The Vinyl Dialogues Blog

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

Author: Mike Morsch

Mike Morsch is a 37-year veteran of the newspaper business, most recently as executive editor of Montgomery Media in Fort Washington, PA. He has been writing about music for the past 10 years and is also the author of "Dancing in My Underwear: The Soundtrack of My Life," also available at Biblio Publishing.
Among his favorite bands are the Beach Boys, Hall & Oates and America and he's also a supporter of local artists in the Philadelphia music scene.

Roger McGuinn’s ‘Mr. Tambourine Man’ a classic

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On June 13, 2014

In The Vinyl Dialogues Book

Roger McGuinn of The Byrds played a solo gig June 12, 2014, at the Colonial Theatre in Phoenixville, PA.

Hearing Brian Wilson sing “Surfer Girl” in concert.

Listening to America’s Gerry Beckley from the fifth row as he sings “Sister Golden Hair.
”

Seeing Tom Johnston of the Doobie Brothers rock out to “China Grove.”

Hearing great songs in person sung in their original versions by the artists who made them famous has always appealed to me. And now I can cross another one off my list: Hearing Roger McGuinn of The Byrds sing “Mr. Tambourine Man” in person.

I know it’s a Bob Dylan song. And certainly one can argue that hearing Bob Dylan sing it would be hearing “Mr. Tambourine Man” in its original form. Dylan released the song in March 1965 and The Byrds’ version was released in April 1965.

But it’s the harmonies of McGuinn, Gene Clark and David Crosby – and the birth of what we now know as “folk rock” – on The Byrds version of the song that I remember from my childhood.

So it was a real kick to hear McGuinn sing it Thursday, June 12, 2014, at the Colonial Theatre in Phoenixville, Pennsylvania, nearly 50 years after the song was first released by The Byrds.

These days, it’s just McGuinn and his guitars on stage. And that’s enough. He did two, 45-minutes sets at the Colonial. McGuinn is a great storyteller, and not only with his song lyrics. Throughout the performance he prefaced almost every song with a story explaining the genesis of the song. To me, that’s gold for those artists who have been around for decades – to mix in the actual history of the songs that have become historic.

That’s the premise behind “The Vinyl Dialogues” – to get the accurate historical details and perspectives about albums and songs directly from the artists who made that history.

It would be great to get McGuinn on the record for Volume II of “The Vinyl Dialogues.” I like his 1976 solo album, “Cardiff Rose.”

McGuinn was just coming off Dylan’s “Rolling Thunder Revue” tour in 1975 and I’ve love to hear the details of the creative process that he was experiencing in the lead-up to the making and release of “Cardiff Rose.” McGuinn touched on that a little bit when he told a story during the Colonial performance about how he got Joni Mitchell’s song “Dreamland” to include on “Cardiff Rose.”

Living, breathing rock and roll history in a live concert. It doesn’t get much better than that.

Unless you’ve got the vinyl, of course.

 

A special kiss, courtesy of Three Dog Night

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On June 10, 2014

In The Vinyl Dialogues Book

The only known picture to exist of Mike and Sue as members of the prom court at the 1976 junior/senior prom at Pekin Community High School.

The only known picture to exist of Mike and Sue as members of the prom court at the 1976 junior/senior prom at Pekin Community High School.

It wasn’t my first kiss, but it was a special kiss.

In the spring of 1976, I was the 17-year-old president of the junior class at Pekin Community High School in central Illinois.

One of my “duties” — in addition to running around being a teenage goof-off — was to help plan the junior-senior prom.
For the record, I was much better at goofing off than I was at planning a prom.

Three Dog Night had split up by 1976 but I was still a big fan in those days, despite having never had the chance to see the band perform in concert.

My big contribution to the prom that year was pushing for “An Old Fashioned Love Song” — written by Paul Williams and made into a hit by Three Dog Night — to be the theme of the dance. As class president with hip Elvis sideburns and a puka shell necklace, I apparently exhibited enough charm with the female members of the prom committee to get my wish on the prom theme.

I was also fortunate to have been elected to the prom court that year — a goof-off with Elvis sideburns who wore a puka shell necklace apparently also held some sway with the voting block of students — and it was as a member of the prom court that provided the backdrop for the unexpected and special kiss.

My escort for the prom court introductions was Sue Brown. As we waited to be introduced to the student body that evening, Sue and I stood there, her arm in mine, and our eyes met.

And we kissed. It was more than a peck, but it wasn’t a passionate kiss, it wasn’t a long kiss. Sue didn’t happen to be my date for the evening — oops — but I sure do remember that kiss, even all these years later. It happened just as “An Old Fashioned Love Song” began to play on the school sound system to kick off the prom court introductions.

I saw Sue Brown — she’s married now with a different last name — only once in the next 38 years. She happened to be a teacher at the elementary school that my niece and nephew attended and we sat together at a basketball game and chit-chatted for a bit.

The prom night kiss from years earlier never came up.

In 2012, I published my first book, “Dancing in My Underwear: The Soundtrack of My Life,” a memoir about growing up with the music of the 1960s and 1970s, and I planned a book signing event in my hometown of Pekin, Illinois.

A few weeks before the event, during a phone call with my sister Casey, she told me that she had seen Sue at the grocery store and had invited her to the event. Sue said she would attend.

“Hey, Sue Brown is going to be at the book-signing event in Pekin,” I said to my wife, who had heard the prom night story and was familiar with the particulars. “You know, if she shows up, I’m going to have to kiss her.”

My wife’s reaction was predictable: “I don’t think so, pal.”

The book-signing event went off without a hitch, with one exception: Sue Brown was a no-show.

But every time I hear Three Dog Night’s “An Old Fashioned Love Song,” it takes me back to that evening of the junior prom in 1976, back to standing next to Sue Brown, styling and profiling in that powder blue tuxedo and felt bow tie that I was sporting, right to that moment when our lips met and created a personal teenage memory that I’ll never forget.

“An Old Fashioned Love Song” was indeed “one I’m sure they wrote for you and me.”

Or at least for Sue Brown and me.

 

 

Lunch with Annie Haslam of Renaissance

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On June 2, 2014

In The Vinyl Dialogues Book

Annie HaslamAnnie Haslam tells a story in “The Vinyl Dialogues” that involves flying potatoes, white pants and a British a cappella group named The King’s Singers.

It’s a pretty funny story.

So when I had lunch recently with the lead singer of the band Renaissance at a quaint little place called the Vintage Grille in Doylestown, PA, I was keeping a wary eye on what she was going to order.

Annie ordered a breakfast plate, which included fried potatoes cut into squares. Fortunately, I had the good sense to not wear white pants to that lunch. One never knows which establishments these days serve the flying potatoes.

It was the first time I had met the wonderfully charming Haslam. Our telephone interview for the book in March 2013 was about her recollections and memories of the Renaissance album “Scheherazade and Other Stories,” released in 1975.

Still a head-turner at age . . . well, even though she told me how old she was – without me asking, by the way – I’m not going to reveal it here. It’s not the gentlemanly thing to do, and there are so few of us left.

We talked about a lot of things over the course of an hour, including the state of our world (she’s a strict environmentalist). I loved listening to her stories about the music of the 1970s and the music business in general.

Annie lived the music history of the 1970s. She’s still making music and she has for several years had a second career as a painter. She added that she has no intention of writing a book about her life because she likes to look forward and not backward.

It was a delightful visit with an artist who is as down-to-earth as a fan like me could hope.

And I’m happy to report that I did not get hit with one flying potato.

You can get the latest on Annie and her career at www.anniehaslam.com. For the latest news on Renaissance, go to www.renaissancetouring.com.

 

 

It’s high time Cheech & Chong be considered for the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame

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On May 18, 2014

In The Vinyl Dialogues Book

 

Tommy Chong, his wife Shelby Chong, and Cheech Marin performed at the Keswick Theatre in Glenside, PA, in October 2013.

Tommy Chong, his wife Shelby Chong, and Cheech Marin performed at the Keswick Theatre in Glenside, PA, in October 2013.

Cheech and Chong deserve to be considered for the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and here’s why: Because they have four hit singles on their resumes.

“Santa Claus and His Old Lady,” released in 1971, reached No. 38 on Billboard’s Hot 100 chart.

“Basketball Jones,” released in 1973, reached No. 15 on the Billboard Hot 100 chart.

“Sister Mary Elephant,” released in 1973, reached No. 24 on the Billboard Hot 100 chart in early 1974.

And “Earache My Eye,” released in 1974, reached No. 9 on the Billboard Hot 100 chart.

What Cheech and Chong contemporary comedian from the 1970s can boast the same recording credentials?

George Carlin? Brilliantly funny. No hit singles.

Richard Pryor? Hilarious. No hit singles.

Lily Tomlin? Laughs galore. No hit singles.

Those comedians were certainly big-time recording artists in the 1970s and there are a boatload of Grammy nominations among them. But no Top 40 singles.

Steve Martin would the be exception to this among comedians in the 1970s. A top-notch banjo player, which he incorporated into his comedy act, Martin released the song “King Tut” as a single in 1978 and it reached No. 17 on the Billboard Hot 100 chart.

But Cheech and Chong were doing something in the 70s that few comics were doing then by incorporating music into their act on a regular basis. (They talk about the inspiration for “Basketball Jones” and the recording of the album “Los Cochinos” in “The Vinyl Dialogues.”)

Other comedians of that era would record their live acts and put that on an album. Cheech and Chong would go into the studio and actually write music and arrangements. At the time, that didn’t fit the comedy format.

Which is another reason they should be considered for the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame: What they were doing was pretty innovative for its time.

When it comes to the criteria that is used for enshrinement into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, there’s apparently no real formula. The diversity of the acts already enshrined in the R&RHOF makes the process subjective.

According to the R&RHOF website, though, among the factors considered include “an artist’s musical influence on other artists, length and depth of career and the body of work, innovation and superiority in style and technique.” But “musical excellence shall be the essential qualification of induction.”

How does Cheech and Chong stack up to that? Well, “Earache My Eye” has been covered by several bands, including by Korn on its album “Follow the Leader” and by Soundgarden on its “Coverin’’ album. Cheech and Chong’s body of work has both length and depth, covering stage, screen and records; and the innovation of what they were doing in the ’70s with music on their albums has already been discussed.

That leaves musical excellence. Aside from the four singles already mentioned, there’s the song “Mexican Americans” from the 1978 movie “Up in Smoke.”

If that’s not comedic musical excellence, then what is?

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