby” committed murder. Spector faces 15 years-to-life in prison if convicted of the second-degree murder charge but could potentially get off with a four-year sentence should the jury instead convict him of involuntary manslaughter, a possible charge that was not available to the previous trial’s jury.
As this media circus’ big-top steadily swelled over the years, tales of Spector’s nuttiness grew from music geek campfire lore to household knowledge to apparently the basis of the California district attorney’s prosecution. Over the course of the trial, five female acquaintances of Spector have taken the stand and all claimed in the past Spector had threatened them with a gun when they attempted to leave his home without his approval. Despite Spector’s once adorably eccentric penchant for making criminal threats, he actually stands a fighting chance to beat the second-degree murder charge: In the trial’s closing arguments, his attorney cited 14 pieces of forensic evidence that he said proved Spector’s innocence, including the fact that there was no trace of Spector’s DNA on the gun used to kill Clarkson.
So, it appears that while the defense has been referencing actual evidence about the specific incident in question, the prosecution has been harping on about Spector’s undeniably crazy past and just saying “Eh? Ehhhhh?” Oh well, who gives a shit at this point. Innocent or guilty, somebody just put that looney tune away some place where he can’t get near me or my family.