I'm still not sure what one should write about in a blog. So, I guess I'll start printing some excerpts from my attempt at the Great American novel, already in progress, "Who Killed Rock and Roll" There's no organized order of events yet, just things that I want to write about and get off my chest. Rock didn't die all at once, it died in stages. So let's start with some somewhere. How about 1961. I'll fill in the other stuff when the mood hits me. Let me know if this stuff is too deep!! Just my opinion, of course, but I do know what I'm talking about.
"THE BEACH BOYS:The original phony rock and roll"
The year was 1962 when I first heard the BEACHBOYS. I was going to the University of Hawaii at the time, because my dad was a career army officer, and our family was stationed out at Schofield Barracks. I had to get out my house, so I was living in the dorm at the school. My God, this is the place where THE KINGSTON TRIO had come from, and everybody and his brother were playing banjos and wearing those stupid shirts with big polka dots on them When I first heard the Beach boys, I said, "What kind of crap is this? This ain't rock and roll, this sounds like the friggin' Four Freshman." You've got to remember that I was a rock and roll purist back then. I'd already seen the first wave of rock diluted and polluted by Dick Clark, with all of that crap he owned lock, stock and barrel that came out of Philadelphia. Dick proved that pure crap sells, and that Americans will eat anything that they're force fed to eat. Dick Clark had 90 minutes a day to accomplish that goal. And now, even more erosion was coming from the Beach boys. Then their follow-up record came out, and it was "SURFING USA". I sat there and said, "Damn, man, they stole Chuck Berry's "SWEET LITTLE SIXTEEN". I've always put song thieves on an equal par with pedophiles, so the die was cast. I spit on the Beach boys and all they represented. I thought they were queer little gremlins, and song thieves to boot.
After I got older and my musical tastes broadened to include musical styles other than rock and roll, I admitted that the Beach boys do harmonize pretty well. I thought "Don't Worry Baby" was probably their best record.
But, my initial gut instincts were right. A few years ago, they made a movie about them. In the movie, during their early days, they were trying to hustle a deal from Nik Venet at Capital, and they were singing Four Freshman songs on their audition tape. Nik told them to come back when they had some rock and roll songs. And Brian Wilson told him, "But we don't do rock and roll. We don't even LIKE rock and roll." What the movie didn't show was how they stole "SWEET LITTLE SIXTEEN". Picture a bunch of kids who are ordered by their dad to, "write some rock and roll songs, or you're all toast". So where do you start when you DETEST the music to begin with? You go to the Top 40 Charts. I can picture them huddled around Chuck Berry's song, writing new lyrics to it, and then playing their father the song they just "wrote". (Chuck Berry sued and won; his name is now on the song as co-writer)
God and/or time has a way of taking care of pedophiles and song thieves. Hence, look at the Brian Wilson of today. Face all distorted, and talking like some punch drunk boxer who threw one too many rounds. In hindsight, I'll at least give the "boys" credit for having some real talent. But, from a purist's perspective, they were just one nail in the coffin of "real
rock and roll. But in 1962, rock and roll wasn't dead yet. But it was on its way.
"THE FOUR SEASONS: a burning sword from the throat of a cat in heat"
That was further confirmed one day when I saw "Rate a Record" on American Bandstand, when Dick Clark said, "Here's a new record called "SHERRY" by a new group, The FOUR SEASONS". And after the kids gave it their usual rating of "I don't know. I like it. It's easy to whack off to, and it's got a good beat", Dick said, "Good work kids. I PREDICT that this song will go to number one."
Gosh, Dick, you sure knew your stuff. It eventually went to number one. Dick Clark must have been psychic. Or maybe it's because it was a BOB CREWE produced record. Dick had force-fed the public all kinds of crap that Crewe wrote and produced. I liked some of the FREDDIE 'Boom Boom" CANNON" records that Crewe did, but I knew the fix was in when Dick turned Crewe's "La Dee Dah", by Billie and Lillie, into a "hit" on the old Bandstand show. He even used it for one of the dance contests. What a piece of trash that record was, everything about it truly sucked. Of course, it was just one of the many labels that Dick either owned, or was at least being paid off by. The Four Seasons were worth FOUR nails in that coffin of rock. Bob Crewe was in Dick's hip pocket, and of course, so of course it was a done deal that THE FOUR SEASONS would be a success. The greed factor was omnipresent in just about everything that group ever did. I think "Dawn" and "Working My Way Back to You" were pretty good pop songs, but that shrill voice of Franki Valli's still gives me chills, like glass in my intestines. God, I hate those guys.
"FLORENCE GREENBURG: The Rockin' Grandma (but not with ME)"
Here's an anecdote from my own past to tie in with the FOUR SEASONS connection. When I left Nashville in 1975, I went out to L.A. to visit my best pal, Bob Scherl, who was working promotion for Sceptor Records at the time. I stayed at Bob's house for about six months. In order to avoid having to get a day job, I'd loaded up my car in Cleveland with a lot of rare records from my personal collection. Bob and I used to go over to the Capitol Tower building parking lot once every month, when record buyers and sellers would trade and buy records out of the backs of their cars. I lost a lot of my great records at those sales, but the money kept me going. I distinctly remember that most of these collectors were all serious, honorable people. During my first trip there, I went to my front seat to grab a coke or something, and somebody yelled, "STOP HIM, stop that guy!!" Turns out, some collector had snatched a record from my trunk, and was running away when 4 guys nailed him in his tracks. The record was my mint copy of Buddy Holly's "BLUE DAYS, BLACK NIGHTS", on a blue Decca promo label, I think. Maybe it was pink. I had a few Holly Decca promos. I sold it for about 44 dollars later on that same day to a real buyer.
But, the money eventually ran out. Bob asked me if I would be willing to drive Florence Greenburg around. She was the owner of Sceptor Records. I said that I'd give it a go. So, I worked for Florence for a few weeks, driving her to doctors' appointments, or over to Dionne Warwick's dress store, or anywhere she wanted to go. She had a nice Cadillac Seville, and I liked driving the car. Florence was a nice lady, and she reminded me of my grandmother. Sceptor had seen better days; most of their good artists had left the label by that time. Bob's job as a "promo" man was to go around with a bag full of money and pay off the jocks for their new releases. He hated that gig, but it kept him going. He said it was basically that way for all the labels he worked for, big or small. Fill up the bag with money, and go out and pay off the radio stations. Later on, he started filling the bag with Cocaine too, another 'incentive" for that all precious airplay.
But one day, Florence hit on me. I mean, like, she wanted to have SEX. I'm driving, and she's talking. "Al, you're a good looking guy, you're probably dating a lot of women out here, right?" And I said, "No, I'm too depressed. I just broke up with my old lady. I came out here to pitch a few songs around, but I don't want to see or date anybody." And she says, "You're Italian, aren't you?" I said, "Half Italian, half German." So she says, "Well, I know what it's like to be alone. Gosh, Alan. Besides driving for me, and since you're not actually seeing anyone right now, maybe you could help me out, and I'd try to help you out too. I could get some people to listen to your songs" GAWD. Was this a come on? I pictured having sex with my grandmother, but I said, in the nicest way I could, without gagging, "Florence, oh that's awful nice of you, but Bob has set up some appointments around town with some publishers." And then she said, "What kind of Italian are you? Franki Valli used to drive for me, and he was a real COCKSMAN! " I tried to laugh it off, and I said, "I'm only half Italian. I take more after my German side, I guess. " And as I uttered my excuses, and shuddered at what might happen next, all I could do was picture that puny little grease ball sticking it to my grandmother/Florence Greenberg in the back seat of that Cadillac Seville. And I thought to myself, "That's it, that's the real Franki Valli. And that's what the FOUR SEASONS music has come to represent to me; another hungry showbiz climber on the make, and he'll even do your grandmother, if you give his demo a spin.
I caught him on an episode of THE SOPRANOS last year, and I still can't get that picture out of my head.
The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame asked Del Shannon to announce the induction of THE FOUR SEASONS into the Rock Hall. He turned them down, outright. They got a lot of nerve. Del was a real rocker, a real artist, and those creeps at the Rock Hall had the balls to ask him to induct the FOUR SEASONS into the hall. I'd just as soon put a bullet in my brain, than induct those creeps into the hall. I guess Del felt that way too.
"DICK CLARK: Satan's Disc Jockey"
Since I brought him up, I might as well write a few lines. I heard somewhere that Dick Clark's real name is actually "Dick Dick", but I could be wrong on that. Quick facts. When the payola scandal came along that took down Alan Freed, there were anti-payola "pay for record play" laws in the state of New York. There weren't any in PA, where Dick Clark was located with American Bandstand. Following Alan Fred's fall, federal laws were put into place against radio play for payola (money, drugs, sex). Recognizing that Dick Clark had an obvious conflict of interest by playing records from labels and artists he owned, the Feds told Dick that he could either stay on the show, or he could go run the record companies; he couldn't do both. So, Dick chose to stay with the show. Shortly after that meeting with the Feds and FCC, Dick sent out his show's producer, Tony Mamerello, to run the record companies for him, and in general, just be his bag man. So, with a slight modification to keep the feds off his back, it was back to business as usual for Dick Clark.
Before his stroke, Dick was bragging about it, "I was ahead of my time. I was an entrepreneur. (as in "Crook"). They all do it now" And they do, and it's illegal. Clear Channel Radio, which owns most of the radio stations in the States, was fined millions for their illegal practices of payola this past year, but it was just chump change. They were given a slap on the wrist, and now some of their stations will play records by local and indie artists, for about an hour a week. WOW! The playing field is getting even again? No, it isn't.
But fate finally caught up to the Dorian Grey of Rock and Roll, and turned him into the contorted broken Gnome we can all still watch every New Year's Eve, as he mumbles and drools out the countdown to the New Year. "Ten, Nine, Seven, Five, Eight, Eight, ("drool"), eubibdaone, HAPY NV YEAR EVERERBOLLY, ("drool").
Payback's a bitch. Dick Dick has finally become the disembodied visage of the corrupt empire that he ruled over for so many years. That perfect face, that perfect voice. All gone. The counterfeit pied piper of the of Philadelphia rock and roll culture finally stands guard at the gates of his own living hell. Not dead, not quite alive, doomed to walk the empty halls of his empire until the grim reaper finally gives him some relief, and removes him from his zombie-like existence..
>TO BE CONTINUED another time<<<