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

Category: The Vinyl Dialogues Book Page 12 of 16

Forget Taylor Swift, ‘Fanilows’ come out in force in Philly

Barry Manilow wows the Philadelphia crowd on Saturday, June 13, 2015.  (Photo by Mike Morsch)

Barry Manilow wows the Philadelphia crowd on Saturday, June 13, 2015.
(Photo by Mike Morsch)

While waiting in line in the men’s room after the Barry Manilow concert Saturday night in Philadelphia, one of the more creative gents suggested out loud that he was surprised to see any kind of line in the loo because he didn’t think there would be that many men at a Barry Manilow concert.

We all kind of chuckled at that, likely because we were all kind of thinking the same thing. And no sooner had that comment been uttered when into the men’s room walked seven or eight women, intent on sharing our facility because the line to women’s restrooms were too long and they really had to go.

It wasn’t a scenario that I necessarily anticipated that I would experience at a Barry Manilow concert, but very little concert behavior surprises me anymore. Women using the men’s room at a concert elicits a mere shrug of the shoulders from me these days.

What did surprise me – but only slightly – is something that I have come to accept now that I have seen Barry Manilow in concert three times: I am a “Fanilow.”

And it all started quite innocently.

Barry performed on the same evening in Philly as did Taylor Swift, who was right next door at the football stadium. (Photo by Mike Morsch)

Barry performed on the same evening in Philly as did Taylor Swift, who was right next door at the football stadium.
(Photo by Mike Morsch)

You see, Mrs. Vinyl Dialogues is a big, huge, gigantic, super colossal “Fanilow,” which is exactly what it sounds like – a big, huge, gigantic, super colossal fan of Barry Manilow.

Prior to meeting her, I had never seen Barry live in concert. But I am very much into the music of the 1970s and he is one of the quintessential stars of that decade. Because of that, I realized after seeing him in concert the first time that I actually knew many of the words to many of his songs.

Attending this concert, however, was a Game Day decision. Apparently I had been informed several weeks ago by Mrs. Vinyl Dialogues that Barry was going to be performing in Philadelphia and that it might be a good idea to secure a few tickets for her as a birthday present.

Because I am a typical man, though, that entire conversation had somehow escaped me, no doubt because I was worried about something more important, like grilling meat. So when the sentence “Hey, Barry is in town tonight and there are tickets available,” came out of her mouth, my ears perked up.

I am not a complete dope – most of the time. And I sensed an opportunity to grab two tickets to the show and maybe correct the earlier error of my ways because, well . . . I right the wrongs, I right the wrongs.

After calling the venue and securing the tickets, off we went into South Philly, that despite one very big warning signal: Taylor Swift was performing a concert in the football stadium right next to the arena where Barry was performing. At the same time. The South Philly sports complex had the potential to be the hottest spot north of Havana and a traffic nightmare.

But it didn’t turn out that way. Taylor’s show started at 5 p.m. and Barry didn’t start until 7:30 p.m. Taylor is young and her crowd is younger, so they can stay up later and watch her perform. Barry is older, and so is his crowd, so we were done earlier. There was no traffic cluster coming or going.

And let me assure you that Barry, who will turn 72 this month, still delivers the goods. He’s a showman with great stage presence and great songs. And he seems like a nice guy, something I can confirm as I have interviewed him in the past. He always seems generally grateful onstage to the fans for the long career he’s had and he expressed that same sentiment to me on the phone when we talked.

Every “Fanilow” has a favorite song or two and mine are “Copacabana” and “I Write the Songs.” Let me share a little history about the latter.

Most people probably know that Bruce Johnston of the Beach Boys wrote “I Write the Songs,” for which he won a Grammy Award for Song of the Year in 1977.

But Barry wasn’t the first to record the song. He wasn’t even the second artist to record the song. The first to record it was The Captain and Tennille for the 1975 album “Love Will Keep Us Together.” The second to record it was David Cassidy for his 1975 solo album “The Higher They Climb,” which was featured in the first volume of The Vinyl Dialogues.

Having interviewed Bruce several times – he appears in both The Vinyl Dialogues and the upcoming release, The Vinyl Dialogues Volume II: Dropping the Needle, which will be available around Aug. 1 this year – I’ve had the opportunity to talk to him about the creation of “I Write the Songs.”

“By the way, if you ever read that I wrote ‘I Write the Songs” about Brian Wilson, forget about it,” said Johnston. “The song is a hymn to God for being the person that starts it all. ‘I’ve been alive forever, and I wrote the very first song.’ It gets me nuts when people say I wrote that song about Brian.”

And just like Saturday night, fans still go nuts when Barry sings “I Write the Songs.” It’s one of those tunes that does indeed make the whole world sing.

And it was clear that all the “Fanilows” in Philly knew that.

The Beach Boys and America: As close to a perfect evening as possible

Bruce Johnston of the Beach Boys performs at the Borgata in Atlantic City. (Photo by Mike Morsch)

Bruce Johnston of the Beach Boys performs at the Borgata in Atlantic City.
(Photo by Mike Morsch)

While waiting for the Beach Boys/America concert to start in the ballroom of the Borgata in Atlantic City Saturday evening, April 18, a little old lady came in and sat down beside me.

I don’t think she was from Pasadena. Atlantic City is, after all, a long way from California. (Beach Boys fans will get that joke.)

She was quiet throughout the hourlong set by America – Dewey Bunnell and Gerry Beckley – who sound as good today as they did 40 years ago when they were making their fifth studio album, “Hearts,” which will be featured in “The Vinyl Dialogues Volume II: Dropping the Needle.”

America has always been one of my favorite bands, but this was the first time I had the opportunity to see them live. There aren’t enough adjectives to describe how good these guys are and how much I love their songs. So it’s no surprise to say that I enjoyed their performance.

When America finished its set, closing with “A Horse With No Name,” the first hit single for the band, which was released in 1971, the little old lady turned to me and said, “Was that the Beach Boys? Is that all?”

I explained to her that it was the band America that we had just seen and that the Beach Boys would be coming out next.
“Oh, I wasn’t sure. Those guys didn’t sound like the Beach Boys,” she said.

After the Borgata show, we got to meet Bruce. That's daughter Kiley, Bruce and the author.

After the Borgata show, we got to meet Bruce. That’s daughter Kiley, Bruce and the author.

No, they didn’t sound like the Beach Boys to me either. For one thing, they’re younger, a joke that Beach Boys frontman Mike Love made himself later in the show. But Bunnell will tell you that he and Beckley love the Beach Boys, that they did influence America and that members of the two bands have been friends for decades and have performed on the same bill many times over the years.

The Beach Boys and America – they are the fabric of American music – provided much of the soundtrack of my life when I was growing up in the Midwest in the 1960s and 1970s.

This was a special concert for me for a couple of other reasons as well. I was accompanied by my oldest daughter, Kiley, who grew up with this music. We have a special bond that is linked in part by Beach Boys music. I did feel somewhat bad stealing her away from her husband on a Saturday night, but only for a little bit. From a selfish standpoint, she’s still my little girl. But as an adult, she’s great to hang with and she appreciates the music.

Dewey Bunnell, left, and Gerry Beckley of the band America sound just as good today as they did in the 1970s.  (Photo by Mike Morsch)

Dewey Bunnell, left, and Gerry Beckley of the band America sound just as good today as they did in the 1970s.
(Photo by Mike Morsch)

It was also a special evening because we were the guests of Bruce Johnston of the Beach Boys. Bruce provided a great interview in “The Vinyl Dialogues” detailing his role as producer of David Cassidy’s first two solo albums after Cassidy’s TV show “The Partridge Family” had ended its run. I hope to interview Bruce again for Volume II, this time about a Beach Boys album.

It wasn’t the first time I had met Bruce. In 1986 at a Beach boys concert in Rockford, Illinois, I was part of a media contingent invited to a pre-concert “Beach Party.” Bruce was the only band member to appear at the event, so he was inundated by the media. There is a photo of me standing next to Bruce, pen and reporter’s notebook in hand, and sporting a full head of curly hair.

The Beach Boys themselves – the Mike Love/Bruce Johnston group – still rock. There is still an energy coming from the stage that can make one forget that these guys are in their 70s and that they’ve been doing this for more than 50 years.

For the record, I don’t get into all that offstage Beach Boys hoo-ha. I love Brian Wilson, Al Jardine and that band. And I love Mike Love, Bruce Johnston and that band. I loved that they were all together for a series of 50th anniversary shows a few years ago and that I got to see one of those shows with my daughter.

But for me, it’s only about the music and what it means to me.

We were fortunate to meet Bruce after the show. He was gracious, signed a few autographs – including the photo of him and I from 1986 – posed for a photo and chatted a bit.

“I’ve been coming to Beach Boys concerts since I was three years old,” my daughter said to him.
“Me too,” said Bruce.

It was as close to a perfect evening as it could be.

Oh, and the little old lady? Without saying a word, she just got up and left about two-thirds of the way through the Beach Boys’ set.

Maybe she was headed back to Pasadena after all and wanted to get ahead of the traffic.

The class of Darlene Love plus the comedy of Cheech & Chong equals vinyl magic

Rock and Roll Hall of Fame inductee Darlene Love will be featured in The Vinyl Dialogues Volume II: Dropping the Needle.  (Photo by Mike Morsch)

Rock and Roll Hall of Fame inductee Darlene Love will be featured in The Vinyl Dialogues Volume II: Dropping the Needle.
(Photo by Mike Morsch)

Lou Adler was looking for some help. He was producing Cheech & Chong’s third comedy album, Los Cochinos, in 1973 and the duo was in the recording studio ready to make the song “Basketball Jones.”

Since it was an actual song and not a comedy bit, Adler needed some real musicians to sit in on the recording session, which was being done at A&M Records on North La Brea Avenue near Sunset Boulevard in Hollywood.

In addition to managing the careers of Cheech & Chong, Adler also managed a veritable All-Star lineup of other artists: Sam Cooke, Carole King and The Mamas and The Papas, among them. So Adler started making calls to some of those artists asking them to come on down to the studio and participate in the recording of “Basketball Jones.”

The day of the recording session, Adler also went through the A&M studio seeing who else was recording that day and asking them to be part of “Basketball Jones.” That list included Ronnie Spector, Billy Preston, Klaus Voormann, Jim Karstein, Jim Keltner and a pretty famous guitarist named George Harrison. That’s Harrison playing the intro to “Basketball Jones.”

Also in the studio that day were The Blossoms – Darlene Love, Fanita James and Jean King. By 1973, they had developed a reputation of being the best backing vocalists in the business and had performed on many of the biggest hits of the 1960s.

Adler thought the vocals of The Blossoms, along with those of Michelle Phillips of The

Philadelphia singer-songwriter Mutlu was part of an "All-Star Tribute to Marvin Gaye" on March 28, 2015, in Ewing, N.J. (Photo by Mike Morsch)

Philadelphia singer-songwriter Mutlu was part of an “All-Star Tribute to Marvin Gaye” on March 28, 2015, in Ewing, N.J.
(Photo by Mike Morsch)

Mamas and The Papas and Ronnie Spector, would be perfect as “cheerleaders” for “Basketball Jones.”

“That was a lot of fun,” said Ms. Love in a recent telephone interview. “Lou would say, ‘OK, come on girls, what are we gonna do here?’ The first hour of the session was laughing and talking. And then we’d come up with little things and four or five hours later, we were still trying to do the song.”

Ms. Love will be featured in The Vinyl Dialogues Volume II for her role in the 1972 album “Billy Joe Thomas” by B.J. Thomas. She and The Blossoms provided backing vocals on Thomas’ big hit off that album, “Rock and Roll Lullaby.”

She was recently in the area on Saturday, March 28, 2015, as the headliner for an “All-Star Tribute to Marvin Gaye” as part of the Candlelight Concerts for Epilepsy Awareness, an ongoing nonprofit epilepsy awareness series held at Trinity United Methodist Church in Ewing, N.J.

The event was organized by Eric Miller, whose wife died from an epileptic seizure, as a way to bring awareness to the issue. You can get information about Miller’s Candlelight Concerts by going to www.CandlelightConcerts.org and more about the affliction by going to the Epilepsy Foundation of New Jersey’s website at www.efnj.com.

In addition to Ms. Love, a 2011 Rock and Roll Hall of Fame inductee, other artists featured at the event included Dawn Robinson, formerly of En Vogue; Sarah Dash of LaBelle; Cory Glover of Living Colour; Hopewell’s Danielia Cotton; Philadelphia singer-songwriter Mutlu; and Kerrion Upshur, a 14-year-old from Ewing High School with a big voice.

Mutlu, a frequent opener for Hall & Oates shows as well as solo gigs for both Daryl Hall and John Oates, also has also toured extensively with his friend and fellow Philly artist Amos Lee.

It was a great night of Marvin Gaye music played to a packed church for a good cause. And yes, there were a few jokes made about the fact that two of Gaye’s biggest hits, “Let’s Get It On” and “Sexual Healing” were performed in a church.

The backing band for the evening was outstanding, under the musical direction of bassist Doug Wimpish, also of Living Colour. It included guitarist Paul Pesco, who has worked with Hall & Oates and Madonna; Calvin Weston on drums, David Dzubinski on piano with Allison Polans and Imani Roach provided backing vocals.

The next two Candlelight Concerts will pay tribute to the music of Paul McCartney and Joni Mitchell. If you’re in the northeast part of the country, you should check them out.

Ex-Eagles guitarist Don Felder welcomes us to his own ‘Hotel California’

Former Eagles lead guitarist Don Felder brings out his 12-string guitar for the encore of "Hotel California" at his solo show March 21, 2015, at the State Theatre in New Brunswick, N.J. (Photo by Mike Morsch)

Former Eagles lead guitarist Don Felder brings out his 12-string guitar for the encore of “Hotel California” at his solo show March 21, 2015, at the State Theatre in New Brunswick, N.J.
(Photo by Mike Morsch)

In a an interview with Don Felder to preview his March 21, 2015 show at the State Theatre in New Brunswick, N.J., I mentioned to him as someone who grew up in the 1970s, it’s difficult for me to stand up for an entire concert at this age.

“That’s why we’re playing theaters, so you can sit down until it’s time to get up and start rockin’,” said Felder, who will be featured in The Vinyl Dialogues Volume II talking about the making of the Eagles 1975 album “One of These Nights.”

That Don Felder – known as “Fingers” when he played lead guitar for the Eagles – can play guitar is not breaking news. He’s among the best guitar players in the world.

Felder wrote the music – with lyrical help primarily from Don Henley, with contributions from Glenn Frey – on a 12-string guitar that features several distinctive guitar parts, for “Hotel California,” one of the Eagles’ most famous songs. In fact, it’s one of the most recognizable songs in rock history. The song’s guitar solo by Felder was voted the best solo of all time by readers of Guitarist magazine in 1998 and was ranked 8th on Guitar Magazine ’ s Top 100 Guitar Solos.

“When I was writing and arranging ‘Hotel California,’ the music for it, I used a 12-string guitar. And little did I know to this day I would still be playing the 12-string guitar at every show every time we do that song. I should have said, let’s just do this on a regular six-string guitar,” said Felder.

Hearing Felder play “Hotel California” live on the 12-string is one of those things rock fans from the 1970s ought to put on their bucket lists. It was magic in 1976 when it was recorded and it was magic seeing it Saturday night at the State Theatre.

Felder, who parted ways with the Eagles for good in 2001 and wrote a tell-all best-selling book about it called “Heaven and Hell: My Life in the Eagles (1974-2001),” has been a solo artist for a while now. And he knows his audience. After all, his show is called “An Evening at the Hotel California.”

He knows the crowd is filled with Eagles fans who wants to hear Eagles songs. Although he mixed in a few songs off his latest CD, “Road to Forever” and a few other tunes, his set was heavy with many great Eagles hits, including “Take It Easy,” “Witchy Woman,” Tequila Sunrise,” “Already Gone” and “One of These Nights.”

With Felder’s vocals – he didn’t really step out front much on lead during his time with the Eagles – and his killer band, it was too much for many in the crowd. Midway through the show, people crowded the stage and packed the aisles dancing and singing.

“Pay no attention to the ushers, get up and dance,” said Felder.

I don’t know if that made the ushers too happy, although it did get them off the hook from pestering people to put away their cell phone cameras. After Felder’s pronouncement from the stage, there were no longer any rules.

Felder knew that because he had mentioned it to me in the interview.

“About three-fourths of the way through the show, if not sooner, everybody in the place is up on their feet and singing along with the songs, clapping their hands and dancing, just having a great time,” he said.

And to the credit of the crowd, it was a controlled enthusiasm. A lot of singing and dancing, but nobody got out of hand.

By the time Felder brought out his 12-string for the final song – the only time the 12-string made an appearance to that point – everyone knew what was coming: Welcome to the Hotel California.

And it’s true. When it comes to seeing Don Felder play “Hotel California” live on the 12-string guitar, you can check out any time you like, but you can never leave.

Coming of age with a wardrobe malfunction and the band America

This is a photo of the cover of "Hearts," a 1975 album by the band America. (Photo by Mike Morsch)

This is a photo of the cover of “Hearts,” a 1975 album by the band America.
(Photo by Mike Morsch)

An interview with Dewey Bunnell of the band America about the album “Hearts,” which will be featured in The Vinyl Dialogues Volume II, reminded me of one of my favorite coming-of-age stories from my youth: my first experience with a “wardrobe malfunction.”

It was the summer of 1975 after my sophomore year in high school, and I hung out quite a bit with my pal, Dan Brewington. Dan lived in one of the higher-end neighborhoods called Sunset Hills in our central Illinois town. It had its own country club with a swimming pool, restaurant and 18-hole golf course.

One had to be a member of the country club to use the swimming pool, and Dan’s parents were members. And the children of members could invite friends over to swim during the summer. There was a two-visit limit for any non-member, but Dan knew the kid who manned the entrance to the pool and I was waved in several times that summer.

The pool area had a snack window with a public address system that played the radio over speakers so that the swimmers could enjoy the music of the day – all our favorites from the mid-1970s. America was a hot band in 1975, and it wasn’t unusual to hear its hits while we enjoyed the pool.

Once inside the pool area, we did what all normal 15-year-old boys did in the 1970s – we engaged in shenanigans and tomfoolery. One such activity was called “Old Bag Splashing.”

“Old Bag Splashing” is exactly what it sounds like. In addition to attracting its share of teenage boys, the Sunset Hills Country Club pool attracted quite a few moms who enjoyed sunbathing.

While lying on their stomachs facing away from the pool, the moms would be unaware of what the group of teenage knuckleheads – which usually included Dan and me – were up to. We would slip into the deep end, swim stealthily the length of the pool, then pop up at the other end where we would thrash about and splash the “old bags.”

They did not like it much. We, of course, thought it was hilarious. What’s funny now, though, is that if we were 15 years old, those moms sunning themselves likely were in their late 30s or early to mid-40s. They were “old bags” to us, but they weren’t old at all.

I quickly tired of “old bag splashing” that summer because I was becoming interested in something else: girls. And there were plenty of teenage girls in bikinis hanging around the Sunset Hills Country Club pool. It did not take me long to realize that looking at girls in swimming suits was much more entertaining than splashing old bags.

Even back then, though, I couldn’t see past my nose without my glasses. When I was actually in the pool, I would leave my glasses with my towel on one of the poolside chairs. That meant I couldn’t get a clear view of the girls if I was in the water.

I decided it would be better to observe than to swim. So I would leave my glasses on and sit by the side of the pool, dangling my legs in the water while surveying the scantily clad girls my age.

It was a solid strategy for a knucklehead. One day, I spotted a young lady in a red bikini whom I didn’t know. She didn’t go to our high school, so maybe she was a guest.

I watched as she swam the length of the pool, seemingly with ease, and I was mesmerized. Strikingly good-looking and an athletic swimmer, it seemed as if her every move was in slow motion.

It all happened so quickly. She finished a lap the length of the pool, then swam over to the side, directly opposite to where I was dunking my legs in the water while trying to simultaneously be cool and not gawk.

As she pulled herself out of the water and onto the edge of the pool in one fluid motion, her left boob slipped out of its holster, and without her knowing it, appeared in all its glory for what seemed like an eternity.

And I had the best seat in the house.

It was the first time I had ever seen anything like that. Without overstating it, I was, in a word, impressed. It must have only been three or four seconds until she realized something was amiss, and she quickly recovered and stowed the valuable asset back into its appropriate cover.

I never approached her that day, never knew her name and never saw her again at the pool.

But what I also remember at the very moment of the big reveal was the song that was playing on the snack stand public address system when it happened.

It was “Sister Golden Hair” by America, from the 1975 album “Hearts,” the very same album I talked with Dewey Bunnell about this week that will be featured in The Vinyl Dialogues Volume II.

The only thing that would make this story better is if the young lady at the swimming pool was a blonde. Alas, she was not. She was a brunette. I think.

I wasn’t exactly focused on her hair.

Temple University needs to be schooled on the finer points of Hall & Oates

John Oates performed a solo show in New Hope, PA, in January 2015. (Photo by Mike Morsch)

John Oates performed a solo show in New Hope, PA, in January 2015. (Photo by Mike Morsch)

In my most recent interview with John Oates, he shared the story about what inspired he and Daryl Hall to name their seventh studio album “Along The Red Ledge” in 1978.

The story of making that album and the music on it will be detailed in The Vinyl Dialogues Volume II, which will be out later this year.

But the inspiration for the title had come to John a decade or so earlier, in a literature class at Temple University in Philadelphia.
Hall & Oates fans likely know that both artists went to Temple.

In fact, I just assumed most music fans in the greater Philadelphia area, and possibly the entire Northeast, were aware that the two met at Temple.

Certainly Temple University is well aware of two of its most famous students, right?

Daryl Hall takes to the keyboards during a Hall & Oates show at the Borgata Hotel in Atlantic City in 2013. (Photo by Mike Morsch)

Daryl Hall takes to the keyboards during a Hall & Oates show at the Borgata Hotel in Atlantic City in 2013.
(Photo by Mike Morsch)

Well . . . sort of.

My stepson is in the process of narrowing down his college choices and has been accepted to Temple University. He is leaning heavily in that direction, so as part of the process, we recently attended “Experience Temple Day,” a daylong introduction for prospective students, some of whom have already committed to Temple and others who have yet to make a decision.

We all gathered just before 9 a.m. on a Saturday – about 12,000 students and parents – in a theater on campus. It was colder than a witch’s wazoo, so they opened the doors well in advance of the 9:30 a.m. orientation start time.

To keep us occupied and entertained, Temple student ambassadors were scattered throughout the theater and on stage, showing us to our seats, singing, dancing around and generally acting like the cheerleaders they were supposed to be for the event.

Our emcee for the morning was Billy from Lancaster, PA, and he was indeed enthusiastic about his job. But it took all of about two minutes for me to realize that Billy was going to be one of those guys that got on my last nerve. And in a hurry.

Now I understand that he was just doing his job. Nobody wants a college orientation emcee to come out on stage and just stand there and scratch his ass. What kind of message does that send to students and parents? “Come to Temple, where we have one of the top Ass Scratching Departments in the country.” That’s unlikely to make it into the recruitment brochure, I suspect.

No, Billy’s job was to be the head cheerleader, and I realized that, so I cut him some slack on his overly enthusiastic approach to the job because that is exactly what the task called for, without regard for my last nerve.

On the big video screen behind Billy, a PowerPoint presentation was flashing up Temple-related questions. Things like, “In what year was Temple founded?” The idea was that if one tweeted the correct answer to the question with the designated Temple hashtag, then one could win a free Temple t-shirt.

It was not enough to entice me to play. I have 72 t-shirts from my college, The University of Iowa. I do not need a Temple t-shirt.

One of the questions that did interest me, though, was this: “Which famous musical duo went to Temple?” It was a multiple choice question. The answers were: (1) Simon and Garfunkel. (2) Hall and Oats. (3) I never got to the third one.

See, as one who makes a living with words as both a writer and editor, I usually notice when something is misspelled. And one of the very first rules of newspaper journalism is, “Spell the name correctly.”

Right there, at Temple University, on the big video screen, the school had misspelled John’s last name as “Oats” and not correctly as “Oates.” (And, no, I don’t think they were referring to the duo’s first album from 1972.)

I can’t imagine I was the only one in the theater that noticed it, but there was no discernible outrage coming from any other part of the theater.

“Hey, hey, hey! They spelled John’s last name wrong!” I said to Mrs. Vinyl Dialogues. I was so flummoxed that I failed to even see who the third famous musical duo was listed on the multiple choice question. It could have been Bert and Ernie for all I knew.

Before I could calm myself – it must have been only a few moments – Billy from Lancaster announced that someone had tweeted the correct answer.

“That’s right, it’s John Hall and Daryl Oates!” he exclaimed.

My head exploded.

Honest of Pete, people. I don’t have enough foreheads and palms for all the head-slapping that kind of mistake prompted. First Temple can’t spell John’s last name correctly in very big type on the video screen, then nobody briefed Billy from Lancaster about the correct names of two of the school’s most famous students?

I guess that memo on the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame induction didn’t get to everybody at Temple, huh?

As a longtime chronicler of Hall & Oates’ exploits over the years and a big fan of their music, I felt it was my responsibility to point out this egregious error. It certainly appeared I was the most qualified guy in the building to do so as I was the only one slapping my forehead and shouting “Billy, Billy, Billy, no, no, no!”

A stiff elbow to the ribs from Mrs. Vinyl Dialogues curtailed my outrage and brought me back to the reality of the situation. Good thing, too, because I was just about to stand up and shout, “Hey all you kids who don’t know who Hall & Oates are, get off my damn lawn!”

I decided it best to cut Billy even more slack – surely his parents knew who Hall & Oates are – and we progressed through the rest of the orientation without any further insults to Hall, Oates, me or my last nerve.

The length of the presentation, however, suggested a restroom break was in order.

As I meandered around the theater lobby looking for the men’s room – wondering if that elbow to the ribs was going to require hospitalization – I spotted none other than Billy from Lancaster, who was headed into the restroom ahead of me.

Good, I thought to myself, I can represent Hall & Oates Nation admirably and right the wrongs that Billy and Company had committed that day.

But I thought better of that plan. There is usually no tomfoolery or shenanigans in a men’s room. We gents are in there strictly for business, and it’s not the appropriate venue to discuss the finer points of Hall & Oates history.

Certainly I could have waited for Billy outside the restroom, but by then, I was annoying even myself for not being able to just put the whole thing behind me.

Still, it’s the lack of attention to detail that bothered me. As a prestigious institution of higher education, I can’t quite believe Temple didn’t get it exactly right when it came to two of their most famous students.

I can’t go for that. No can do.

Search for elusive vinyl ends with a deflating ‘Conrad’ moment

The album "The Morning After," by Maureen McGovern, was released in 1973.

The album “The Morning After,” by Maureen McGovern, was released in 1973.

One of the enjoyable aspects of starting a vinyl collection well into adulthood is the thrill of the hunt. That is, as long as some jamoke named Conrad doesn’t mess up the experience.

I like to go to the various used records stores in my part of the world – suburban Philadelphia – and spend some time rummaging through the endless discount bins for certain albums. Usually, I’m looking for an album that I’m writing about, either one that appeared in The Vinyl Dialogues or one that’s going to be featured in The Vinyl Dialogues Volume II.

It’s a relaxing way to kill and hour or two on the weekend, if one has the patience – as well as a good back and legs – to stand there and sift through album after album looking for that buried treasure.

On my most recent excursion, I was searching for the 1973 album “The

This album used to belong to somebody named "Conrad," who felt it necessary more than 40 years ago to sign it.

This album used to belong to somebody named “Conrad,” who felt it necessary more than 40 years ago to sign it.

Morning After” by Maureen McGovern. I had interviewed Ms. McGovern for an upcoming show she was doing in New Hope, PA, and during that interview, I gathered enough of her recollections to make a chapter about the album for The Vinyl Dialogues Volume II.

So off I went to The Rock Shop in Plymouth Meeting, PA, which has a nice selection at reasonable prices. Another thing I like about going to used record stores is that – to nobody’s surprise – there’s usually a turntable playing records, which provides a soundtrack for the search. On this day, the classic album of choice was “Before the Flood,” by Bob Dylan and The Band, a live album recorded during a 1974 American tour.

That’s a really good choice for perusing vinyl.

I went through bins of records for an hour-and-a-half. Among those I pulled out was one that I hadn’t yet found from The Vinyl Dialogues, “Tarkio” by Brewer and Shipley from 1970; two from Hall & Oates, “Along the Red Ledge (1978) and “X-Static” (1979); two from America, “Heart” (1975) and “Hideaway” (1976); “Golden Bisquits” by Three Dog Night (1971); and “Whistling Down the Wire” by David Crosby and Graham Nash (1976).

Even though I found albums from just about every female singer-songwriter of the 1970s – Carole King, Carly Simon, Janis Ian, Phoebe Snow, Linda Ronstadt, to name a few – I didn’t find Maureen McGovern’s “The Morning After.
I was just about ready to call it a day, when in the last row of records I was searching, nearly at the back, there it was! “The Morning After” by Maureen McGovern.

It was indeed like finding a buried treasure, and I immediately broke into my happy dance, which resembles the Snoopy Happy Dance from the “Peanuts” cartoons, but with much less grace and rhythm. I am not opposed to doing that in front of other record store patrons when I find the elusive vinyl. If anyone were to ask what was wrong to me, I was prepared to tell them that I was just rocking out to Dylan and The Band.

Once that moment of finding the proverbial needle in the haystack elation subsides, though, then I usually take a closer look at the record and the album cover. Which is what I did this time as well.

This one looked good . . . but, wait. In the upper righthand corner, just above Ms. McGovern’s name, there was another name, this one written in ballpoint pen. It read “Conrad.”

Now it’s not unusual to find records with people’s names on them. There was a time – and I understand this – as kids where we put on name on our most valuable possessions. This album, likely more than 40 years ago, apparently was a prized possession for someone named Conrad.

There is no way for me to know if that is a first name or a last name, but my immediate reaction to finding Conrad’s name on the very album I had been searching for was to seek out the first person named Conrad I could find and punch him right in the nose.

WFT Conrad? Did you not know 40 years ago that someday I would find this record, with the hopes of having it signed by Maureen McGovern?

Of course, that is an unreasonable reaction. But it did take a bit of the steam out of the Snoopy Happy Dance once I came to my senses.

I bought the record anyway. One never knows how long the search would have continued to find the album again. This is one is in pretty decent shape, and will look cool once it’s signed by Ms. McGovern.

That will be the second autograph on the album. Thanks, Conrad.

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