Tag: The Vinyl Dialogues

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.

Sun, sand and cigars: A shore way to motivate and inspire

By Mike Morsch

On September 17, 2014

In The Vinyl Dialogues Book

This is the view from Music Pier in Ocean City, N.J. A perfect place to write about music from the 1970s.

In an effort to find inspiration and motivation, I took off Wednesday, Sept. 17, in search of an ocean.

My hope was that the combination of the late summer sea breeze, the sound of the waves, a slice or two of my favorite boardwalk pizza and possibly a leisurely go at a mild cigar after lunch would be just the thing to kick off the Opening Day of Writing for The Vinyl Dialogues: Volume II.

It was a well-calculated plan. I had been watching the weather report for 10 days in advance, trying to free up a day where it was the just the sun and me. And I picked Ocean City, N.J. because it is relatively close and it has an historic concert hall called Music Pier that stretches out from the boardwalk and touches the ocean. I figured that the extra music mojo coming off Music Pier couldn’t hurt the writing process of a book about memorable albums of the 1970s.

I anticipated that because summer vacation season is over and the kids are back in school that the boardwalk would be virtually deserted.

For the most part it was, with the exception of three things I discovered when I got there:
(1) Old people.
(2) Old people.
(3) And old people.

Considering that I am on the doorstep of OldGuyHood myself, it should not have surprised me that other people would have been thinking the same thing that I was thinking on a nice day this time of year. But it did.

Still, I am sometimes surprised at how much I am surprised sometimes.

Having completed four interviews to this point, transcribed the notes, done some research, and let all of that ferment inside my head for several days, I was anxious to get the writing process started. My hope was that I could get first drafts done for two chapters of about 2,500 words each with the ocean as my background music.

I had decided to start with the chapter on the 1978 album “Entertainers On and Off The Record” by the Statler Brothers. Don Reid, lead singer and primary songwriter for the group along with his brother Harold Reid, was the final interview for the first Vinyl Dialogues book. It was such a wonderful interview that I asked him to participate again for Volume II, and he agreed, much to my delight.

It made sense to start the next project right where the first one had left off.

A word here about country music in general and Don Reid specifically. If country music is not your preferred genre, know that the Statler Brothers are one of the greatest country music groups in the history of country music. Their harmonies, songwriting abilities and accomplishments are virtually unmatched in country music. And Don Reid himself is a superstar who doesn’t act like one and a gentleman who does. He is a treasured storyteller and a gracious interview subject, the kind of guy that makes me want to build a porch on the front of my house, buy a few rocking chairs, grab a six-pack of cold beer, invite him over and just listen to him talk for three or four hours on a Saturday night.

To get in the right frame of mind, I rolled down the car windows and listened to “The Best of the Statler Brothers” CD twice on the drive from suburban Philadelphia. It was kind of like a baseball player in the on deck circle warming up by swinging a leaded bat preparing for his turn in the batter’s box.

By the time I got to Music Pier, I was primed to write. I stationed myself in my chair just outside the great music hall in its open air annex, where I could see, smell and hear the ocean, and pulled out my laptop.

And promptly took a nap. Zzzzzzzz. See, writers are Major League procrastinators. And and when it comes to distractions, as previously stated, I can be as much of an old guy as the next old guy.

Fortunately, I was able to recover quickly and banged out a first draft of about 2,500 words on “Entertainers On and Off The Record” with the information that Don had provided in the interview. It took about two-and-half hours.

And then I took another nap. Zzzzzzz. After that, I grabbed a couple of slices of pepperoni pizza from Manco and Manco – if you’re from this part of the East Coast, you know how good it is – a chocolate and mint frozen yogurt cone for dessert, packed up my chair and laptop and drove home.

I didn’t get quite as much work done as I had initially planned, and there is no smoking on the boardwalk so I didn’t get to the cigar. But the writing for The Vinyl Dialogues: Volume II, has officially commenced.

For the first time in my life, I got to create something while peeking at the ocean over the top of my computer.

And it was glorious.

Southside Johnny at The Stone Pony: A real rock and roll show

By Mike Morsch

On August 3, 2014

In The Vinyl Dialogues Book

Southside Johnny rocks the summer stage.

The famous Stone Pony in Asbury Park, N.J.

It was a theory that had at least the hint of possibly coming true.

Southside Johnny and the Asbury Jukes were scheduled to play a July 3, 2014, show at the famous Stone Pony is Asbury Park, N.J. The venue is, as many music fans know, the place where Bruce Springsteen got his start. As did Southside Johnny – John Lyon – and his band the Asbury Jukes.

There’s a chapter in The Vinyl Dialogues, featuring an interview with Rock and Roll Hall of Famer Steven Van Zandt of Springsteen’s E Street Band, that details the evolution of Southside Johnny and the Asbury Jukes in the mid-1970s, the influence of Springsteen on the band and the development of what we now know at the Jersey Shore Sound.

Over the years, it has not been uncommon for both Springsteen and Van Zandt to join Southside on stage, especially when the band is playing in or around Asbury Park or specifically, at the Stone Pony.

There’s a lot of rock and roll history that’s been made at the Stone Pony. So when I saw that Southside and the Jukes were scheduled to perform at the venue’s summer stage on July 3, I said to myself, “Hmmm. I wonder . . . .”

Let me state upfront that I’ve never seen Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band or Southside Johnny perform live. I know, I know, shame on me. My only excuse is that I grew up in the Midwest having no idea about anything New Jersey. So I came very late to the Springsteen-Van Zandt-Southside party. (I’m still not at the Jon Bon Jovi party yet.)

The point now is that I’m all-in with everything Springsteen. I’m listening and learning and enjoying all the music that I missed the first time around, starting with the early Springsteen and Southside stuff from the 1970s.

So the plan for the Southside concert was a no brainer: Seeing Southside Johnny for the first time at the historic Stone Pony. I wouldn’t want to have seen him at any other venue the first time. (John Cafferty and the Beaver Brown Band, from “Eddie & The Cruisers” fame, was the opener.)

But in the back of my mind, I wondered: July 3 was on a Thursday, the start of a long Fourth of July four-day weekend. Maybe, just maybe, Bruce – who had finished his 2014 tour – would be hanging around Asbury Park with the family. Or maybe Van Zandt was in the neighborhood. And maybe they both didn’t have anything else to do that evening. Would it be possible that one or both of them would stop by and do a few songs with Southside in their old stomping grounds?

It had happened before at the Stone Pony. The odds seemed, at the very least, plausible.

And then Mother Nature interfered, the ratfink. It rained like hell on July 3, so much so that the Stone Pony management canceled the show since it was at the club’s outdoor summer stage, which offers no protection from the elements.

Fortunately, the show was rescheduled for Aug. 2, a date that was open on the schedule. Once again, Mother Nature threatened to interrupt the proceedings with a lot of threatening skies, but the rain held off.

The Stone Pony itself is old and it needs some work. It’s a club, not Radio City Music Hall. The ceiling is half falling down in places and people still spill beer on its floor. The summer stage outside is a general admission ticket and fans have to stand for the shows. Fortunately, you can pay an extra fee and sit in a small grandstand, which we did because my wife and I have determined that the days of standing through entire concerts has long since passed for our knees and hips.

Southside Johnny and the Asbury Jukes at the Stone Pony – a real rock and roll show. It was excellent and just what I hoped the entire experience would be.

Oh, neither Springsteen nor Van Zandt showed up. I was looking for them when Southside started singing “I Don’t Want to Go Home.” That would have been some serious gravy had they popped up on the stage at that point, huh?

But Southside Johnny and the Asbury Jukes had this one. It was homefield advantage all the way for them. And it was just that cool, even without those other two guys.

A foot of snow inspired the Statler Brothers’ chapter

By Mike Morsch

On July 29, 2014

In The Vinyl Dialogues Book

The Statler Brothers opened for Johnny Cash from 1964 through 1972.

Sometimes, all it takes is a foot of snow to provide a little inspiration. That’s how the 1972 album “Innerview” by the Statler Brothers made it into “The Vinyl Dialogues.”

In early 2014, it snowed quite a bit in the Philadelphia area, most of it I think, right in my driveway.

Snow makes me grumpy and I have threatened – to no avail – many times to whack Mother Nature upside the head with my snow shovel if she didn’t lay off my driveway.

But over the years, I have changed my philosophy when it comes to shoveling snow. I used to believe the best way to attack the issue was to wait until it stopped snowing, then go out and shovel it all at once. The problem is that if we get a foot or more of snow from one storm, it’s difficult to lift that much snow.

So in recent years – and because of an aging back – I’ve taken a different approach. I now go out several times during a storm, maybe every two or three hours, and shovel a few inches at a time. It does require going out in the storm more often, but shoveling snow three or four inches at a time as opposed to 12 to 15 inches at the end has proven easier for me.

In addition, shoveling snow is downright unpleasant and boring. It was during one such snow event in early 2014 that I decided I needed a “Shoveling Theme Song.” For no particular reason – in between cursing a blue streak at that ratfink Mother Nature – the Statler Brothers’ song “Flowers on the Wall” popped into my head while I was clearing the driveway.

“Counting flowers on the wall, that don’t bother me at all.
Playing solitaire til dawn, with a deck of 51.
Smoking cigarettes and watching Captain Kangaroo.
Now don’t tell me, I’ve nothing to do.”

The way I interpret that, the guy in the song keeps himself busy doing essentially nothing, even though he thinks it’s something. Those lyrics resonated with me as I kept myself occupied while doing a relatively unpleasant task three for four times in the same evening.

When I got finished with that round of shoveling, I came back inside and researched the song. It was released in 1965 and peaked at No. 2 on the Billboard chart in early 1966. I was near the end of writing a book about memorable albums of the 1970s and the song and the album it appeared – the group’s debut album, also called “Flowers on The Wall,” didn’t qualify.

A little more research revealed that the Statler Brothers spent eight years, from 1964 to 1972, opening for and traveling with the great Johnny Cash. When it came time for the band to break out on its own – with Cash’s blessing – they started writing more songs and making more albums.

At about that time in 1972, the Statlers released an album called “Innerview,” which featured what would become their next big hit, “Do You Remember These,” the group’s second No. 2 single.

Of course, I wondered if I could track down the Statler Brothers and if any of them would talk to me about the album “Innerview.” The 30 chapters completed for “The Vinyl Dialogues” at that point were all about rock and roll albums. There were no country albums included, which was an oversight on my part because I am also a big country music fan.

It was fairly easy to track down the Statlers. The group retired from touring in 2002 and three of the four are retired and living in Staunton, Virginia, their hometown.

I explained the book project and made my interview request in and email and sent it to the Statler Brothers’ website. The request made its way to Debo Reid, who handles media requests for the group. He is the son of Don Reid, lead singer and songwriter on many of the Statler songs.

And Don Reid agreed to be interviewed about the album “Innerview.” What a wonderful conversation it was. Mr. Reid is articulate and humble and his recollections are detailed. He is a gentleman through and through, and despite enormous success, he has remained grounded and appreciative of all life has given him.

There was an incredible warmth and sincerity coming through the phone from Mr. Reid during the interview and I think those qualities show through in the finished chapter.

And after his retirement, Don Reid has become an author himself, so we chatted a bit about that as well. He was very much in tune with the reasons why I wrote this book and the feelings a writer experiences during a writing project.

I’ve been blessed to have had so many great interviews over the years. This was another one. It is so much fun talking to the people who made the music I grew up with.

But what I love the most about this chapter is how while shoveling snow, a Statler Brothers song popped into my head. And that simple thought led to another great interview that ended up being a chapter in The Vinyl Dialogues.

I would have never thought that when I first schlepped out to the driveway during that snowstorm.

Hall & Oates leave them wanting more at the Borgata

By Mike Morsch

On June 22, 2014

In The Vinyl Dialogues Book

You know that old adage, “Always leave them wanting more?” I’m pretty sure that just about everyone in the sold-out Borgata ballroom in Atlantic City Friday night, June 20, 2014, would have been happy to sit there for a few more hours and listen to Hall & Oates.

The recently inducted Rock and Roll Hall of Famers performed a tight, 90-minute set, that included two encores, and certainly left me wanting more.

The thing that strikes me about Daryl and John at this stage of their careers is that they genuinely seem to still be enjoying what they do. And, no breaking news here: they’re very good at it.

Of course, all the hits were there:

“Maneater” – No. 1 from the “H2O” album (1982).
“Out of Touch” – No. 1 from “Big Bam Boom” (1984).
“Do It For Love” – No. 114 (and should have been higher) from “Do It For Love” (2002).
“She’s Gone” – No. 7 (Editorial comment: How can this not be a No. 1 song?) from “Abandoned Luncheonette (1973).
“Sara Smile” – No. 4 (Editorial comment: How can this not be a No. 1 song?) from “Daryl Hall and John Oates” (1976).
“Do What You Want, Be What You Are” – No. 39 from “Bigger Than Both of Us” (1976).
“I Can’t Go For That (No Can Do)” – No. 1 from “Private Eyes” (1981).
“Rich Girl” – No. 1 from “Bigger Than Both of Us” (1976).
“You Make My Dreams” – No. 5 (Editorial comment: How can this not be a No. 1 song?) from “Voices” (1980).
“Kiss on My List” – No. 1 from “Voices” (1980).
“Private Eyes” – No. 1 from “Private Eyes” (1981).

But the highlight of any Hall & Oates concert for me is anything they do from the “Abandoned Luncheonette” album. Friday night’s performance of “She’s Gone,” a song they admit they’ve played at every show for the past 40 years or so, was outstanding. As good as that song is on the record, it was simply chill-inducing to hear live at the Borgata.

The other song from “Abandoned Luncheonette” in the set list was the Oates-penned “Las Vegas Turnaround.” It’s become a favorite of mine because of the backstory that John tells about the genesis of the song, a story that’s retold in the “Abandoned Luncheonette” chapter of “The Vinyl Dialogues.”

The song is kind of a prequel to another famous Hall & Oates song that would be written by the duo and released in 1976, three years after “Las Vegas Turnaround.” If you’ve read the book or know the story, don’t give out any spoilers. If you don’t know the story, pick up a copy of “The Vinyl Dialogues.” I’m biased, but it’s the coolest story in a book full of cool stories about memorable albums of the 1970s.

So here’s my idea to enhance the Hall & Oates experience, and it’s completely selfish from a fan’s viewpoint: Make the first hour of a Hall & Oates show the “All The Hits Hour.” Add another hour to the show, and call it the “Deep Album Cuts” hour (I’ll take “When The Morning Comes” and “Had I Known You Better Then” from “Abandoned Luncheonette” as well as “Camellia” from the 1975 “Daryl Hall & John Oates” album.)

Then after a couple of encores, bring three chairs on stage – one for Daryl, one for John and one for me – and I’ll interview them. Then we’ll all go for beer afterwards. All 5,000 of us. We’ll let Todd Rundgren pick up the tab as payback for overproducing “War Babies” and making it sound like a Todd Rundgren album.

Just a thought. But that sure would eliminate the whole “leave them wanting more” thing, huh?

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

Tag: The Vinyl Dialogues

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

Sun, sand and cigars: A shore way to motivate and inspire

Southside Johnny at The Stone Pony: A real rock and roll show

A foot of snow inspired the Statler Brothers’ chapter

Hall & Oates leave them wanting more at the Borgata