Category: The Vinyl Dialogues Book Page 7 of 16

Jimmy Beaumont and the Skyliners – from left to right – Nick Pociask, Donna Groom, Jimmy Beaumont and Frank Czuri – perform on Father’s Day, June 18, 2017, at the Sellersville Theatre 1894.
(Photo by Mike Morsch)

Joe Rock, a young record promoter, was bit out of sorts. His girlfriend, a secretary at a radio station that Joe was promoting, had just dumped him.

A few nights later, Joe got into his car to take a ride, but he couldn’t get the girl out of his mind. Every time he got caught at a stoplight, he’d jot down a song lyric on a notepad he kept in the car.

It was 1958, and Rock had just formed the Skyliners, a doo wop group out of Pittsburgh, whose lead singer was an 18-year-old Jimmy Beaumont. Rock, who managed the group, took the lyrics to the song he wrote in the car to Beaumont, who then wrote the music for it the next night.

When it came time to record the song, an a cappella demo of it was done on a tape recorder. Thinking that the tape recorder was turned off, the female singer of the Skyliners, Janet Vogel, continued to vocally riff at the end of the song, ending in a high C after repeating 13 “yous,” simply as a joke.

But the group like the song – and the ending by Vogel – so much that the members decided to keep it in the arrangement.

“We were set to end it, but we didn’t know just how we were going to end it,” said Beaumont. “We were going to fade it out, actually. A lot of the songs of that day used the fade-out ending. And when Janet added her part at the end and hit that high note, we thought we really had something then.”

More than a dozen record labels, though, didn’t like the song and rejected it, until it was finally released by a local Pittsburgh label, Calico Records.

Jimmy Beaumont
(Photo by Mike Morsch)

According to the group’s 40th Anniversary Edition CD insert written by Ed Salamon, Dick Clark was an early believer of the Skyliners and featured the group on American Bandstand on Feb. 13, 1959. By March of that year, the song – “Since I Don’t Have You” – had spread from Pittsburgh to the national pop charts and the Skyliners had a huge hit. It reached No. 12 on the U.S. Billboard Hot 100, No. 7 on the U.S. Cash Box Top 100 chart and No. 6 on the U.S. Billboard Adult Contemporary chart.

The song is considered by many as one of the quintessential ballads from the 1950s.

Nearly 58 years later, I got to hear Jimmy Beaumont and the Skyliners sing that classic tune “Since I Don’t Have You” live for the first time, courtesy of oldest daughter Kiley, who got tickets to the show at the Sellersville Theatre 1894 in Sellersville, Pennsylvania, as a Father’s Day gift.

Now there’s a young woman who knows what old dad likes.

Beaumont is the only original member left of the Skyliners, which now includes Nick Pociask, Donna Groom and Frank Czuri. It’s a talented group of singers and performers – backed by a seven-piece orchestra led by drummer Mark Groom, Donna’s husband.

The group, which boasts four lead singers and shares the heavy vocal lifting equally throughout the course of the show, sang the hits from its catalog, including “This I Swear” and “Pennies from Heaven,” as well as some great covers. There’s no mistaking the classic lead vocals of the group’s original singer Beaumont, but I also enjoyed the leads by Groom, Pociask and Czuri. They’re highly skilled professionals and entertaining performers.

Dad and daughter making another special Father’s Day memory, with a big assist from Jimmy Beaumont and the Skyliners.

I particularly enjoyed the cover of B.W. Stevenson’s “My Maria,” on which Pociask handled the high falsetto lead vocals. It reminded me of another pleasant memory from the 1970s, when I was a sophomore in high school in central Illinois.

Our student council had secured a juke box for our common area an every day after lunch in 1975, I would pop a quarter into that jukebox and play the same two songs: “China Grove” by the Doobie Brothers and “My Maria” by B.W. Stevenson. “My Maria” reached No. 9 on the Billboard Hot 100 singles chart in 1973. More than two decades later, Brooks & Dunn covered the song and it reached No. 1 on the country charts in mid-1996.

And as much as I loved the show and the music, it was that much sweeter because I got to experience it with my baby girl on Father’s Day. A little doo wop and some treasured daddy and daughter time. It just doesn’t get any better than that.

Who knew that Joe Rock’s girlfriend would make a decision nearly 60 years ago that would result in such a special Father’s Day for me? Thanks Joe Rock’s ex-girlfriend, whoever you are.

And thanks to Jimmy Beaumont and the Skyliners for providing a great soundtrack for that memory. Just like they’ve been doing since 1958.

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

By Mike Morsch

On May 28, 2017

In The Vinyl Dialogues Book

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)

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)

“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)

“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

By Mike Morsch

On May 12, 2017

In The Vinyl Dialogues Book

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)

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)

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

By Mike Morsch

On May 8, 2017

In The Vinyl Dialogues Book

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.

Dispelling a few longtime rock and roll myths

By Mike Morsch

On April 30, 2017

In The Vinyl Dialogues Book

Frank Jeckell, co-founder of the 1910 Fruitgum Company and the only original member still performing in the band, plays lead guitar at the Sixties Spectacular concert April 29, 2017, at the State Theatre in New Brunswick, N.J.
(Photo by Mike Morsch)

The 1910 Fruitgum Company opened the Sixties Spectacular show Saturday night in New Brunswick, New Jersey, with the song “Yummy, Yummy, Yummy,” which reached No. 4 on the U.S. Billboard Hot 100 pop singles chart in June 1968. It is considered among the first handful of songs that we now identify as the beginning of “bubblegum pop.”

And for a long time, a lot of people have believed that “Yummy, Yummy, Yummy” is a 1910 Fruitgum Company song.

It’s not.

The song was first recorded by the Ohio Express in 1968. The band itself included various studio musicians and was something that was cooked up by Jerry Kasenetz and Jeffrey Katz, executives for Super K Productions, a recording company under the Buddha Records umbrella. Who is the “real” Ohio Express is has been a difficult question to answer over the years because Kasenetz and Katz used “Ohio Express” as sort of a marketing brand name for Super K Productions.

What is known is that the original lead singer for the Ohio Express on “Yummy, Yummy, Yummy” is Joey Levine, who ended up singing lead vocals on other Top 40 singles from the 1960s, including “Run, Run, Run” by The Third Rail in 1966. Levine was also a producer for Super K. Productions.

The 1910 Fruitgum Company was signed to Buddha Records in 1967 by Jeffrey Katz of Super K Productions. But there is information out there floating around in cyberspace as well in some history of rock and roll projects that Levine is somehow associated with the 1910 Fruitgum Company, and that leads people to believe that the song “Yummy, Yummy, Yummy” is a Fruitgum Company song.

“Joey Levine never appeared on any Fruitgum records, never wrote a Fruitgum record, was never even in the studio when a Fruitgum record was recorded,” said Frank Jeckell, co-founder of the 1910 Fruitgum Company and the only remaining original member performing today under the band’s banner.

“I don’t know why, but when people meet us for the first time and hear the name 1910 Fruitgum Company, they say, ‘Oh yeah, right, “Yummy, Yummy, Yummy.”’ That’s the response we get,” said Jeckell. “And for a while, we would correct people and say, ‘No, that was the Ohio Express.’ But then there is a reality here.”

That reality is that the studio and the 1910 Fruitgum Company itself combined to complicate the matter. The second album that the band recorded for Super K Productions, titled “1, 2, 3 Red Light” released in October 1968, included the track “Yummy, Yummy, Yummy,” with co-writing credits for Levine and Artie Resnick.

“If you look on the ‘1, 2, 3 Red Light’ album, you will hear the Ohio Express track, which by the way wasn’t recorded by the Ohio Express, it was recorded by the studio musicians for ‘Yummy, Yummy, Yummy,’ with our lead vocalist Mark Gutkowski singing it,” said Jeckell. “So the fact is, there is a bonafide real version of ‘Yummy, Yummy, Yummy’ by the 1910 Fruitgum Company. It wasn’t the one that was the hit record, but it does exist. So we stopped correcting people and we even include the song in our show. People want to think that, fine, we’ll take it.”

Dennis Tufano, original lead singer of the Buckinghams.
(Photo by Mike Morsch)

Along with the 1910 Fruitgum Company, the Sixties Spectacular show in New Brunswick also included spirited and enjoyable performances by Dennis Tufano, original lead singer of the Buckinghams; and Peter Noone, original lead singer of Herman’s Hermits. Albums by the 1910 Fruitgum Company, the Buckinghams and Hermans Hermits will be featured in “The Vinyl Dialogues Volume IV: From Studio to Stylus,” which will be out this summer.

The fourth act on the bill for the Sixties Spectacular was B.J. Thomas, who was featured in “The Vinyl Dialogues Volume II: Dropping the Needle.” I interviewed Thomas about his 1972 album “Billy Joe Thomas,” which included the hit single “Rock and Roll Lullaby.” The song, written by Barry Mann and Cynthia Weil, made it to No. 1 on the U.S. Billboard Adult Contemporary chart.

But there has been a myth surrounding “Rock and Roll Lullaby” that the background vocals for the song were done by the Beach Boys.

They weren’t, according to Thomas, which he confirmed in our conversation.

But it was indeed the intent of Steve Tyrell, the album’s producer, to get the Beach Boys to sing backup on “Rock and Roll Lullaby.” As detailed in the chapter, Beach Boys co-founder Brian Wilson had agreed in a telephone call with Tyrell that the Beach Boys would sing backing vocals on the song. But a deal couldn’t be reached.

B.J. Thomas sings one of his hits at the Sixties Spectacular show.
(Photo by Mike Morsch)

Undeterred, Tyrell decided that if he couldn’t get the Beach Boys, he was going to get as close to the Beach Boys sound on the backing vocals of “Rock and Roll Lullaby” as he could.

He secured the services of David Somerville, lead singer of the Diamonds, whose falsetto voice can be heard on the group’s 1957 hit “Little Darlin.’” Next he hired Darlene Love, Fanita James and Jean King of the all-girl group, the Blossoms, who provided backing vocals for many big hits in the 1960s produced by Phil Spector. And Tyrell rounded it out by adding Gene Morford, Ron Hicklin and Tom Bahler, three guys who had worked as studio background vocalists on several Jan and Dean songs and who sounded a lot like the Beach Boys.

So that’s not the Beach Boys backing Thomas on “Rock and Roll Lullaby,” but it does sound a whole lot like them. With all due respect to Thomas, what was created in the studio for “Rock and Roll Lullaby” in 1972 can’t really be duplicated on stage today. But Thomas’ version of the song Saturday night was among my personal highlights.

Peter Noone, original lead singer of Herman’s Hermits.
(Photo by Mike Morsch)

A few more words about the Sixties Spectacular show: If that’s your era of music, it was a really good show. Promoter Jim Anderson, who does two of these type of shows a year at the State Theatre in New Brunswick, does a great job of hiring the acts that compliment each other and make for a highly enjoyable evening of entertainment.

I was fortunate to meet Frank Jeckell of the 1910 Fruitgum Company and Dennis Tufano of the Buckinghams before the show and both were gracious and pleasant. I appreciated the opportunity to interview and meet them. I particularly relate to Tufano and the Buckinghams, a Chicago group, because I grew up just a few hours south of Chicago and as a kid used to listen to WLS radio, the station that helped promote the Buckinghams early in the band’s career.

And finally, Peter Noone is amazing. He’s 69 years old now (I had to look it up), but he doesn’t seem to have aged a bit since he started at age 15 with Herman’s Hermits in the mid-1960s. He’s got the face of a 35-year-old and the energy of a 20-year-old. I got tired just watching him move around the stage.

John Hall of Orleans: Still having fun and still the one

By Mike Morsch

On April 23, 2017

In The Vinyl Dialogues Book

John Hall, co-founder of the band Orleans, performed a solo gig on Earth Day, April 22, 2017, at the Philadelphia Folksong Society in Roxborough, Pennsylvania.
(Photo by Mike Morsch)

There was a moment during the John Hall solo show on Earth Day at the Philadelphia Folksong Society April 22 where I just had to say something.

Hall, co-founder of the band Orleans, former congressman from New York and longtime environmental activist, had gone through his set and was closing the show. He had mixed generous amounts of storytelling into the set, including stories about the songs themselves as well as his experiences on Capitol Hill in Washington, D.C.

Of course, he included the big Orleans’ hits that he wrote or co-wrote – “Dance With Me,” which made it to No. 5 on the U.S. Cashbox Top 100 chart and No. 6 on both the U.S. Billboard Hot 100 singles and Adult Contemporary charts in 1975; and “Still the One,” which got to No. 5 on the Billboard Hot 100 singles and U.S. Cash Box Top 100 singles charts in 1976. Orleans co-founder, the late Larry Hoppen, sang lead on both those hits.

But we were to the encore and I still hadn’t heard the one other song that I came to experience. So I suggested loudly enough for him to hear – the intimate new home of the Philadelphia Folksong Society in Roxborough, Pennsylvania, didn’t require me to shout – “Dancing in the Moonlight.”

“I can do that one,” said Hall.

“Dancing in the Moonlight” is not an Orleans or John Hall song. But it has a connection to both.

(Photo by Mike Morsch)

The song was written by Sherman Kelly and recorded by the band King Harvest in 1972. It got to No. 10 on the U.S. Cash Box Top 100 chart and No. 13 on the U.S. Billboard Hot 100 singles chart. Sherman Kelly’s brother, the late Wells Kelly, joined the first incarnation of King Harvest but then left to become the original drummer of Orleans at about the same time “Dancing in the Moonlight” hit the charts.

The song was covered by Orleans in its early days and has been a part of its live shows for decades. From a personally selfish standpoint, “Dancing in the Moonlight” has always been one of my favorite songs and I wanted to hear John Hall cover it Saturday night. It was well within the Seven Degrees of Separation from King Harvest.

Which he did. And we all joined in because we all knew the lyrics. It was the highlight of the evening for me.

Although it was the first time I had seen Hall perform live, I have interviewed him. He and his first wife, Johanna Hall, co-wrote “Still the One,” which appeared on the 1976 Orleans album “Waking and Dreaming.” Interviews with both John and Johanna about that album appear in the first volume of The Vinyl Dialogues. The chapter includes the back story on “Still the One” as well as the story about the album’s cover, which Johanna described in the chapter as “acknowledged to be among the worst album covers of all time.”

“Waking and Dreaming” by Orleans, 1976.

Of course, “Waking and Dreaming” was the album that I had brought along with me in the hopes of getting Hall to sign it, which he graciously did after the show.

It was a fun evening of music, storytelling and support for the artists and the Philadelphia Folksong Society, which sponsors the annual Philadelphia Folk Festival, the longest-running music festival in the United States. This year’s festival, scheduled for Aug. 17-20, will be the 56th annual event. You can get the details at www.pfs.org.

Opening the show was Philadelphia singer-songwriter Lizanne Knott, who did a much-too-short set of only six songs. I’m a longtime fan of Lizanne’s beautiful lyrics and melodies and have followed her around the greater Philadelphia region for years. You should check her out at www.lizanneknott.com.

Philadelphia singer-songwriter Lizanne Knott opened the show.
(Photo by Mike Morsch)

Exchanging autographs with folk rock royalty Jim Messina

By Mike Morsch

On March 4, 2017

In The Vinyl Dialogues Book

Jim Messina, of Buffalo Springfield, Poco and Loggins and Messina, performed Feb. 26, 2017, at the Sellersville Theatre 1894 in Sellersville, PA.
(Photo by Mike Morsch)

My dad always said, “Even if you don’t know what you’re doing, act like you do. Act like you’ve been there before.”

He also practiced what he preached. One time several years ago he and my mom were at the Opryland Hotel in Nashville, Tennessee, during the filming of an Easter Seals telethon that was to feature performances by several country music stars. Seeing a clipboard laying unattended, Dad snapped it up and got into the area where the stars were waiting to perform, pretending to be, well, a guy with a clipboard acting like he had been there before. Before anyone figured out who he was, he had secured the autographs of Conway Twitty, Lee Greenwood, all of the Oak Ridge Boys and a then-unknown Vince Gill.

That lesson came in handy recently at a show by Jim Messina at the Sellersville Theatre 1894. Messina has a pretty good pedigree and a pretty big resume that includes being a singer, songwriter, guitarist, recording engineer and record producer as a member of some really good bands – Buffalo Springfield, Poco and Loggins and Messina.

I had interviewed Messina in November 2015 about his first album with Kenny Loggins – “Sittin’ In” from 1971 – for The Vinyl Dialogues Volume III: Stacks of Wax. We had a great conversation and Jim recalled the making of that album in great detail. He was a real pro and a nice guy during the interview and it made for an informative and entertaining chapter.

(Photo by Mike Morsch)

But I had not had the chance to see Messina perform live until the opportunity presented itself at the Sellersville Theatre. My pal Jack had an extra ticket to the show and asked if I would like to join him. Jack is the guy everybody wants to be. Retired at a young age and seemingly without a care in the world, Jack goes to about four concerts a week all over the Philadelphia region. He’s a volunteer usher at the Sellersville Theatre as well, which provides him with several of those opportunities. And as much as his wife likes him, she doesn’t go along to all of the concerts. Fortunately for me, she wasn’t on his dance card for the Messina show and I was next in line.

It was a great show. Messina is really good. He can sing and he can play. Jack’s tickets were down front in the cabaret seating, close to the stage. Messina’s set was heavy on Loggins and Messina stuff, specifically songs that he wrote or co-wrote, including “Listen to a Country Song” from the “Sittin’ In” album; a couple of Richie Furay songs from Buffalo Springfield, “Kind Woman” and “A Child’s Claim to Fame”; and “You Better Think Twice,” which Messina wrote for Poco that became a signature song for the band. The encore was “Your Mama Don’t Dance” by Loggins and Messina, which made it to No. 4 on the U.S. Billboard Hot 100 singles chart in 1972.

I had brought along a copy of The Vinyl Dialogues Volume III: Stacks of Wax that features the Messina interview with the hopes of being able to give it to Jim after the show. Fortunately, that opportunity presented itself when Messina announced from the stage that he would be signing autographs after the show.

A signed copy of the 1977 Loggins and Messina album “Finale.”
(Photo by Mike Morsch)

In addition, I had also brought along the Loggins and Messina album “Finale” from 1977. I like the artwork on that album cover and I thought it would look cool with Messina’s autograph on it.

When I got to the front of the autograph line, I introduced myself, handed Messina a copy of the book and explained that we had done an interview more than a year ago for the book. It’s not unusual for artists, who do a lot of interviews, to not recall all of them. But as he was signing my album, he said, “Yeah, I remember that interview” in a tone that sounded like he really did remember our conversation.

Jim Messina has been there before. It was a kind and considerate response from someone who I consider among the folk rock royalty that is part of the soundtrack of my life.

Not one to dawdle in the autograph line, I took my signed album from Messina, thanked him again for the interview, and moved on so the next person could step up to meet him.

As I headed away from the crowd, I heard “Hey Mike!” I turned around, and it was Messina, holding the copy of the book I had just given him. “Can you sign this for me?”

Now it was my turn to act like I had been there before. Inside my head, the initial reaction was “Jim Messina of Buffalo Springfield, Poco and Loggins and Messina wants my autograph!” I could feel my feet preparing to break into the Snoopy Happy Dance. In truth, that type of reaction is probably not described as acting like you’ve been there before.

Fortunately, I have signed many of my books over the years. And I was able to maintain my composure. “Sure Jim,” I said as he handed me the book.

I wrote: “To Jim: Thanks for being part of this project” and then signed my name. At least I think that’s what I wrote. I hope it wasn’t “To Jim: Gleep loop snoodle puffftttt and hockfuzzle.” And I can’t say that it was the best autograph I’ve ever given as my hand was shaking just a bit from the excitement.

But it was a fun and unexpected ending to a great night of music. I love it when a story has a happy ending. Especially if it’s my story.

(Photo by Mike Morsch)

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

Category: The Vinyl Dialogues Book Page 7 of 16

Adding another wonderful Father’s Day memory, with a soundtrack by Jimmy Beaumont and the Skyliners

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

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

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

Dispelling a few longtime rock and roll myths

John Hall of Orleans: Still having fun and still the one

Exchanging autographs with folk rock royalty Jim Messina