Chapter 11
The Early '90s: A Golden Age of Nostalgia, Moldy oldies, jukebox heroes, and one-hit wonders and Real rock 'n' roll legends.
It was the early 1990s, a time when the air was thick with nostalgia. The legendary Hot August Nights, a celebration of classic rock and roll, was in full swing.
Meanwhile, on the pop charts, Michael Jackson, Prince, and Mariah Carey reigned supreme.
Remember those days when a CD cost a cool fifteen bucks? Before Spotify and streaming services, the music industry was a different beast. Napster and the Pirate Bay disrupted the market, offering fans a taste of the latest hits for free. It was a seismic shift, a testament to the incredible speed at which technology can change the world. Today, new cars don't even have CD players. It's all Bluetooth and streaming. But back in the '90s, radio was king.
Since joining Will Porter and the California All Stars in 1988, and other concerts since then, I've had the privilege of performing with an incredible roster of talent. I GOT THE GIG WITH WILL PORTER through a connection my WONDERFUL FRIEND KATHY MCDONALD, WHO I MET ON THE LONG JOHN BALdry TOURS, BUT MORE ABOUT THAT IN ANOTHER CHAPTER
AS A TEENAGER Kathi sang with different bands around the Pacific Northwest before she was discovered by Ike Turner. She sang as an Ikette with Ike & Tina Turner and eventually replaced Janis Joplin as the front woman of Big Brother and Holding Company. McDonald became a background vocalist for various artists, including Leon Russell, Joe Cocker, The Rolling Stones, Freddie King, and Long John Baldry.[
Most of these artists were past their prime, but their legacies were undeniable. Since moving to Spain, I wrote a song called "Songs Have A Life of Their Own" sometimes a song can you to a particular place in time where you can recall all the events that were happening In those moments. In 2024 I received a Grammy nomination for that song, and I believe it's one of my best compositions
Since the late 80s, I've been fortunate enough to work with some incredible artist, and especially songwriter. I was the piano player with legends like Ashford & Simpson later in 2012, Who wrote such incredible songs, such as "Ain't no Mountain high enough” “I'm every woman” “ain't nothing like the real thing” and "let's go get stoned" for Ray Charles, I remember performing at the Library of Congress In a concert, honoring songwriter for the members of the house and senate, right after Nick Ashford died, Valerie Simpson's husband and writing Partner, She wanted to do "ain't nothing like the real thing” As a ballad.
Marvin Gaye did it as a more medium tempo song, but since Valerie had lost her husband in 2012, it took on a new meaning when I loved one dies. I remember her words, as she introduced the song "Ain't nothing like the real thing” When Valerie spoke to the Audience of Senators and congressmen introduced by Congressman John Lewis, a legend of the civil rights movement, Who risked his life on that bloody Sunday on that bridge in Selma Alabama near my hometown of Birmingham.
“What a great evening this is.And I'm honored to add my sound that'll go into the walls and the floorsand the ceiling of this wonderful hall.
And I thank each and every one of you,all you, what Maya Angelou used to callhigh up muckety mucks,congressmen, people in high places,who think enough of this musicto make sure that we continueto have nights like this,to have careers that can endure,to have a legacy like Nick Ashford left. When you write songs,they mean one thing, and then suddenly,the song that you wrote,takes on a whole new meaningbecause life stepped inand changed things.”
Th0rough the years I have worked with Stevie Wonder, Smokey Robinson, Percy Sledge, Sam Moore (of Sam & Dave), Mary Wells, Martha Reeves & the Vandellas, Bill Withers, Freda Payne, Little Anthony and the Imperials, Dwight Yokum, BJ Thomas, Herb Alpert, The Fifth Dimension, The Shirelles, The Marvelettes, The Platters, The Drifters, The Coasters, The Contours, Ronnie Spector, Leslie Gore, Ben E. King, Chuck Berry, Dinah Shore, Frankie Ford, Peter Noone, The Dixie Cups, Del Shannon, Lloyd Price, Felix Cavalieri of the Rascals, Marilyn McCoo & Billy Davis Jr, Jewel Akens, The Champs, The Chiffons, Jackie DeShannon, Freddie Cannon, and Bryan Highland,
After 1995, I embarked on my own solo career. But my passion for backing up these incredible artists has never waned. It's been a wild ride, a musical odyssey that has taken me from the golden age of rock 'n' roll to the digital age. And I'm still loving every minute of it.
I was there about four or five years in a row every August, a member of the California All-Star led by the great soul singer Will Porter in a “Baby Boomer” Fest, that packed a 15,000 Seat arena, with dreams of nostalgia, perhaps wanting to relive their youth.
I found myself in a whirlwind of oldies acts and with the king of rock and roll himself, well I think he was the king, Chuck Berry headlining. Who knew that the summer of 1990 would turn into a time capsule of rock and roll. We played a ton of oldies acts, Little Richard and Chuck Berry was one of the big ones.
Chuck Berry was headlining at the Hot August Nights concert in Reno, August 8, 1992 where they had a huge car show that cruised up and down Virginia Boulevard.
Reminiscent of that movie “American Graffiti” where George Lucas had his first major hit movie before Star Wars.
Remember, Wolf-man Jack. He had a huge part in the movie, well he even showed up to MC the show at the first hot August nights in Reno in 1986. He became famous as the Wolfman, based in part on the style of bluesman Howlin' Wolf, and started broadcasting South of the border South of Del Rio, Texas. A car driving from New York to L.A. would never lose the station."[6]
Many of the Mexican border stations broadcast at 150,000 watts, three times the U.S. limit, meaning that their signals were picked up all over North America, and at night as far away as Europe and the Soviet Union.
It wasn't just moldy oldies, they even had the guy named Bowser from Sha-Na-Na.
Remember from the movie Woodstock who did his 15 minutes in the spotlight? Yes, it was Bowser, the greaser with the classical chops, who blew my mind. The dude looked like he’d stepped out of a hot rod magazine, a slicked-back pompadour and a leather jacket that could stop a bullet. But when he sat down at the piano, the illusion shattered like a cheap pair of sunglasses.
The guy could play Chopin, man, Minute Waltz - the whole nine yards. It was a cosmic collision, a sonic supernova. The greaser, the rocker, the classical virtuoso - all rolled into one, a package of dynamite. And there I was, a mere accompanist, my jaw hanging open like a stranded fish.
And who was MC-ing the whole shebang? None other than Eddie Haskell, the smarmy kid from Leave It to Beaver, the guy who always had a compliment for Mrs. Cleaver. But behind that wholesome facade lurked a sly, mischievous streak. Eddie's jokes were a mix of cornball humor and off-color asides that had the audience roaring. He'd wink at the crowd and drop a line like, "Mrs. Cleaver, I think you were a little hard on Beaver last night."
It was kind of like a 1950s revival on steroids kind of stuff. The crowd roared, a mix of laughter and shock. It was a surreal spectacle of nostalgia and bad taste. But I couldn't help laughing along. Eddie Haskell, the boy next door turned Vegas lounge act - it was a sight to behold.
Remember the Chiffons with He's So Fine? I even sang that song as a 12 year old, my audition for my brothers’s Rock 'n' roll band, “The Ramblers”. I ended up getting the gig, but I would have to stand on a chair because I was so tiny and terrified on the first gig At the national guard Armory in Birmingham In 1964
Those saccharine architects of 60s pop, made their entrance onto the stage with this huge arena. Their polyester frocks shimmering under the unforgiving stage lights as I pounded the ivories on a real grand piano, mo digital one for me thank God .
Digital pianos have come a long way since then. But I had a keyboard on top of the piano to do all the other organ and synth parts.
A rock and roll piano player in a land of Three minute pop tunes, but I knew the tunes like the back of my hand, since I was raised on radio. But it was a surreal carnival. The Chiffons, or the owners of the song, had sued George Harrison, the ex-Beatle turned mystic, for lifting their sonic blueprint for My Sweet Lord.
A legal battle over a stolen chord progression. It was declared that George Harrison would pay $587,000 for complete ownership of Chiffons' song to Alan Klein, the former Beatles manager. Man, this is a crazy business.
And I don't think George really intended to rip off their song. But as the final notes of their set faded, the girls curtsied, their smiles manufactured as the tunes they played. The band and I, from beat to hell with 10 hours on stage, seized the moment.
A spontaneous, reckless act of rebellion. We launched into a playful rendition of My Sweet Lord, Hare Krishna, Hare Hare, which was the same melody, the same chord changes, give or take a few, and the ultimate sonic mash-up of the sacred and the profane. Man, you could have seen the Chiffons' faces morph from saccharine to sour, faster than a popsicle melting in the desert.
Their glare could have shattered glass. But in that electric moment, as the crowd roared with laughter, I felt a surge of liberation. We were more than just a backing band.
Our band was a motley crew, the backup band for an all-star lineup of musical legends.
The drummer was Rick Allegria, who got me the gig for almost 30 years with Song writing Legend, and actor, Paul Williams Who became chairman of ASCAP and has been my good friend since the late 1980s. It was because of Paul Williams, that I got all of these opportunities to perform with such songwriting Legends.
We were backing the Dixie Cups, and I really loved those ladies. They were from New Orleans, my home state where I had performed many times at the New Orleans Jazz Fest.
We really hit it off big time, and of course their harmonies could make anyone find a groove.
There were 10 or 12 acts each night, each getting about 15 minutes in the spotlight, until the headliner came on, which was Chuck Berry, or Little Richard, The Righteous Brothers, and so many others over the years.
From the tender age where my fingers could barely span an octave, the infectious rhythms of Iko-Iko, warmed their way into my soul. According to James “Sugar Boy” Crawford Who first recorded that song in the 1950s “It came from two Indian chants that I put music to. "Iko Iko" was like a victory chant that the Indians would shout. "Jock-A-Mo" was a chant that was called when the Indians went into battle. I just put them together and made a song out of them. Really it was just like "Lawdy Miss Clawdy". That was a phrase everybody in New Orleans used. Lloyd Price, Who I later worked with at the Marin county fair, just added music to it and it became a hit. I was just trying to write a catchy song....”
Little did I know that this joyous anthem would be an enduring companion of my musical journey. Now decades later, fate brought me into the orbit of the legendary Long John Baldry. Our nearly 20-year collaboration was a master class in blues and soul, and it was inevitable that we revisit the timeless magic of Iko Iko.
His interpretation, a soulful, bluesy reimagining, was a revelation. Meanwhile, I was immersed in the intoxicating world of New Orleans piano, a mixture of Dr. John, Professor Longhair and James Booker, although I have been born with short fingers so I had my limitations. It was a style as vibrant and pulsating as the city itself.
Then came hot August nights, a dream come true.
Sharing the stage with the Dixie Cups, the queens of Iko-Iko, was an experience beyond words. Their energy was electric, their harmonies divine, and as the piano player, I was deep into my element, laying down a foundation that aimed to do justice to the song's rich heritage. I'm sure the song had many, many verses over the years, including Dr. John's version, which was an entity amongst itself.
It's fascinating to think that the lead singer of the Dixie Cups learned Iko-Iko from her grandmama. This song, with its roots in the joyous chants of Mardi Gras, has been passed down through the generations, carrying on with the spirits of celebration and community.
It's a testament to the enduring power of music to connect people across time and space. I recently heard a Spanish version of Iko-Iko,
Let's be real, the spotlight was all on Chuck Berry, who was the headliner. I mean, this was a man whose guitar riffs made you believe he was the originator of rock 'n' roll, And in many ways he was!
Now here's the kicker. Chuck Berry had a contract rider that made him sound like a rock-and-roll diva. He demanded a Fender Dual Showman amp, the behemoth of amplifiers, capable of blowing the roof off the sucker any venue, but the only place to snag one on the West Coast was in San Francisco, where I was living in Oakland at the time, at Studio Instrument Rentals, the same place where I had auditioned for Geffen Records With Uncle Rainbow, but that's a tale for another chapter.
There I was, cruising over the Oakland Bay Bridge, which they had rebuilt after the San Francisco earthquake, past Sacramento, over the Sierra Madre, Dropping in altitude into the 100-degree heat of Reno in August, in my trusty 1972 Ocean Blue Chevrolet Impala.
It was a four-door beauty that was more of a boat than a car, and trying to fit this monster amp in the trunk, I couldn't put it into the trunk so I had to put it in the backseat. That same kick ass 85 watt amp That would be blowing the roof off in a few hours with Chuck himself.
I had to roll the windows down on the way to Reno just to breathe. Picture me, hair blowing in the wind, laughing like a madman as I drove to Reno, cassette deck Cranked up to 11, Try to re-create those Johnny Johnson parts on piano, who was the piano player on all those classic Chuck Berry recordings. According to my sources, Keith Richards tried to get some of the back royalties of the Chuck Berry songs that Johnnie Johnson was entitled to, Because in 1986, he was a bus driver. Keith Richards Filmed Chuck Berry and all his glory with great backing band and included Johnny Johnson, his original keyboard player on his 60th birthday concert.
Johnnie Johnson appeared with him on the documentary that Keith put together in 1986, which includes so many great stars, including Robert Cray, Linda Ronstadt and so many more. On the movie “Hail Hail, Rock 'n' Roll”, Keith Richards from the Rolling Stones forced Chuck Berry to rehearse, and rumor has it, that it came to blows,
We never got a rehearsal with him. In fact, almost every gig he played, There was only a pick up band, But of course, ours was one of the better ones.
We arrived at the venue, ready to hit the stage from noon until the wee hours of the morning, rehearsing every act like we were training for the Olympics of rock and roll. Chuck, he didn't want to meet us until showtime, classic Chuck Berry style.
Will Porter had us change our shirts faster than a magician, pulling a rabbit out of a hat because Chuck Berry had a hard and fast rule.
We weren't allowed to back up the other acts, just us, the backup band, ready for our moment in the spotlight. But we did, of course, back up the other acts, but Chuck Berry didn't show up until showtime.
And there he was, Chuck Berry himself, strutted out onto the stage like he owned the place.
He was dressed like a pimp rock star, with a red paisley polyester Shirt, A matching Cherry Red Gibson ES335 Guitar, a signature white admirals cap with gold braid on the bill, and a huge wide Grin.
“Piano man, give me an E”, he commanded. No tuner in sight. It was a rock and roll initiation like no other.
I had listened to his albums on cassette for weeks, and now here I was, about to play alongside a legend. I had listened previously to Johnny Johnson, his piano player, for many, many, many days, or weeks, and trying to copy his style. He launched into an electrifying hour-long set, reading off hits like “Johnny Be Good”, “Maybelline”, And my favorite, “Memphis, Tennessee”, Which had a historical significance because my mom’s side of the family was from there. “Sweet little 16” “Roll over Beethoven”, which the Beatles had covered on the first LP, And there he was life-size doing his famous ‘duck walk”, and of course, “My Ding-a-Ling”.
The man had a way of making every note feel like a celebration, and to my utter disbelief, he tossed me solos like they were candy. I guess, man, he dug my groove. I can't remember what song it was but as his guitar was slung around his neck, he brought the band down and start a trading licks.
There was an organ above the grand piano, and he would play 4 bars on organ and he would trade off with me on the piano. And of course I was trying to show off. He told me "play it simple like Chuck Berry Music” As the night wound down, I couldn't help but think about the tales I'd have to share.0
Rumor had it that Chuck only accepted payment in briefcases full of cash. I was left wondering how many other legends had passed through the same stage, and who else had shared the spotlight with him that night. Now, if I could just dig up that advertisement listing all the acts we performed with, the Dixie Cups, the Champs, the Shirelles, and all those other acts, and of course, the man himself, Chuck Berry.
That night wasn't just a gig. It was a rock and roll rite of passage, a tale of acts, laughter, and a brief moment in the spotlight with one of the greatest. But the real magic happened when we started trading licks.
There I was, rocking the grand piano with a keyboard on top, chuckling to myself as Chuck looked over and said, hey man, keep it simple, like Chuck Berry music. Playing with him was a thrill beyond description.
You hear it run away everywhere.
TV, movies, even my friend Bonnie Red snagged a version of it. But Del Shannon's original was a jukebox siren song. Sure, I could have bought the single with all the quarters and nickels I fed into that chrome-plated dinosaur of a jukebox.
But the ritual from spare change from my dad's red coin purse, the anticipation. As I wrote on my Grammy-nominated single, songs have a life of their own, and this was very much one of them. The solo, though, an otherworldly wail, like nothing this size on the space age.
I read on the Internet They got it from some Roomba-infused pre-synthesizer contraption called a Musitron, and Del's voice, a greased lightning bolt that wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, falsetto that climbed into the stratosphere. Man, it was pure ice-cold brilliance. Fast forward, and I'm catching the tail end of a shower of stars, a kaleidoscope of acts blasting through three or four songs apiece in Birmingham Municipal Auditorium.
30 years later, I snagged the gig to create that iconic solo. Now, I could nail those notes blindfolded.
I've been doing it since I was a scrawny kid, but that sound, man, that was the Holy Grail. I spent hours tweaking my Roland or Korg or Yamaha keyboard, pushing it to the outer limits of its sonic capabilities. Remember, synthesizers were still a gleam in someone's eye, so we were working in uncharted territory.
I studied electronic music in 1973 with one of those huge Moog synthesizers, or is it Moog? The one that takes up a whole room at North Texas State University in Denton, Texas, so I could tweak the hell out of those things. The same one that Keith Emerson used and dragged on the road and played stadiums back in the 70s. I even played with Keith Emerson in Kelowna, British Columbia, and we played dual keyboards back-to-back.
It was a genuine revelation to play with Keith Emerson in Kelowna, British Columbia, and I sang the Emerson & Palmer hit from the beginning. I had spent the day with him the day before the show in a 10 story penthouse that they rented for him which included a grand piano.
We spent the day jamming on our favorite Songs, but like me, he had an incredible classical music background, which he incorporated into his music, which, including themes from Leonard Bernstein, and Aaron Copeland's "Fanfare For The Common Man” which they performed at the Obama Inauguration. I remember telling Keith Emerson, when we were rehearsing, I brought up my Yamaha S90 keyboard, which had some incredible sounds.
I remember this one particular sound that Emerson Lake and Palmer had used on their huge hit, "lucky man" which I used very frequently. I said jokingly, Keith, "Yamaha owes you some money" Because it was such a signature sound from that group.
But Del, bless his soul, spent a solid hour with me after the soundcheck, and he's a really nice guy, but that solo, he was really getting into the nuts and bolts of my keyboard. And here's the kicker, the Musitron, that was the secret weapon for that solo, an oddball keyboard that practically haunted all the sci-fi flicks back then.
Between the two of us, we managed to capture that eerie, futuristic vibe. Sharing the stage with Del Shannon, it was pure magic. Later, I learned the tragic story of suicide.
Later, I learned the tragic story of suicide On February 8, 1990, On February 8, 1990. Shannon’s widow would later file a high-profile lawsuit against Eli Lilly, the manufacturer of the antidepressant Prozac, which Shannon had begun taking shortly before his suicide. That suit was eventually dropped, but the case brought early attention to the still-unresolved question of the possible connection between suicidal ideation and the class of drugs to which Prozac belongs. Regardless, Del was a pioneer carving his name through the rock and roll landscape. And rumor has it, after Roy Orbison died, Del was even in line for the Traveling Wilburies band.
Man, I racked up the miles, and some gigs pay extra for driving, but most of the time they didn't. And I drove up and down the California coast and wrapped up 24,000 miles a year, at least on my car. I
t was a world of rhinestone suits and Incredible voices with four-part harmony
A neon-lit mirage where the ghosts of pop passed, and me, who had a musical photographic memory from decades listening to the pop charts, I could transpose anything on the fly. Pop, the soul stations, and sometimes the country stations. I mean, black and white television wasn't exactly cutting-edge technology, especially in the 50s and 60s.
So I gravitated towards AM pop radio. Growing up in Jackson, Mississippi, in Birmingham, on the AM radio stations, with the black stations, the top 40 stations, and at some time to the country stations. For some reason, in the late 60s, the FM stations only played easily listening music for our parents' generation, like Montovani and Muzak..
And then the FM stations, in the 1970s, took over with album-oriented rock. And then they would play the whole size of an album, like Elvin John from Yellow Brick Road, or Pink Floyd, or Jimi Hendrix, or Led Zeppelin. My dad, after he retired, bought a classic rock station in Monroe, Louisiana, and wanted me and my brother, Steve, to come down and run it.
But I had no intention of returning to Monroe and Steve had a great gig with WGN Television, where he was anchorman, winning six or seven Emmy Awards, and making a huge salary. My dad later sold the station, since he was losing money.
It was all automated, pre-programmed from Chicago or somewhere. My oldest brother, Chip, was a great piano player, as I mentioned in a previous chapter. Man, he could just rock the keys, like Jerry Lee Lewis and Elvin John.
But keyboards, in this time, sounded like cheesy roller stadium rings, like All Skate, y'all, or those funky Wurlitzer electric piano, like Ray Charles used on What'd I Say. Back in the 60s, he was playing five or six nights a week, doing Christmas parties. And I remember his finger being all blistered, playing some upright piano that was way out of tune.
He bought a piano pickup that could supposedly get as loud as one of the guitar amps. And at times, I would have to use a grand piano. But miking a grand piano in a rock and roll band is very hard to do With all the feedback involved.
I would use a liquid bandage called NuSkin, all the blisters I would get on those gigs where I used the grand piano. I remember reading about it, that Elton John would also use Nu-Skin. I did so many gigs with Kathy McDonald and Long John Baldry, the man who discovered Elton John and Rod Stewart.
Kathy McDonald told me that she was on the Leon Russell Tour in 1970 when Elon opened the show. Elton bought a piano pickup in Dallas called a Helpinstill Piano Pickup.
My sweet friend Kathy McDonald told me that Elton and his two bandmates, Dee Murray, the bass player, and the drummer, Nigel Olson, where she did one of his albums, had to share the same room on the tour.
And they didn't have enough room for the piano pickup, so they would store Elton's piano pickup in her private room. I think there's a video of it, of him crawling under the piano at some gig in Europe before he became a huge superstar, installing his piano pickup. So back in the 60s, unless you could afford to schlep around a grand piano or Hammond organ, you were doomed to play one of these crappy keyboards, Someone sent me a picture of Elton playing one of those “Vox” keyboards when he was known as Reginald Dwight with Long John Baldry. Our Band, Uncle Rainbow bought a Yamaha electric grand which had real strings. Finally, came the 80s when digital pianos came out, but more about that in another chapter.
Perhaps the most blatant fakery were the bands with not one single member. The "The fabulous Drifters”, for God's sake. They probably should have been known as ‘tribute acts” but often that wasn't the case
I can't recall if it was firsthand or some greasy rumor, but Hot August Nights, some relic that trotted out every has-been since the Eisenhower era for a yearly blowout, named after a Neil Diamond tune. Brother Love's traveling show.
Hot August Nights. The casinos in Reno and beyond were blind as bats when it came to booking these acts. There were three or four different versions of the Coasters, Drifters galore, all in matching tuxedos, playing some the Glory Days of Rock and Roll, all showed up at different casinos in Reno, unbeknownst to each other.
Charlie Brown, Poison Ivy, according to lyricist Jerry Lever and composer Mike Stoller, pure and simple, Poison Ivy is a metaphor for a sexually transmitted disease. I was hired to do a demo for the legendary Mike Stoller and my co-writer Chris Caswell. The song was “One last round” , a metaphor about getting older. Since working with Chris Caswell and Paul Williams, I've been fortunate to work with so many great songwriters.
It just so happened that my friend from Dallas, and now a Los Angeles transplant, David Ritz, co-wrote the Lieber and Stoller biography, which is one of my favorite books and inspired me to write my own autobiography.
It was the songs that grabbed my attention, not the phony showbiz shtick. I later co-wrote songs with David, who co-wrote Sexual Healing with Marvin Gaye.
Jerry Leiber and Mike Stoller met as teenagers in Los Angeles in 1950, and bonded over their love for blues and rhythm music. The two white, Jewish musicians quickly discovered that they had a knack for writing pop songs for black singers. Leiber and Stoller merged the rhythm and blues of the black entertainment world into traditional pop music and created a phenomenon. They wrote for acts such as the Drifters, the Coasters, Elvis Presley, and Big Mama Thornton’s, “Hound Dog”
At times, Those county fair gigs paid the bills because my albums were only selling by the hundreds, not thousands. At times it was five shows a day, on a Saturday and Sunday at a festival, some county fair, casino, Or an outdoor festival.
There were “Billy Richards Coasters”, Who had an amazing singer named Bobby Sheen with a fabulous tenor voice, who was a star in his own rite. He had a hit single with the Walt Disney tune, “Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah, and should have been a huge selling artist.
drifters, Billy Richards and the Coasters, and The PlAnd have a heads and had a hit single with the Walt Disney tune, Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah, and should have been a huge selling artist.
The best Bass singer was Randy Jones, and he had an incredible deep resonant voice. I l loved those songs, They were so witty and were like nothing I had her before. I could play those songs in my sleep.
Two Jewish teenagers from the North-East LA and a number of black singers from the South met up in Los Angeles and began to change the world of music beyond recognition.... "Searchin" was on the popular best-selling record charts for over six months, "Young Blood", the reverse of "Searching" was among them. The world wide popularity of "Yakety Yak" and "Charlie Brown" guaranteed The Coasters a permanent shrine in rock īnī rollīs Hall of Fame. Any other vocal group would have followed a couple of timeless classics with a slew of records whose artistic qualities gradually diminished. The Coasters made a number of subsequent records at least as good as "Yakety Yak" including three, "Poison Ivy", "Shopping For Clothes", and "Little Egypt",
"
It was a whole 50s and 60s damn jukebox. It was a mess, a legal minefield, where lawyers and record companies owned the name, while the real musicians were six feet under. But then again, it was the songs that made the money, and that turned me on.
And I had dreams of becoming a hit songwriter, even when I was a kid. I learned the names of most of the songwriters, and would buy Hit parade magazine, and would learn all the lyrics, the songs on the piano, and who wrote them. But it was Ben E. King who was the real deal.
And I performed with him on keyboards at the Concord Pavilion, outside of San Francisco, in the East Bay. Ben E. King, once formerly a member of the drifters, went solo, and recorded a huge hit, Stand By Me. When the night has come, which is one of the greatest pop songs ever written, and was written by Ben, along with Lieber and Stoler, even Prince Harry and Meghan had that song performed at their wedding.
And it was an amazing version, with the gospel choir, a pop anthem, in a stoic English cathedral, with a soulful black choir.
We were sharing the stage, as the backup band, with the Platters, at the Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk, for the Brussels Sprout Festival, on a Friday night concert. It seemed like they had a different festival every month, Strawberry Festival, Garlic Festival, you name it. But Dale Shannon was the real deal. Man, he could play and do music inside and out.
Most of these guys were radio relics by then, but they could still draw a crowd. I owe them that much. We shared the stage with the likes of Johnny Tillotson, who dragged us down to some high school auditorium in the middle of a godforsaken California desert.
Horrible acoustics, and the guy had a seven-page arrangement for Johnny B. Goode. Man, it was a 12-bar blues, for crying out loud. And then there was Jewel Akins, another one-hit wonder, with “the birds and the bees and the flowers and the trees.”
I lost track of him, but I knew his songs by heart. But Mary Wells, she was a different story. Sweet as pie, and before Diana Ross, she was the queen of Motown.
I had worn out her live album from the Apollo Theater. She had this line, soft as velvet was, the band still hadn't looked at the music yet. She probably had the Motown rhythm section backing her, and just hired the horn a bunch of union cats.
Mary wells
Mary Wells, I started playing with her around 1988 and the gigs were Not what she was a custom to. but she was working and I was hearing she was getting through cancer and became harder and harder for her to sing and by the The summer of 1992 she passed away
, a sweltering Los Angeles, was a blur of palm trees, smog, and the haunting melodies of Motown. I found myself at Forrest Lawn Cemetery, a place where the stars of yesterday were laid to rest. Today, however, it was a different star, one whose light had dimmed too soon. Mary Wells, the queen of Motown's early years, had succumbed to throat cancer.
Her family had asked me to play the funeral service. I'd been her pianist during the rough years, the ones when her voice began to falter. As I played mournful renditions of her hits, the Motown royalty began to arrive. Little Richard, looking as flamboyant as ever, was handing out Bibles adorned with his glamorous portrait. Bobby and the Womack Brothers, including Mary's husband, Curtis, were there. And then, finally, Berry Gordy himself, the man who had created this musical empire.
Last to arrive was Stevie Wonder, escorted by his brother. As he sat down in the front row, where Mary's body lay in state, a wave of sadness washed over me. Mourners filed past her open casket, their faces etched with grief.
In a moment of inspiration, I began to play an instrumental version of "They Won't Go When I Go," a song Stevie had written and performed on his 1974 album, Fulfillingness' First Finale. I'd never played it live before, only for friends and family. But as Stevie listened, his face lit up with a wide smile. He began to sway back and forth, lost in the music.
Years later, at Michael Jackson's funeral, I experienced a strange sense of déjà vu. Stevie Wonder played "They Won't Go When I Go" again, a poignant reminder of the fragility of life and the enduring power of music.
And then there was Hal David's 90th birthday concert. I was thrilled to share the stage with Stevie once more. He played grand piano, while I accompanied him on Organ, for a reggae version of HalChapter 11 David's "Make It Easy on Yourself." It was a bittersweet experience, paying tribute to Mary while celebrating the enduring legacy of Motown.
I learned later that Berry Gordy had paid for Mary's funeral, and that Bruce Springsteen and Rod Stewart had helped cover her living expenses during her illness. It was a testament to the love and respect they had for her, a woman who had touched so many lives with her music.
