Stories behind memorable albums of the 1970s as told by the artists

Month: October 2014

David Knopfler: On his own ship of dreams for 30 years

DK-PosterBanner2014-MINI_02Even though he co-founded the band, David Knopfler doesn’t listen to Dire Straits. He doesn’t think about Dire Straits. He’s not a fan of Dire Straits.

“I wasn’t even a fan at the time,” said Knopfler.

Though his name will likely forever be linked with the band – which formed in 1977 and included his brother Mark Knopfler, John Illsley and Pick Withers – David points out that his time with the group was only about three years out of his life.

And that’s left him a lot of life in the interim to make the kind of music that he wants to make.

It’s the three decades since he left Dire Straits – in 1980 after its third album – as a solo artist that he chooses to celebrate. And he’s doing so with “30th Anniversary Tour” that includes nine shows in eight cities throughout the U.S. Northeast.

The tour kicked off Oct. 23 in Londonderry, NH, and includes shows on Oct. 26 in Fairfield, CT; Oct. 27 in New York City; Oct. 30 in Bearsville, NY; Nov. 1 at World Cafe Live in Wilmington, DE; Nov. 2 at the Sellersville Theatre 1894 in Sellersville, PA; Nov. 5 in Buffalo, NY; and two shows Nov. 6 and Nov. 7 in Cleveland, OH. For details and ticket information, go to www.knopfler.com.

That’s not to say that he isn’t proud of his musical roots. But as a songwriter, he’s used the past 30 years to transform himself – from basic Straits records to a more sophisticated solo style in the 1980s and then back around to an even more basic four-chord acoustic style that he has now.

“I’m really not interested anymore in big drums or making a lot of noise.” said Knopfler, now 61. “I sometimes go out with a band, but I’m getting more and more impressed by how simple I can make something. Maybe it’s a sign of senility or maybe it’s just a maturity. I don’t see the point in putting 20 chords in now.”

Knopler’s longtime collaborator Harry Bogdanovs – who’s been with him since Knopfler left Straits in 1980 – won’t be with him on this tour. Knopfler said it didn’t make sense to bring Bogdanovs over from England for just nine shows. In Bogdanovs’ place will be guitarist Mike Brown.

“Mike will do a few songs here and there, but it’s basically going to be a solo performance for the most part,” said Knopfler. “It’s kind of liberating to play on your own. It’s more challenging in a way. You can do more if you want to improvise or experiment. You’re not going to throw anyone else off the trail.”

His days of playing stadium rock shows are over, Knopfler said, which leaves him with the opportunity to play smaller venues like he is on this tour, where he can more effectively communicate with the audience.

“There is a huge divide between the small theaters and the art clubs, where you can do singer-songwriter material, and the stadium rock stuff, which is show business,” said Knopfler. “You start missing that person that’s sitting in the front row talking to you.

“I think what happens is your ego. You become less and less concerned with demonstrating something. I think when you’re young and in your 20s, you want to show that you got a few chops,” he said. “Actually, what you eventually want to do is effectively communicate the songs to the audience.”

Knopfler admits to living a frenetic life. He’s married to an American woman and for the past six years has split his time between England and upstate New York. He has, however, just purchased a house in England in which he plans to build a recording studio.

And although he says his promised next studio album is long overdue, he might wait until the studio in his new home is complete and make the new record there.

He still enjoys recording and writing songs, as well as the 90 minutes of the day he spends on stage, “but the other 22-and-a-half hours of the day are a pain in the ass,” mostly because of the travel.

“I’m getting a little bit long in the tooth for the physical demands of the road, I suppose. That’s what it really comes down to,” he said.

But he still loves the music.

“I would make records whether I was paid or not,” said Knopfler. “Frankly, I have paid for making a couple of my albums. You eventually recoup, though. The days when you got a three-album deal and they handed you $300,000 euros to put into your bank account, those kinds of deals where you could cruise on them for two or three years without worry, that was sweet. In those days, you were ahead before you even made the record.”

He said that people are always asking him for advice about the music business, and his response is simple: Get very good at what you do.

“Being really, really good helps and awful lot. If you get good, people will actually start to go out of their way to tell their friends and come to your shows,” said Knopfler. “Keep it interesting and try to be unique. And don’t use more words than you need to tell the story.”

Two guys who knew how to set the stage for World Series memories

An original ticket stub from Game 1 of the 1959 World Series. This isn't the exact ticket my Dad used to attend that game, but one that I purchased years later at a collectibles show. (Photo by Mike Morsch)

An original ticket stub from Game 1 of the 1959 World Series. This isn’t the exact ticket my Dad used to attend that game, but one that I purchased years later at a collectibles show.
(Photo by Mike Morsch)

This is the stage at Rankin Grade School at it appears today. Leo's TV sat in the middle of that stage in 1968 so students could watch World Series games between the St. Louis Cardinals and Detroit Tigers. (Photo by Carole Delahunt)

This is the stage at Rankin Grade School as it appears today. Leo’s TV sat in the middle of that stage in 1968 so students could watch World Series games between the Cardinals and the Tigers.
(Photo by Carole Delahunt)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Leo Woith was a running buddy of my dad’s back in the 1950s and 1960s. And the two of them provided me with a couple of my favorite World Series memories, even though one of those memories wasn’t actually a memory at all but a story because it happened before I was born and it’s part of family lore.

My dad was the superintendent of Rankin Grade School, a small rural school just south of Pekin, Illinois. The nameplate on his desk read a very official “E.E. Morsch,” but his close friends called him “Eddie.”

Leo was a local businessman who owned and operated Leo’s TV and Appliances in downtown Pekin. Leo’s kids attended Rankin – that’s how he and Dad knew each other – and as they became friends, they discovered that each shared a love of baseball. I recall going with Dad to Leo’s TV on Saturday mornings so he and Leo could shoot the breeze. I loved those trips because in addition to TVs and appliances, Leo also had “Heartland” baseball statues in the store and I was fascinated with those things.

Heartland figurines were hard plastic statues about eight or nine inches tall of the baseball stars of the past as well as of the early 1960s – Babe Ruth, Mickey Mantle, Ted Williams, Hank Aaron, Willie Mays, Stan Musial, Roger Maris, Warren Spahn, Nellie Fox, Luis Aparicio, Rocky Colavito, Yogi Berra. They originally were sold at the ballparks and at specialty stores for $1.98 and were marketed as toys and not the collectibles that they have become today.

I’m not sure sure how a TV and appliance store qualified as a “specialty” store for baseball figurines in those days, but Leo loved baseball and through his graciousness, I would often come home with one of those Heartland figurines.

This would have been around 1963 or 1964. But by then, the two friends had already established themselves as diehard baseball fans.

In 1959, the Chicago White Sox met the Los Angeles Dodgers in the World Series. Having grown up in central Illinois about three hours south of Chicago, our area boasted a lot of Cubs and White Sox fans, with Dad and Leo among their legions.

Leo had secured tickets to Games 1 and 2 of the 1959 World Series, which were to be played in Old Comiskey Park in Chicago, and he had invited Dad to go along. It was a big deal to have tickets to that World Series because it would be the first post-season appearance for the White Sox in 40 years, the team’s last one being in 1919, the same series that featured what became known as the infamous Black Sox Scandal.

The plan, according to Leo’s son Rick – who I recently had the pleasure of talking to so that we could compare notes on this story – was for the two friends to take the Rock Island Rocket train from Peoria to Chicago’s LaSalle Street Station. From there, they would head to the Palmer House Hotel where they were staying and get a cab to Comiskey Park.

But there was one catch threatening to upset the plan – my mom was pregnant and the original due date of the baby – me – was the last week of September. In those days, there weren’t any divisional playoffs, so the World Series started right after the end of the regular season, usually the first week in October. And all World Series games were day games then.

Dad was faced with a dilemma: Go to the first two games of the World Series with Leo, which would require the overnight stay in Chicago, or stay close to home for the impending birth of his son.

So this was a big decision. Despite his gruff exterior as a school superintendent, Dad was a sensitive guy underneath it all. He certainly was aware of the seriousness of the decision, but he also wanted to gather all the facts that he could ahead of time before making a final decision.

He and Mom consulted with Dr. Robert Gildersleeve Rhodes (that really was his name), the family doctor in charge of delivering the baby. Since Mom had already surpassed the late September due date, Dad wanted to know from Dr. Rhodes if my birth was imminent that first week in October.

The good doctor examined Mom and determined that, to the best of his medical expertise, nothing immediate seemed to be happening on the baby front. So he gave Dad the green light to head to Chicago with the instruction to call home every three hours to see if the situation had changed.

That was all Dad needed to hear. He called Leo and they headed to the south side of Chicago for the first two games of the World Series, on Oct. 1 and 2, with Dad calling home every three hours, at times from a pay phone at Comiskey Park.

The home team got off to a great start hammering the visitors 11-0 in the opener, but the Dodgers came back to take Game 2 by a score of 4-3, evening the series and sending it to Los Angeles for Games 3, 4 and 5.

As Dad and Leo left Comiskey Park after Game 2, they noticed a big billboard outside the stadium that caught their attention. It read, “Tickets to Games 3, 4 and 5 plus air fare to Los Angeles, all for $125.”

“What do you think Eddie, you want to go to Los Angeles for the next three games?” Leo said to Dad.

“Leo, my wife is pregnant and is due to give birth anytime, I can’t go to Los Angeles now,” said Dad.

It was the evening of Oct. 2.

I was born 17 days later on Oct. 19. In subsequent years of telling that story, Dad never let me forget that by coming along so late, I had beaten him out of going to those three World Series games in Los Angeles.

Nine years later, during the 1968 World Series, Dad and Leo got in cahoots once again for a post-season baseball scheme.

This time, it was the St. Louis Cardinals against the Detroit Tigers. Neither of the friends had a favorite team in the series, but that didn’t mean they still weren’t diehard baseball fans.

Dad had arranged with Leo to have a television brought to Rankin Grade School for the series. This was not a new thing for Leo to do, according to son Rick. Leo oftentimes provided TVs, not only for Dad’s school but also for the high school during the World Series.

It wasn’t just any TV out of Leo’s store that was going to be on loan, but one of those big console televisions that many of us had in our homes in the 1960s. It was a big piece of furniture. Only the best and most modern color TV was going to be provided because Leo was a guy who knew how to take care of his pals.

The TV was placed on the stage at the school, which was at one end of the gymnasium. This was before the advent of cable television, so along with the TV came a set of “rabbit ears,” a big antennae contraption that sat on top of the TV. The reception one got on the TV depended on which way the antennae arms were pointed to pick up the signal.

Dad had made the announcement to the students that anyone who wanted to stay indoors after lunch instead of going outside for recess could occupy one of the metal chairs he had set up on the gym floor and watch the World Series on Leo’s console TV.

Which of course was where the 9-year-old me was parked for every post-lunchtime recess for the duration of the 1968 World Series. I didn’t really care who won – I was a Pittsburgh Pirates fan at the time – but it was a ballgame on TV during the school day and that’s where I wanted to be, right in front of Leo’s TV. Plus, the sight of Dad constantly fiddling with those antenna arms trying to get the best reception was entertaining because he approached every task with a certain panache that I found amusing and endearing, even at 9 years old.

The funny thing about that series – and something I good-naturedly teased Dad about in subsequent years – was that after recess was over and the students had returned to their classrooms, Dad didn’t turn off the TV. It was left on the remainder of the school day for as long as the game lasted, and anyone who passed through the gymnasium for any reason could stop and catch a few moments of the game.

I know I took several breaks during those October afternoons in 1968, lollygagging from my third-grade classroom just off the gymnasium and across the tile floor to the boys restroom on the other side of the gym. And I’m pretty certain that Dad took several breaks away from his desk to patrol the building on official school business, always making sure to go through the gym on his rounds.

That’s the way things were in the much simpler times of the late 1960s. Something like that wouldn’t happen in schools these days.

It goes a long way toward explaining why I still watch the World Series now, even if my team isn’t playing for the title. It’s October baseball, and it’s a lifelong bond that I still share with my dad.

But he’s not around anymore. Neither is Leo. My sense, though, is if they were, they’d be finagling some way to watch the 2014 World Series unfold between the Royals and the Giants.

I can almost hear Leo now: “Hey Eddie, want to go to San Francisco for Games 3, 4 and 5?”

Marilyn McCoo and Billy Davis Jr. offer new respect for The 5th Dimension’s ‘Earthbound’ album

Marilyn McCoo and Billy Davis Jr, original members of The 5th Dimension, have a renewed respect for the group's 1975 album "Earthbound." (Photo courtesy of Marilyn McCoo and Billy Davis Jr.)

Marilyn McCoo and Billy Davis Jr, original members of The 5th Dimension, have a renewed respect for the group’s 1975 album “Earthbound.”
(Photo courtesy of Marilyn McCoo and Billy Davis Jr.)

The cracks in musical cohesiveness among the members of The 5th Dimension were evident to the group’s members by the time they began work on the “Earthbound” album in 1975.

They had reunited with songwriter Jimmy Webb, who had penned the group’s first pop hit, “Up, Up and Away” in 1967. Webb was going to produce “Earthbound” and Marilyn McCoo and husband Billy Davis Jr. were both excited about working again with Webb.

But rehearsals were tense. Recording sessions were tense. At the center of the discomfort was the direction the band was heading by 1975.

Since the mid-1960s, the original five members – McCoo, Davis, Florence LaRue, Lamonte McLemore and Ron Townson – had produced a string of hits in addition to “Up, Up and Away,” including “Stoned Soul Picnic,” “Aquarius/Let The Sunshine In,” “Wedding Bell Blues,” “One Less Bell To Answer” and “(Last Night) I Didn’t Get To Sleep at All.”

But as the music of the 1970s continued to evolve, things were changing internally for The 5th Dimension.

“Part of the problem we were having inside the group was the discussion about do we continue to do the music the way we’ve been doing it and using the same formula?” said McCoo. “We saw the musical direction changing, and our music wasn’t clicking like it had before. Should we follow the market or do we stay where we are? And that was one of the conflicts that we were dealing with inside the group.”

A recent interview with Ms. McCoo and Mr. Davis revealed some of the backstory of “Earthbound,” which was to become the final album recorded with the original members of The 5th Dimension.

It was bonus information from McCoo and Davis, who would leave The Fifth Dimension and strike out on their own. In 1976, they recorded their debut album as a duo, “I Hope We Get To Love In Time” that featured the hit single, “You Don’t Have To Be A Star (To Be in My Show),” which earned them a Grammy Award for R&B Vocal Performance By A Duo or Group.

The making of “I Hope We Get To Love In Time” was the reason for the interview. That album will be a featured chapter in the book “The Vinyl Dialogues: Volume II,” scheduled for release in late spring/early summer 2015.

But the circumstances leading up to the making of that album included the fallout from the making of The 5th Dimension’s “Earthbound” album.

McCoo and Davis, who have been married for 45 years as of 2014, continue to perform today. They currently tour with a musical tribute to the hits and productions of their careers. Upcoming events scheduled include Oct. 17 in Century City, CA; Nov. 1 in Washington, D.C.; and Nov. 8 in Greeneville, TN. Go to www.mccoodavis.com for details on those and future appearances.

McCoo and Davis come off in an interview as quality individuals, loving and caring for each other, articulate and insightful. Their recollections of what happened nearly 40 years ago – with both the “Earthbound” album and the “I Hope We Get To Love In Time” album – are still pretty vivid.

Without giving away too much of what will be in The Vinyl Dialogues: Volume II chapter, the “Earthbound” experience is fascinating because McCoo and Davis both admit that they didn’t realize until many years later just how good the music is on that album.

The emotional toll it took to make the album clouded their ability to see it clearly as a superb piece of work at the time. If you’re not familiar with the album, seek it out either on vinyl – which is the preferred method here at The Vinyl Dialogues – or online and listen to it. Make sure to put headphones on and get the full effect. In addition to some Jimmy Webb tunes, there are other songs on the album written by John Lennon and Paul McCartney and Mick Jagger and Keith Richards.

“I thought Billy did some of his best work on ‘Earthbound.’ He did some amazing things on that album. It’s brilliant,” said McCoo. “Jimmy (Webb) will remember the difficulty of the project because of all the other stuff that was going on. But we have told him recently about how special we think the ‘Earthbound’ project was and still is and that it was a shame that it got caught up in everything else that was going on.”

Indeed, “Earthbound,” the group’s 12th studio album, was among The 5th Dimension’s worst-performing albums to that point, peaking at No. 136 on the Billboard Top 200. It did, however, do much better on the R&B chart reaching No. 30.

Still, the conflicts within the band overshadowed the music at the time for McCoo and Davis. And after the group did a tour in support of the album, the couple made the break.

“We wanted to do a lot more woodshedding and sharpening of our tunes instead of just continuing to go out and work all the time,” said Davis. “When you work with a group, it is an ongoing fight. But the whole thing is that it gets to a point where it gets out of hand. Then it gets frustrating.”

“At the end of it (‘Earthbound’), we kind of looked at each other and said, ‘Wow, are we going to go through another project like that again?’ We started thinking seriously about making a change,” said McCoo.

But they didn’t come to the conclusion that “Earthbound” was some of their best work until decades later.

“We had so much emotion mixed up in the music itself that we couldn’t even rationally listen to it. It was a disconnected artistic evaluation,” said McCoo. “What was going on as far as getting along or not getting along is nowhere to be found in the recording. Whatever we were experiencing during the making of it didn’t come across in the production.”

For a long time, Davis and McCoo thought “Earthbound” was some of their worst work. But with the benefit of nearly 40 years of hindsight and reflection, the album has turned out to be a hidden gem in the great catalog of The 5th Dimension.

Something that true professionals like Marilyn McCoo and Billy Davis Jr. aren’t afraid to admit now.

The Empty Hearts: ‘Supergroup’ ready to hit the road with a new album

The Empty Hearts - Elliot Easton, Clem Burke, Andy Babiuk and Wally Palmar - are ready to hit the road in support of their new self-titled album "Empty Hearts."  (Photo by Robert Matheu)

The Empty Hearts – Elliot Easton, Clem Burke, Andy Babiuk and Wally Palmar – are ready to hit the road in support of their new self-titled album “Empty Hearts.”
(Photo by Robert Matheu)

This isn’t the first time Elliot Easton has cut a debut album with a new band.

In late 1977, he spent 21 days in London where he took only a day-and-a-half to lay down all his lead guitar parts for the record. He and the rest of the band were staying in a beautiful rented house in the Mayfair District of central London, and when not in the AIR recording studio – an independent studio founded by Beatles producer Sir George Martin – Easton would explore the area.

The punk movement was going strong by that point, and all the young people roaming the local markets in and around London were wearing mohawks and dressing outrageously.

“The first thing I wanted to do was go to the marketplace,” said Easton. “They had these stalls where you could get custom-made boots and clothes. I wanted a pair of snakeskin boots like Brian Jones had.”

Jones, who had died in 1969, was one of the original founders of the Rolling Stones and one of Easton’s musical influences.

By the end of the three-week stay in London, Easton and his Boston-based bandmates – Ric Ocasek, Benjamin Orr, Greg Hawkes and David Robinson – had cut an album that many would come to consider a rock masterpiece, the self-titled “The Cars.” By late 1978, the album would be certified platinum.

Oh, and Easton got those snakeskin boots.

More than 35 years later, Easton has a new set of bandmates and they have recorded their first album. Billed as a “supergroup” consisting of Easton, drummer Clem Burke of Blondie, Wally Palmar of The Romantics on vocals, harmonica and guitar and bassist Andy Babiuk of The Chesterfield Kings, the group has just released its self-titled debut album “Empty Hearts.”

Now the band is ready to hit the road in support of the album, opening a tour that kicks off with four dates in the northeast – Oct. 16 in Londonderry, NH; Oct. 17 in Ardmore, PA; Oct. 18 in Brooklyn, NY; and Oct. 19 in Cranston, RI, before heading to Tokyo, Japan, Oct. 22-23 for four more shows.

And Easton is having just as much fun this time around as he did three-plus decades ago with The Cars.

“Andy (Babiuk) called me and asked if I wanted to play in a band with guys I liked and have fun playing the kind of music that reminded us of why we wanted to play music in the first place when we were young kids,” said Easton. “And I told him that sounded like a wonderful idea.”

The four got together in Babiuk’s studio in Rochester, NY, to write and record. They added another friend, Ian McLagan of Faces and Small Faces to help on keyboards, and a producer that they all knew, Ed Stasium.

And the end result came out great, according to Easton.

“We’ve all known each other for a long time and we’ve all liked each other. We just wanted to have a band without drama and just have fun. We’re not trying to change the world, we’re just trying to play music we love that’s good,” said Easton.

Choosing a band name presented a bit of a challenge, that is until another friend, Steven Van Zandt from the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame E Street Band, suggested “Empty Hearts,” chosen from his personal list of “secret” unused band names.

Van Zandt, along with his rock and roll pedigree, also starred as the consiglieri Silvio Dante in the long-running HBO series “The Sopranos.” And nobody in the “self-proclaimed band of rock and roll lifers” was going was going to disagree with Silvio Dante’s “suggestion” for the band’s name.

“There was no pressure. We all have nothing to prove. We’ve all had great careers and have a lot to be grateful for. So the only pressure is what we put on ourselves to just do good work,” said Easton.

“We’ve all made tons of records, we all know how it’s done, what to do. And we knew the kind of record we wanted to make. I think it was obvious to us that it wasn’t going to be one of those laboratory records. It was going to be a real rock and roll record with people playing off each other. So that’s what we’ve got.”

The band is now in rehearsals preparing to hit the road. Easton said the goal is to capture some of the fire of the band and translate that into the live shows.

“When the band is firing on all cylinders, it’s a really good band. It’s a raging band. We just want to get on the road and start rocking and having a good time with people,” said Easton.

For more information about the album and the tour schedule, visit www.theemptyhearts.com.

 

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