Yes, This Really Is A Post Involving Oprah Winfrey … And The Mamas And The Papas

All right, I’m going to try to finish writing this post before I nerf. And, unlike typical posts you’ll find on this blog, this one’ll be in the first person, since it involves my own personal experiences.

Thankfully, gratefully, Jesus-be-to-God-ily, those personal experiences could not be more different than those alleged by one Mackenzie Phillips.

I know, I know - many of you are already clicking out of this post upon seeing the words “Mackenzie” and “Phillips.” Understandably so.

But if you’re still bearing with it, try to hang on.

Look, we realize she might be a wacko. Let’s not let slide the fact that she was busted at an airport less than a year ago for trying to hatch a genius plan involving the smuggling of some coke and H. While it is indeed getting expensive to check luggage these days, the price for that boneheaded move is surely worth more than the cost of any luggage fee.

But with all this in mind, there’s a need to talk about this person who barely had any relevance before today. Even if she is someone who may well be discarded into the loony bin come tomorrow. We’re talking about potentially major tarnish against the reputation of one of classic rock’s greatest legends.

Contrary to what you probably assume upon reading this blog - unless you’ve gotten so deep that you noticed the fleeting Fleetwood Mac praise - vintage folk-rock is actually something that is revered around these parts. On second thought, maybe you also caught wind of that Monterey Pop paean posted a few months back - in that piece, Mama Cass got some much-deserved lovin’.

Combine that with the below artifact:

This is the album cover to one of the records I grew up with - and inherited from my own Mama when she cleared out her attic years ago and passed down her vinyl (the otherwise embarrassing hodgepodge also included Linda Ronstadt, Supertramp and George Benson).

At any rate, leave it to be said that the Mamas and the Papas are near and dear to my heart.

Which is why it is supremely unsettling to hear the accusations Mackenzie Phillips is leveling against her deceased dad on tomorrow’s “Oprah,” and in her new book, “High on Arrival.” The daughter of big Papa John Phillips - who died in 2001 of heart failure (a.k.a. he did too many drugs) - is saying he raped her at age 19 on the night before she got married.

“I woke up that night from a blackout to find myself having sex with my own father,” she said, according to People.

We’re really sorry to be linking to People, people. But this insane “news” cannot not be commented upon. It’s also worth mentioning at this point that while the Mamas and the Papas are responsible for some of the biggest folk-rock hits of all time - “Monday, Monday” and “California Dreamin’ ” float to mind - they’ve also fallen into some noxious folklore. That whole thing about Mama Cass choking on a ham sandwich, for example? It was a big ol’ slice of B.S.

But then again, when it comes to this group, hyperbole need not be resorted to. At least, if one of Mackenzie Phillips’ other allegations is to be believed: That her dad and none other than Mick Jagger coerced her into trying heroin when she was in her early teens. Oh, and to boot, the Stones singer added, as he and his pal allegedly locked the door and were planning to shoot her up, “I’ve been waiting for this since you were 10 years old,” according to Mackenzie Phillips.

All right, I am seriously about to blow chunks right now. So I’ll end this post. My apologies if I’m feeding into nasty tabloid gossip, but as someone who reveres music legends like the Mamas and the Papas, this just couldn’t go under the radar. Even if this classic-rock family had “incest” written all over it.