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

Month: May 2017

Hall & Oates: First-hand perspective on how their roles evolved within the band

Daryl Hall and John Oates headlines the inaugural Hoagie Nation Festival May 27, 2017, in their hometown of Philadelphia. (Photo by Mike Morsch)

Daryl Hall and John Oates headlined the inaugural Hoagie Nation Festival May 27, 2017, in their hometown of Philadelphia.
(Photo by Mike Morsch)

Seeing Daryl Hall and John Oates headline the inaugural Hoagie Nation Festival in Philly May 27 reminded me of a portion of the last interview I did with Oates. It was about how each of their roles in the band had evolved throughout their careers.

There is a perspective out there – one with which I vehemently disagree – that Oates is some sort of second banana to Hall. There was even a short-lived television show called “Garfunkel and Oates” that is described as being about “two famous rock-and-roll second bananas.” (As an aside, Oates himself played a porn shop clerk in one episode and there was a hilarious off-color running joke on the show that referenced Oates’ famous 1970s mustache.)

In a dozen interviews over the past decade, I’ve talked to Oates about almost everything Hall & Oates and everything solo Oates. He’s what I’d describe as the perfect interview subject: articulate, has a detailed recollection about songs and events, is a good storyteller, never dodges a question, polite, gracious, media savvy and a genuinely nice guy. He’s the kind of guy you’d want to hang with and just listen to him tell stories. I consider myself lucky to have had him share many of those stories with me and I’ve included them in three volumes of The Vinyl Dialogues. (He’s also got a book out titled “Change of Seasons” which includes many more of those great stories.)

(Photo by Mike Morsch)

(Photo by Mike Morsch)

But the one subject I’d never broached with Oates – because I wasn’t quite sure how he felt about it and didn’t want to offend – was this “second banana” hooey. How did that perspective happen? Did it bother him?

In one interview I had with Daryl Hall, he had briefly mentioned that when the band started to hit really big in the early 1980s, “our roles within the band changed.” He didn’t elaborate and I didn’t pursue any further line of questioning. But in my interviews with both Hall and Oates, neither has shown anything but the utmost respect for the other.

So during my last interview with Oates, I felt comfortable enough – thanks in large part to him seemingly being comfortable with me and my questions over the years – to ask him about how his role in the band had evolved and if any of the second banana perspective had bothered him.

The short answer: It doesn’t.

What is comes down to was that many of the duo’s commercially successful songs – “Sara Smile,” “Rich Girl,” “Wait for Me,” “Kiss on My List,” “You Make My Dreams,” “Private Eyes,” “Maneater,” “One on One” – all feature Hall on the lead vocals.

John Oates and Charlie DeChant. (Photo by Mike Morsch)

John Oates and Charlie DeChant.
(Photo by Mike Morsch)

“It happened naturally,” said Oates. “In the very beginning, it was a much more equitable thing between Daryl and I in terms of who was singing lead. There were a few singles in the early days that were released with me singing lead that never caught on.” (If you want a couple of examples of H&O songs that should have been bigger hits with Oates singing lead, look no further than the “Abandoned Luncheonette” album and the Oates-penned songs “Had I Known You Better Then” and “Las Vegas Turnaround,” the latter of which they still play in many of their live shows to this day, although it wasn’t included Saturday night in the Hoagie Nation Festival setlist.)

It’s all about lack of ego, according to Oates.

“At that point, if I was ruled by ego, I might have said, ‘OK, I don’t want to be involved in something like this’ and I would have left,” said Oates. “But I always accepted that Daryl was such an exceptional singer and such a unique talent that it didn’t really surprise me, to be honest with you, when his voice cut the way it cut through the radio. It has a quality. It’s a natural gift that he happens to have that I evidently don’t. So be it.”

Oates said that he then became more involved in some of what he called “things that aren’t so flashy and glamorous that people don’t see” with the band. Things like the studio production, onstage lighting, sound staging and some of the other technical aspects of putting on live shows.

(Photo by Mike Morsch)

(Photo by Mike Morsch)

“I always viewed a partnership as a partnership. In any partnership, I don’t care if it’s marriage or a work partnership, you have to compromise on a lot of levels. So I’ve just accepted that. It was OK with me,” said Oates. “To be honest, I don’t need that in my life, that reaffirmation from the public. That doesn’t matter that much to me. So I guess in a way, it was really lucky that Daryl found me.”

Just to provide context, that last line was said by Oates with tongue firmly planted in cheek and with a chuckle.

But there isn’t any question – at least in my mind – that even though both Hall and Oates have pursued their solo projects over the past several years, they still like performing together. And that was evident at the Hoagie Nation Festival in their hometown.

“That’s the thing about Daryl and I that people really don’t understand or realize – that we are very unique people. We’ve grown up together from the time we were 18 years old. We’ve accepted each other’s idiosyncrasies, neuroses, good points and bad points. We don’t air dirty laundry and we learned how to deal with each other and how to make it work so that each of us feels satisfied and wants to continue doing it. It’s a very complex and subtle thing that is almost impossible to describe,” said Oates.

“The point is, we’ve really been sensitive to each other. We kind of inherently know what each person needs to keep this thing going and that’s why we’re still together.”

Timothy B. Schmit keeps on tryin’ and Havana crowd head over heels for him

Timothy B. Schmit, bassist for the Eagles and Poco, performed a solo show May 11, 2017, at Havana in New Hope, PA. (Photo by Mike Morsch)

Timothy B. Schmit, bassist for the Eagles and Poco, performed a solo show May 11, 2017, at Havana in New Hope, PA.
(Photo by Mike Morsch)

In a conversation with Timothy B. Schmit for an advance story on his solo show May 11 at Havana in New Hope, Pennsylvania, we talked about what it was like to play in different-sized venues.

Schmit, the bassist for Poco and more famously, the Eagles, said he likes playing in all sizes of venues, big and small. But he did point to the obvious difference of the intimacy of a smaller venue as compared to a stadium concert.

“It’s almost easier in some ways to play for thousands and thousands of people than it is to play at a smaller place,” said Schmit. “When I play my show in these smaller places . . . it’s almost like you’re in someone’s living room. It can be a little intimidating. Sometimes people are sitting right at my feet. They’re very close.”

Well, now I know firsthand what’s he talking about. For the Havana show, I got to sit right at the feet of Timothy B. Schmit. Literally. Right in the front row in a seat reserved for media. And no surprise here, it was indeed like being in someone’s living room. If I was any closer I would have been in the band.

It’s only the second time I’ve ever had the opportunity to sit in the front row of a show. The first was many years ago at the Keswick Theatre in Glenside, Pennsylvania, at an oldies show that featured Jay Siegel’s Tokens. The Tokens were a doo-wop vocal group that had the chart-topping hit “The Lion Sleeps Tonight” in 1961.

(Photo by Mike Morsch)

(Photo by Mike Morsch)

My seat for that show was in the first row, stage right, directly in front of several large monitors. When Siegel went into those high falsetto portions of “The Lion Sleeps Tonight,” he nearly blasted me into the sixth row.

Nothing like that happened at Schmit’s show. But like most shows I attend, there were a few personal “moments,” great little takeaways that make for an enjoyable and memorable concert experience.

One for me happened in the middle of the show, when the band left the stage leaving just Schmit and his acoustic guitar. “I want to do this song for Glenn,” he said, a reference to the late Glenn Frey of the Eagles. “I sang backup on this song.”

Schmit then went into a stripped-down acoustic version of “Peaceful Easy Feeling,” a song written by Jack Tempchin on which Frey sang the lead in the original 1972 Eagles version. The song made it to No. 20 on the U.S. Billboard Easy Listening chart and No. 22 on the U.S. Billboard Hot 100 singles chart. I would have thought it had charted higher.

But people of a certain age know all the words to that song, and with Schmit – whose beautiful voice is still strong – singing lead vocals, the audience at Havana was able to provide a choir of backing vocals. While sing-a-longs can get unruly if the audience drowns out the lead vocalist, this version of “Peaceful Easy Feeling” provided a peaceful easy vibe that made a memorable concert moment for me. We collectively sounded pretty good backing Schmit on that song.

(Photo by Mike Morsch)

(Photo by Mike Morsch)

Schmit’s set included some of his solo work, some songs from his time with Poco and a couple of new songs off his latest album, “Leap of Faith,” all of which were very good. His tight band and three female backing vocalists were superb all evening, and I particularly enjoyed the spirited performance of “White Boy From Sacramento” off Schmit’s (who is originally from Sacramento, California) 2009 solo album “Expando.”

But it was the three Eagles songs that stood out for me amid a really strong set list. In addition to “Peaceful Easy Feeling,” Schmit did his two signature Eagles songs, “I Can’t Tell You Why,” which he co-wrote with Frey and Don Henley and on which he sings lead. That song appeared on the band’s 1979 album “The Long Run” and made it to No. 3 on the U.S. Billboard Adult Contemporary chart and No. 8 on the U.S. Billboard Hot 100 singles chart; and the final song of the evening, “Love Will Keep Us Alive,” on which Schmit sings lead.

(An interesting bit of Eagles trivia about “Love Will Keep Us Alive.” It appeared on the 1994 reunion “Hell Freezes Over” album but was never formally released as a single in the U.S. and thus not eligible to appear on the Billboard Hot 100 singles list according to the rules at the time. The song did, however, spend three weeks in the No. 1 spot on the Billboard Adult Contemporary chart in 1995.)

I would be remiss if I didn’t convey my love for Havana. The venue is a cool place to watch a show. Its intimacy is among it’s charms. The Schmit show was a sellout, which packed approximately 300 people to the rafters. The food is always superb as is the service. Dave Maida – national recording talent buyer, promoter and Havana’s manager – and the staff are first-class professionals. You should go there for dinner and a show. New Hope is a hip place to hang.

Timothy B. Schmit might not be able to tell you why. But I can. It was the right show in the right venue on the right night. And it doesn’t get any better than that.

Turning the clock back 40 years: A car, a girl and a song

J. D Malone and The Experts debuted the song "Blue Impala" May 6, 2017, at Steel City in Phoenixville, PA. (Photo by Mike Morsch)

J.D Malone and The Experts debuted the song “Blue Impala” May 6, 2017, at Steel City in Phoenixville, PA.
(Photo by Mike Morsch)

Among the many cool things I get to do with The Vinyl Dialogues series during interviews with the artists is to hear the inspiration and evolution of some of my favorites songs.

Daryl Hall has shared with me the story of how he wrote “Sara Smile.” Dewey Bunnell of the band America has told me the backstory on “A Horse With No Name.” Tom Johnston of the Doobie Brothers has explained to me his thought process on the writing of “China Grove.” Elliot Lurie of Looking Glass offered me great detail on the creation of “Brandy.”

But I’ve never gotten to “live” the evolution a song myself. Until now.

J.D Malone is a singer-songwriter who performs often in my area of suburban Philadelphia. I’ve followed his career for a few years now, seen him perform live a number of times and have all his CDs. His songs are well-crafted and pleasing to the ear and he puts on a great high-energy show. Admittedly, and with substantial bias, I think he’s a big deal and I think the rest of the world should think he’s a big deal as well.

J.D wrote a song called “My Own Paradise,” which is off his last CD “Town and County.” Look it up, buy the CD and listen to the song. It’s brilliant.

And it inspired me to do something that I’ve never before been inspired to do: to write a song. I don’t write music, I write about music. There is a big difference.

But listening to the lyrics of the song made me contemplate my own paradise. What was it? And after listening to “My Own Paradise,” over and over, I determined that I’ve been fortunate to have had several of my own small paradises throughout my life: to be a son, to be a father, a husband, to have been a college baseball player, to be an author.

But I kept going back to one experience in my life when I was 17 years old. My dad had a 1975 blue Chevy Impala, and it was the first car that I learned to drive. It was also the one I drove on my first car date.

It was the fall of 1976, my senior year in high school, and I had a new girlfriend. She was gorgeous. Long brunette hair down to the middle of her back, long legs all the way up to her backside. She was book smart, but shy in public. Shy around everybody but me.

That blue Impala had a bench seat in the front, and one of the coolest things in those days was that when I picked her up for a date, she’d get in the passenger side,  slide across the seat and sit next to me while I drove. Windows rolled down, her hair brushing against my cheek, cassette tapes cranked up on the sound system, her left arm on my shoulder, her hand stroking the back of my neck. It was the exploration and discovery of young love and it was a glorious time to be 17.

Whew. So I wrote a song about that. (Note to wannabe songwriters: If you’re going to write your first song about a girl, make sure it’s about your wife and not an old girlfriend, even one from 40 years ago.)

The urge to write a song was driven by the inspiration of J.D’s song plus the memories of the blue Impala. It was an incredibly strong pull, one that I had not experienced before as a writer. I didn’t even look up “How To Write A Song” on the internet, I just emptied the ideas in my head onto a computer screen.

But I wanted to know: Was there any “there” there? Could it be a real song? So I showed the lyrics to a couple of close friends, Greg Batton, my best pal in high school and somebody who knows not only music but also the girl in the song; and Craig Peters, a great music guy who I knew would offer an honest opinion.

Both of them loved it, so I was encouraged to take it a step further. I reached out to another singer-songwriter friend, Dan May, a brilliant artist and another favorite of mine. He had written a song for me a few years ago about my first book, “Dancing in My Underwear,” and we have had several frank and entertaining conversations over the years about music and life. I knew he would give me a professional songwriter’s opinion.

Dan took the lyrics and tried to put music to them. And as talented as he is, he couldn’t come up with anything that fit with my lyrics. We had a nice conversation about it and he offered me a short course on songwriting over the phone.

But as it turned out, the inspiration of trying to write a song was the most powerful part of the experience, not the finished product itself. I had given it a shot, trying to catch lightening in a bottle, and had swung and missed. I was content to go back to writing about music.

Several weeks later, I was at a J.D show and during one of the breaks, I related the above story to him. There was still something gnawing at me that there might be a song somewhere in that car with that girl on that bench seat.

“Why don’t you send me the lyrics,” said J.D.

“Nah, I can’t do that. It’s an amateurish effort on my part,” I said. “But what I can do is write the story for you and then maybe you can see if there is a song in the story.” It had not occurred to me at the time to offer Dan the story instead of just the lyrics I had written.

So I sent the story to J.D the next day. And he responded immediately: “Love the story and absolutely there is a song there. I would love to come up with something if you like.”

Of course I said yes. It was J.D’s song that inspired me to try to write a song in the first place. If I couldn’t make it happen, maybe he could. I was excited at the possibilities.

And then I didn’t hear anything from J.D for weeks and weeks. I thought it might have been a dead deal.

Then at the end of March, I got a Facebook message from J.D: “Hey Mike, ‘Blue Impala’ is about finished! I’ve got a couple more lines to complete. It’s rockin’! I plan to have it in the set (at the May 6 show by J.D Malone and the Experts at Steel City in Phoenixville, PA). The band should be able to grab onto it quickly.”

Whoa. This had the potential to be off the charts cool. How was J.D going to interpret my story and how much of the story would make it into his song?

Of course, I was pretty excited the night of the show. We arrived at the venue and got to speak to J.D before the performance. I asked for permission to video the song, which he graciously granted. “Blue Impala” was to be the last song at the end of the band’s first set.

The songs in that first set were a bit of a blur for me. Unfortunately from my seat, when I was looking at J.D on stage, there was a clock right behind his head in my sightline on the back wall of the venue. I kept looking at that clock trying to figure how close we were getting to the end of the first set.

Then with a short introduction, in which J.D mentioned that he was debuting a new song that was inspired by a story that I had sent him, I heard “Blue Impala” for the first time.

And. It. Was. Simply. Awesome. (As an aside, The Blonde Accountant even liked the song. If your wife likes a song that’s about a girl other than her, that’s some pretty good songwriting right there. Thanks for keeping me out of that doghouse, J.D.)

It’s difficult, even for a word guy like me, to describe the excitement I experienced at hearing the song for the first time. It was almost as exciting as sitting on the bench seat in that blue Impala with that girl 40 years ago.

Almost.

Unfortunately, in all the excitement, I botched the video. I got only the last verse and end of the song. J.D sent me a copy of the lyrics the next day and I was able to see how much of the story ended up in the song’s lyrics.

“Roll down the window let the summer wind blow your hair
All the kids are talking shit
But we don’t even care
I’ve got this blue Impala and the motor is running just right
So let’s keep on going baby
You and me into the night”

J.D shared with me that he plans to record the song and put it on his next album. How cool is that?

And the girl? Well, we stayed together for two years, through our first year in college. We split up in the summer of 1978 and I haven’t had any contact with her since. I hope life has been kind to her.

My dad is gone, too. And so is the blue Impala. But for a few minutes Saturday night, I got to be 17 again and relive the memories of being in that front seat of my daddy’s car.

That car. That girl. That era. This song, which beautifully captures that moment in time and preserves it forever.

Thanks for that special gift, J.D.

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