A STAIRWAY TO HEAVEN – THE VILLAGE GATE

a/k/a IT’S A MANN’S MANN’S MANN’S WORLD

Been digging in my trusty diary and on THIS date, August 28, 1962, 64 (yeah, I know, friggin’ 64) years ago my then ten year old brother and I persuaded our aunt Florence and uncle Phil to take us to the Village Gate in the heart of Greenwich Village to see Herbie Mann. Herbie was co-headlining a triple bill with the legendary Thelonious Monk and Eric Dolphy as their opener.

In 1962 the jazz club scene in New York was still jumping. As one of, if not the largest of the clubs, the Gate could afford to pack their line-ups with three artists at a time. Sometimes two bands and a comic like Flip Wilson or Dick Gregory. Meanwhile easily a dozen other clubs including the Village Vanguard, Basin Street East, Birdland and the 5 Spot were presenting top shelf jazz groups on a nightly basis. All of the most popular bands, led by the likes of Miles Davis, John Coltrane, Art Blakey, Dizzy Gillespie, Donald Byrd, Maynard Ferguson, Cannonball Adderley, Horace Silver, Monk and Mann were usually within reach of a short subway ride and the price of a couple beers. Legends all, when they weren’t on tour they were essentially among New York’s countless “local” bands.

So that was the scene that I was as anxious to witness as I was to enjoy Herbie Mann. Mann’s funky “Comin’ Home Baby”, had become a surprise hit and had actually been recorded a year earlier in this same basement club. Mann had unexpectedly become the closest thing the jazz scene had to a pop star. His percussion heavy band boasted intoxicating rhythms and accessible melodies. While playing his flute, Herbie had an uncanny carriage, a hip stuck out to the side in a manner that women somehow found attractive.

Mann was a serviceable flautist whose style could be described as sexy but his real gift was that of a band leader. He knew what worked and did his best to remain au courant. Well into the 1970’s, whatever the trend – from Afro-Cuban to bossa nova to soul jazz – Mann was always at the forefront of energetic bands that smoked! Like Miles Davis and Art Blakey, Herbie had a talent scout’s eye. The impressive list of young phenoms that earned their cred in his bands include Chick Corea, Miroslav Vitous, Jimmy Owens, Reggie Workman, Sonny Sharrock, Ray Barretto, Larry Coryell, Willie Bobo and Roy Ayers.

Our party of five – we were also accompanied by our grandmother – came dressed for the occasion. Uncle Phil, Eric and I were all wearing sport jackets and ties while Florence and Grandma Dee Dee had on their Sunday go to dinner dresses on. The “downtown” jazz crowd must have viewed us as hopelessly lost tourists in search of an “in”, flavor of the week, cultural experience.

If so, none of us gave a damn. Phil was a life-long musician, a saxophonist-clarinetist in the Mitchell Ayres Orchestra that most often backed popular crooner Perry Como. Florence worked for a major music publisher in Manhattan where she befriended people like a young Quincy Jones. God bless her, Grandma Dee Dee was just glad to be anywhere that made her grandsons happy. Meanwhile, my adventuresome side was just thrilled to actually be sitting in one of the legit bohemian caverns of the jazz world.

Today the Mann-Monk-Dolphy bill sounds like a hall of fame induction ceremony but at the time I didn’t have a clue who Eric Dolphy was, nor did I have a clue what he was playing. I was unaware of his tenure the previous year with the ground-breaking John Coltrane band – a band that was also recorded in this same Village Gate. Dolphy’s challenging repertoire baffled my novice ears to the point of boredom. He was way above my pay-grade. Eric (my brother Eric) was probably a bit more interested. Even at age 10 he was already intrigued by anyone who played saxophones. I assumed that our Latvian-born, Jewish Grandma was more puzzled than anyone in the club. But she showed no discomfort. She adored being out among younger people which probably trumped any possible interest she could have in what Dolphy was playing. She did have an appreciation of music, particularly Latin music, so I was confident that she would relish Herbie Mann, a Jewish flautist with a Pan-African band. As for poor Mr. Dolphy, to my dismay, I have never been able to determine who played with him that nigh. But I have learned that his pianist may have been a youngster from Chicago named Herbie Hancock.

On the other hand, we certainly knew who Thelonious Monk was. By the 1960’s, Monk had become the mainstream media’s face of bebop, the mysterious recluse that was the hip crowd’s musical guru. His music was also a bit over my head but at least I found it interesting. And I loved how he’d rise from the piano during saxophonist Charlie Rouse’s solos and basically direct the rhythm section with his odd dance patterns. His band was undeniably swinging. (Eric and I still have Monk’s autographs that Aunt Florence bribed a waiter to go backstage and get. At least we want to believe it’s Monk’s signature and not the waiters.)

Herbie Mann was as expected, playing familiar material with verve and swing. I’m sure there were some hard core jazz purists in the packed club who found Herbie too predictable – less profound than Monk or Dolphy. After all, it was a slightly odd grouping of bands. But I preferred to embrace the night as an entertaining jaunt into three entirely different camps of the jazz milieu.

Maybe more than anything, I left the Village Gate as a fan of the club itself. The two-level venue, at the corner of Bleecker and Thompson streets, was opened in 1958 by Brooklyn born Art D’Lugoff, an impresario with avant garde taste. The main showroom was in the basement with a smaller performance space on street level, eventually known as Top of the Gate. The Gate, upstairs or downstairs, was always welcoming of eclectic programs such as a benefit for Timothy Leary in 1970 or the National Lampoon’s Lemmings starring pre-S.N.L. Chevy Chase and John Belushi. Starting in 1974, the Top of the Gate hosted the off-Broadway version of Let My People Come for a record-breaking run of over 1100 performances.

Before becoming branded as specifically a jazz club, the Gate also hosted a mixed bag of folk music, poetry, blues and comedy. But jazz is what worked. Eventually everyone from Duke Ellington to Miles Davis had graced the Gate stage.

Artists were booked for Tuesday through Sunday. Eventually, Mondays became Latin nights. In the mid-60’s the Gate introduced a long running Monday series known as Salsa Meets Jazz – two Latin bands with a guest jazz soloist joining each. Salsa Meets Jazz was a huge success for much of the club’s lifetime and a certified hang for the jazz community, most of whom were off on Mondays. It wasn’t unusual to find Art Blakey, Dizzy Gillespie or, later, Jaco Pastorious, Christian McBride and Roy Hargrove sitting at the next table.

But tastes change with every generation and so does jazz. First came fusion and then, by the mid-70’s, the popularity of jazz narrowed and the Gate began experimenting with rock and funk. (Notably, Herbie Mann remained one of the Gate’s most reliable attractions with his ever-changing bands and repertoire.) The club struggled through the 1980’s during which they revived Salsa Meets Jazz. Threatened with bankruptcy in 1994, D’Lugoff was forced to permanently shut his Gate. The upstairs eventually became a CVS pharmacy and the downstairs briefly became a ritzy private club called Life. The funky Gate, Ritzy? That was an oxymoron. In 2008 the space re-opened as a mixed-use venue pretentiously called Le Poisson Rouge.

In those 64 years since seeing Mann, Monk and Dolphy, I spent more nights than I can count in that Gate’s basement, usually on Monday nights when my late friend Eddie Palmieri was playing Salsa Meets Jazz. Even into the early 90’s Bleecker Street was still vibrant. Blues bars like Mills Pub and the Lion’s Den hosted top level bands, sometimes featuring Paul Butterfield or my late brother-in-law, singer-guitarist Kenny Gwyn, a/k/a The Mayor of Bleecker Street.

After I moved to Minneapolis to work for Prince I used to actually schedule my New York business trips around Palmieri’s Monday nights at the Gate. Or maybe it was to catch the exciting Conjunto Libre. It was live music seldom offered in the Midwest and never received as enthusiastically as en Nueva York.

Times change. Things change. The Village Gate had a long, noteworthy run in a business with notoriously short lives. But I still miss it. It was a reliable constant in my life, a dark, dingy basement whose walls bled with the countless hours of amazing music witnessed there.

P.S.

Coincidentally, on this same date in 1963, Dr. Martin Luther King delivered his “I Have A Dream” speech to the thousands of people gathered at the historic March On Washington. The impact of that March helped motivate a Civil Rights Bill and a Voting Rights Bill. Small but crucial steps in the right direction.

It was just one year after our Mann-Monk-Dolphy escapade and I don’t think it’s a stretch to consider that the Village Gate culturally represented some of what Dr. King’s March stood for. Dr. King and the Village Gate are gone but, by the grace of God, I’m still here. So I can’t help but reflect on how, once again, we find ourselves fighting to protect and, in some cases, resurrect what the March On Washington helped accomplish. What will it take today to arouse enough courage, passion, sacrifice, selflessness and commitment to mount a level of protest to match that of the March On Washington? We better figure that out.

When I began posting on Substack, I had no intention of doing any writing about politics or public affairs. God knows we have more than enough pundits and so-called influencers covering that ground. Consider today’s post an exception. And, no, this isn’t about Trump. I’m not interested in venting frustration or over-analyzing the most predictable President in our history. The damage is done and has been well documented. No matter where it stands on Rotten Tomatoes, we’ve all seen this movie by now and heard every review possible. So let’s look forward and try to figure out how we eventually get out of this muck that both political parties bear some responsibility for.

I think it’s fair to say that I’m one of many Americans who don’t find a comfortable fit with either Political party. They both seem hopelessly split into factions and unable to strike a cohesive definition of what they really want to stand for. Whether we lean to the left or the right, there just isn’t a comfortable home.

The approach of the mid-term elections has me thinking about this homelessness a lot. Am I misfit? Am I just unwilling to make the compromises necessary to fit my politics into one of the only two templates available to a voter? Worse yet, many of us think the system is broken. Particularly since the Supreme Court Citizens United decision has made our national elections all about money and the real influencers – those billionaires, technocrats and corporations who support candidates.

What are our options? A third party? (A subsequent fourth party?). Neither Democrats nor Republicans want an additional party gumming up the works so both would throw all kinds of obstacles in the way. Meanwhile, in order to get enough support to seriously compete, a third party candidate would need to appeal to and then peel away a substantial number of voters from both parties. With Americans so polarized, how likely is that to happen? Unless…..

A recent New York Times op-ed by Michelle Cottle introduced me to Dan Osborn, a Senate candidate from Nebraska who describes himself as a “lifelong independent”. Osborn is running to unseat a Republican but is quick to point out he’s not a Democrat. Osborn told Cottle that “I don’t like either party. I think they both kinda sick.”

After reading that, I instantly assumed this guy is either a crackpot or hopelessly naïve and I don’t live in Nebraska anyhow. But after a pause, I realized that, so far, I agree with this guy! At that point, I wanted to know more so I continued reading.

Despite Osborn’s stubborn independence, it turns out the Nebraska Democrats took a deep breath and decided to back his run instead of nominating their own candidate. Yes, I know, Nebraska is a bright red state so what are Osborn’s chances of winning? Maybe not great but let’s not stop there without learning more about this guy.

Cottle describes Osborn as “a Navy veteran turned industrial mechanic and union organizer – a salty populist…..with blue collar street cred, a progressive economic platform and moderate takes on cultural issues.” Hmm……now I wanted to know still more. What kind of campaign does that description translate to?

First of all, he works the stump like a pro and comes across as earnest. He talks to health care workers, bartenders, farmers and ranchers. He hates Citizens United, doesn’t take a dime from corporate PAC donations and says those who do cannot be trusted. He openly reminds people that both parties put their own interests and those of their corporate donors above the public good. Duh! I don’t know if he has any chance of winning in far-right Nebraska but I sure wish he was running in Minnesota!

Now some real talk. I’m 79 years old and have voted in 15 Presidential elections as well as God knows how many primaries and mid-terms. I have seldom voted FOR a candidate. I don’t believe I am alone. It’s nearly impossible for a candidate of any party to completely mirror all of any voter’s wishes and beliefs. Even when captivated by the charisma of an Obama,(or a Trump), whether we realize it or not, we are still essentially supporting them to prevent their opponents from winning.

For 250 years the American pendulum swung back and forth, from right to left to center. Our democracy was based on keeping that swing going. The resulting uncertainty and our political debates were its essence, intended to prevent absolute power from any one side. It has only failed because an administration refused to play by the rules.

It’s going to take a long time, perhaps, generations to get that pendulum moving again. There’s a lot of weight holding it still. And, for the time being, the political parties cannot continue to behave as if those rules haven’t been compromised. They debate “wokeness” but refuse to wake up themselves!

If the future of America is meant to eventually resurrect its democracy we have to be willing to accept the necessary patience and effort. The cool thing is that an appealing “independent” isn’t a third party - a third group of wannabes fighting for the same corrupt support in the same sordid game the Democrats and Republicans play. An independent can simply be a candidate you agree with enough to trust that he or she will protect your interests if elected. Maybe that’s the answer to this mess!

PURPLE MUSIC

With the official announcement that the stage musical PURPLE RAIN will open on Broadway next spring, I found pause to indulge in a little personal reflection. It was this time, forty-three years ago, that I moved to Minneapolis and began a decade of working for Prince. On August 3, 1983, Prince and his new Revolution played at First Avenue. The hugely memorable show introduced Wendy Melvoin to the band and, more importantly, debuted much of the music that would become the PURPLE RAIN album. (Shameless plug - My detailed telling of those events appears in my next book, IT’S GOT TO BE FUNKY – MY LIFE IN MUSIC, available for pre-order on Amazon and with Barnes And Noble.)

I must be honest. Having tour managed hundreds of Prince performances, not to mention tons of rehearsals, I have had very little interest in hearing anyone else perform his music since he died. Not that it can’t be done with integrity and artistic merit. But I can’t forget when D’Angelo, whom I was managing at the time, paid tribute to his mentor with an impassioned “Sometimes It Snows In April” on Jimmy Fallon’s Tonight Show. He nailed it, as if the song was his, but I was an emotional wreck for days. That performance was my (and D’Angelo’s) private Prince funeral. Powerful music can do that to you.

In 2013 I half-heartedly agreed to accompany a friend to the MOTOWN Broadway musical at the Lunt-Fontaine Theatre. My snotty ass was prepared to turn up my nose at the young singers and musicians portraying all the Motown greats and singing the music that I had grown up with. After all, I had seen those legends in their prime – Marvin Gaye, Smokey Robinson and the Miracles, Stevie Wonder when he was still “Little” and the original Temptations with David Ruffin and Eddie Kendricks.

The MOTOWN musical’s book was light, the scant story line contrived. It didn’t take long to figure out the obvious – it was all just an excuse for the sold-out audience, some my age but most younger, to enjoy and appreciate hearing all those great songs performed well. It was pointless for the singers to try imitating the legends they represented. And it would be equally pointless for me to grade them that way. The cast’s talent level was high on its own, and the audience had a blast. Powerful music can do that to you.

I hope Prince fans, as opinionated a cult as I’ve ever encountered, can approach PURPLE RAIN on Broadway with an open mind. Forget that the play doesn’t mimic the film. Forget whether you like the story line or not. Maybe even forget whether Prince would “approve”. He wasn’t right all the time either. Just be prepared to appreciate hearing the wonderful music he left us, performed with honesty and passion. That should be more than enough to make yours a feel-good day. Powerful music can do that to you.

On this date, June 25, 1991, I was in New York to accompany George Clinton to his second appearance on the DAVID LETTERMAN SHOW.

We had signed the captain of the P-Funk Mothership to Paisley Park Records in 1988 when Prince learned that Clinton was without a label deal. Lacking any contemporary material on a 1980’s radio dominated by new jack swing and watered down hip-hop, P-Funk had fallen on hard times. Financial problems piled up. P-Funk had basically been on hiatus for four years.

As George put the finishing touches on THE CINDERELLA THEORY, his debut album for Paisley Park, we decided that we needed to support getting the band back together and on the road.

I took the project seriously. Trends be damned, I couldn’t imagine a world without a place for George Clinton and P-Funk. Clinton’s oft-sampled archive was the closest thing of the funk era to hip-hop. Guest appearances on the album by

Chuck D & Flavor Flav helped illustrate the timeliness of the P.

On July 16, 1989, two weeks before CINDERELLA dropped, a revived P-Funk enjoyed a rousing return to New York, stealing the show at the influential New Music Seminar. A savvy surprise was the appearance of De La Soul who had famously sampled Funkadelic’s “(Not Just) Knee Deep” in their recent, huge hit “Me, Myself And I”. It was clear that Clinton’s P-Funk was anything but passe and the gig received tons of great press.

What followed was a month of touring, an itinerary designed to make George available for media in D.C., Philadelphia, Chicago and L.A. We welcomed P-Funk to Minneapolis for a press party at Paisley Park and a sold out gig at the legendary First Avenue. Clinton made his first appearance on the Letterman Show on August 11.

Truth to power, I think we recognized that THE CINDERELLA THEORY lacked that one, catchy song that could fit current radio formats, but we were determined that the album and the press around it would cement P-Funk to the touring world and hopefully help set up a second album on Paisley Park. The fact that they have been on the road ever since proved us half right.

George was still working on that second album, HEY MAN, SMELL MY FINGER, when we returned to Letterman in 1991. Paul Shafer, the show’s band director is a huge P-Funk fan so I knew it would be a fun night. I was looking forward to being a fly on the wall. Letterman was still on NBC at the time so the show was taped at 30 Rock, where P-Funk had guested on Saturday Night Live in years past. George felt comfortable there – a casual pre-show hang with Shafer proving the point. The smoky aroma drifting down the hall from Paul’s dressing room said it all.

But while my story ends there, the first part of my day was most telling and unexpected. With time on my hands, I decided to take a train to Newark and spend a few hours visiting my mother-in-law. I’d take the quick train ride back to the City in time to meet George at NBC. But first I needed a cab to get me from the train to Mom’s house in nearby Kearny.

I grabbed the first taxi in line and settled in. After a few minutes of mindless chit chat with the elderly driver, my eyes caught his taxi license posted on the dashboard. The driver’s name was George Clinton! I couldn’t help but blurt out something like, “you’ve got a famous name, sir!”. Then I felt the need to share the coincidence that I was in New York specifically because of the driver’s namesake. At that point the senior Clinton snapped back, “well tell that son of mine to call me. He’s flying that damn mothership every which way and he can’t send his own father a few bucks?”

Actually, it made sense. P-Funk George had lived in Newark as a youngster. BUT, of all the taxis in New Jersey, on THAT day, I got THAT cab! You can’t make this shit up

!

THE SOULFUL MUSLIM COWBOY

On this day, June 3, way back in 1966, my 14 year old brother Eric and I went to the Mosque in Richmond, Virginia, to see the latest edition of the BIGGEST SHOW OF STARS featuring Joe Tex, Little Stevie Wonder, Solomon Burke, The Marvelettes, Percy Sledge and a few one hit wonders. The three-week tour had been out for a while with stops including Baltimore, Pittsburgh, Columbus and Memphis. It would wrap two days later in Washington.

Marvelettes’ drummer G. C. (“Amen Break”) Coleman was a Richmond native and a close friend so Eric and I headed directly backstage. I was also anxious to see Joe Tex, whom I had befriended a couple years earlier through my role as a radio disc jockey, although I wondered if the tour’s hectic schedule had him in the mood for guests.

One nighter tours like the BIGGEST SHOW OF STARS were a grind. There was a leased Trailways coach to carry the cast and crew but some preferred traipsing from town to town at their own pace in private cars. But sleepy-eyed all-night drives had their hazards. In fact, just a month earlier a horrific accident in Georgia had claimed the lives of five musicians from the bands of Jackie Wilson and The Impressions. But that danger was just part of the turf. It was better not to think about it. Performers like Tex and Burke had been on the road for over a decade and were still standing – in fact enjoying the most successful years of their careers.

Joe Tex was born Joseph Arrington in Rogers, Texas. At the age of 19 he won a trip to New York, where winning the Apollo Theatre’s Amateur Contest four weeks in a row led to a recording contract with King Records. From 1956 until 1964, Tex recorded for a series of labels without any measurable success. But that didn’t stop him from working. A polished performer and electric dancer, Tex developed a solid reputation as a popular mid-level attraction on the Southern chitlin’ circuit.

Along the way, a rivalry developed between Tex and young James Brown, a similar styled soul singer/dancer but one whose records were always on the charts. James was successful enough to afford a sizeable band and revue. A lot has been written about their caustic relationship and most details are sketchy so I’ll just do a timeline and you can be your own judge.

As early as March 29, 1957, the Macon, Georgia Auditorium hosted what was advertised as a battle between Brown and Tex. Joe was the visiting team and it’s safe to assume the “judges” favored Home Town Brown.

In February, 1960, things got deep when Joe’s recently estranged mate (wife?), part-time singer Bea Ford recorded “You’ve Got The Power”, a sexy duet with Mr. Brown. Ms. Ford toured with Brown’s revue for several months before leaving the road pregnant. Just two weeks before Bea brought Darryl Brown into the world, Joe reportedly guested on Brown’s show in Nashville. Then, with baby Darryl less than a month old, Brown recorded “Baby, You’re Right”, a song Joe had written and recorded a year prior. James added new lyrics and claimed half the credits.

In February, 1961, James and Joe shared a stage at the Uptown Theatre in Philadelphia. At some point during that ten-day engagement, Joe recorded two songs backed by members of the James Brown Band for Philly promoter Irv Nahan’s Jalynne Records. The facts are lost to the ages but that doesn’t sound like something JB would have approved of. Just sayin’.

Sometime in 1962 Joe hired Clyde Williams and the Hornets as his full time road band and began recording a series of worthy deep soul singles for the Dial label in Nashville. Songs like “Someone To Take Her Place”, “I Wanna Be Free”, “Meet Me In Church” and the wonderful “I Had A Good Home (But I Left)” received steady airplay and sold a bit in Southern markets but eluded the national charts.

Meanwhile, the Joe Tex-James Brown spat was alive and well, their rivalry over women once again rearing it’s ugly head. No one remembers the specifics of what set Brown off (Bea Ford maybe?) but on July 26, 1963, Joe Tex had a gig in Macon after which he and some friends went to an after party at Club 15. The band on stage was The Pinetoppers and their young singer Otis Redding. Suddenly James Brown and his crew burst into the club wildly firing away with two shotguns. Several people suffered wounds and Brown’s henchmen reportedly passed out hundred dollar bills to buy their silence. Since Brown was never arrested maybe this incident has been exaggerated with time but even Redding claimed it was directed at Tex.

Things came into a little more focus when, two weeks later, Tex recorded a song called “You Keep Her” with lyrics directed at someone named “James”. Tex sings, “James, I got your letter….but you keep her because now she belongs to you”! In case there was any doubt who Joe was singing to, the horn parts in the song’s middle passage are ripped straight out of Brown’s popular “Lost Someone”.

Mind you, none of this was national news. These antics and the resultant gossip were contained within the isolated world of chitlin’ circuit soul music. The careers of Tex and Brown, the two hardest working men in that milieu, marched on unaffected.

In early 1965 Tex finally broke through. His “Hold What You’ve Got” shot up to #1 in the r&b world. Suddenly Joe was a headliner and that first big record jump-started a string of hits that stretched well into the 1970’s.

Joe Tex and I had visited the several times a year he passed through Richmond – lunches at his hotels, a drive to a gig in my Buick Wildcat etc. Joe was a smart, super friendly guy with a rich sense of humor. Down to earth as they come, Tex still lived in Texas and often wore cowboy hats off stage. But his demeanor didn’t obscure a firm commitment to the civil rights struggles of the 1960’s and a keen determination to avoid the music industry’s exploitive templates. In fact, of all the soul stars I met in my radio days, Tex was probably the most outspoken on politics and “the movement” except for…..well….James Brown.

Back to June 3, 1966. The show was well underway when Eric and I headed towards the so-called star dressing room just off of stage right. The door was open and Joe shouted a welcome. He was sitting on the concrete floor of the sparsely furnished room. There were no handlers around. There appeared to be an open-door policy. Solomon Burke was standing near Joe and Eric remembers that they were casually talking about musicians that Burke might hire if he decided to form his own band.

I asked Joe if he’d prefer some privacy to prepare for the show but he waved as if to tell us to feel right at home. It was abundantly clear that he didn’t need anyone to help him prepare for the stage. Around that time a teenaged Stevie Wonder walked in, led by Clarence Paul his conductor and long-time minder. With four years of touring under his belt, Stevie also seemed right at home. It struck me that he was no longer the “little” Stevie Wonder that he was first billed as. Particularly when he urgently blurted out, “Joe, I need to borrow a suit.”

It seemed Wonder’s wardrobe was either lost or damaged and he needed something to wear for the night’s performance. Without missing a beat, Tex directed Stevie to his wardrobe rack and told the blind youngster to pick out the suit that looked the best! Burke and Wonder both laughed and Stevie said something akin to, “if I didn’t need your suit I’d tell you what I think of your damn show.”

More laughter. I didn’t know if it was my place to join the fun so I smothered my giggles. I’m not sure what Eric thought. But one thing was obvious. This was no formal dressing room environment. It was a HANG!

Suddenly we all heard a voice coming from the direction of the stage. It was King Coleman, the show’s emcee, introducing Solomon Burke who was still adjusting his tie while talking to Stevie. Burke glanced at a mirror and jumped towards the door. Then Joe screamed at him. “Stop! Burke, wait, don’t go yet!”

A startled Burke stopped in his tracks as Joe pointed to his slacks. Burke’s fly was down. He was late getting on stage and the audience was robbed of what could have been a performance more memorable than most.

I was stunned by the genuine and casual camaraderie between the three stars of the tour. This wasn’t a tense dressing room where the artist held court while being tended to by assistants standing right and left. Here were three certified stars, fully confident that their turns on stage required no elaborate pre-show prep. They talked shop. They knew their craft. And each of them gave the Richmond audience their money’s worth. By the way, Stevie Wonder did his set wearing a green suit that belonged to Joe Tex.

Later that year, it was revealed that Joe Tex had converted to the Nation of Islam and changed his name to Yusuf Hazziez. He pretty much kept his new faith private and it did little to change his modus operandi. He continued to perform as Joe Tex and now regularly recorded in Nashville, often accompanied by country studio musicians instead of his own band. Joe Tex was soul music’s Muslim cowboy. Go figure.

Despite an ever-growing string of hit records, Brother Tex continued to be haunted by Brother Brown. He publicly complained that Mister Dynamite had stolen his dance moves and his trademark acrobatic tricks with microphone stands. In his show, Joe mocked Brown’s signature cape routine and in 1968 he had “The New Soul Brother #1” painted on his show bus.

The paint job didn’t last long and finally Brown told Soul Magazine that he and Tex were “friends again”.

The level of obsession Tex and Brown had with each other actually suggests a mutual respect – an acknowledgement that they shared similar skill sets. Maybe Joe Tex just resented that his ever-competitive nemesis would never lower his guard to be part of that camaraderie among peers that Eric and I witnessed June 3, 1966.

THE FUNKY DRUMMER

On this date, June 1, 1970, as James Brown’s new co-tour director, I strolled into the Will Rogers Coliseum in Ft. Worth, Texas for soundcheck. The show that night would be the fifth in a hectic row of one-nighters that began in Pensacola, Fla. and traipsed through Lafayette, La., Monroe, La. and Austin. I had been the show’s publicist but was now responsible for the show’s bookings so I had decided to spend the week on the tour bus before returning to our office in Cincinnati .

The boss was still fine-tuning the young band with teenage bassist Bootsy Collins that he had hired three months earlier. Swapping Brown’s veteran 1960’s band for the unproven “New Breed Band”, already renamed The J.B.’s, had been traumatic in-house and not without fan backlash but things were starting to settle a bit. “Sex Machine”, the young group’s first record backing Mr. Dynamite had quickly become a smash hit and King Records had just released The J.B.’s first instrumental record, “The Grunt”. But it had taken Bootsy and his brother, guitarist Phelps “Catfish” Collins, a while to adjust to the conservative style of Brown’s long-time drummer, John “Jabo” Starks. The Collins generation of funk musicians had cut their teeth on Brown’s more modern drummers such as Nate Jones and Clyde “Funky Drummer” Stubblefield - particularly the latter’s unique approach to funk on Brown classics like “Cold Sweat” and “I Got The Feeling”. That was where the Collins pocket lived. Unfortunately, neither Jones nor Stubblefield were still in the band.

Back to Ft. Worth. The Will Rogers Coliseum was basically a barn with a capacity of about 5500. Built in 1936, the locker room/dressing rooms reeked of sweat from wrestling events and whatever aromas were left behind by rodeos and farm shows. After checking in with the box office to monitor ticket sales, I began walking towards the stage across the Coliseum’s open floor. The house audio system wasn’t on yet, but I could hear the band running through one of their instrumentals. But something was different. The song didn’t sound like what I had heard the previous few nights. It certainly wasn’t Jabo’s familiar shuffle coming from the drum kit. Maybe it was back-up drummer, Frank “Kash” Waddy. But the closer I got to the stage, things came into focus. There, flailing away was the one and only Clyde Stubblefield and the smile on Bootsy’s face was wider than his bass guitar.

When the band took a break, I welcomed Clyde back with a hug. He just shrugged and said, “Hey, I needed a job. But who the hell are these guys?”. And we both laughed.

As luck would have it, James had scheduled a rare three week break so Clyde’s “new” job didn’t really begin until June 24^th in New Orleans. Of course, he fit right in. His marriage with the Collins brothers was exactly as expected. They locked as if they’d been playing together for years. The evidence surfaced quickly. A July recording session for the SEX MACHINE album produced the now much sampled, legendary re-make of “Give It Up Or Turnit A Loose” – perhaps the most ferocious piece of funk ever on wax.

One wishes there were more recordings with the magical rhythm section of Collins, Collins & Stubblefield. In August they cut “In A Jungle Groove” which wasn’t released until 2024 (as “We Got To Change”). The only other Brown single featuring the three was “Get Up, Get Into It, Get Involved”, recorded a few weeks before Clyde was once again ghost.

Don’t get it twisted, Bootsy grew to appreciate the learning experience of adapting to the classic drumming of and mentorship offered by the great “Jabo” Starks. It turns out he needed to when Clyde’s latest tenure with the King of Soul only lasted five months. On November 28^th, the band gathered at JFK for an eagerly anticipated flight to Lagos, Nigeria, but the Funky Drummer was nowhere to be found. Jabo told anyone who asked, “last night in St. Louis, Clyde just told me he was going home.” Only Jabo knew.

Stubblefield was a free spirit who periodically tired of Brown’s infamous discipline and regiment – the same elements that would eventually drive Bootsy and Phelps away from the band. And James knew it. Frank Waddy had become odd man out and left the band but knowing Clyde was prone to disappear at least once a year, the boss already had eyes on Cincinnati drummer “Tiger” Martin. Meanwhile, the loyal, always steady “Jabo” Starks continued on as the fulcrum for The J.B.’s. And James Brown continued releasing hit after hit. As they used to say, one monkey don’t stop no show!

SAM COOKE & THE SOUL LADYLAND

On this date, May 5, way back in 1963, I went to the Mosque in Richmond, Virginia, to see THE SUPERSONIC ATTRACTIONS SHOWER OF STARS – SPRING EDITION. Still a comfortable, 3500 seat venue known as the Altria Theatre, old timers in Richmond will always call it the Mosque. Built by the Shriners in 1918, the City of Richmond bought it in 1940 and it has been the city’s most historic venue ever since.

Supersonic Attractions was owned by Atlanta promoter Henry Wynn. Wynn was ATL’s most prominent Black entrepreneur. He owned several businesses, all based on Auburn Avenue, the “Harlem of the South”. Home base was the Royal Peacock, a regular stop for all the stars on the chitlin’ circuit. Wynn also owned a restaurant, a taxi business and goodness knows what other kinds of businesses (hint hint).

Wynn’s Supersonic Attractions competed with Washington promoter Irvin Feld’s Super Enterprises to produce month long tours of one-nighters starring the best acts in the r&b field. Wynn was recognized in the music business as the rare reliable, honest promoter. (Feld’s reputation was equally clean.) Some artists like Jackie Wilson and Jerry Butler opted for Supersonic, preferring to work for a Black owned company.

The 1963 spring edition SHOWER OF STARS had been on the road for almost three weeks by the time their buses pulled up to the Mosque after two shows the night before in Pittsburgh. These weren’t the comfortable rock and roll tour buses of today. No bunks to sleep in. Tours in the 1960’s leased buses from Greyhound or Trailways. Artists and musicians spent most nights stretched across the seats or sprawled in the aisles, en route to the next town.

The show I saw that night was headlined by the legendary Sam Cooke. Cooke was the closest thing to a Bonafide sex symbol in the Black music world. First known as the lead singer of Gospel’s Soul Stirrers through the mid-1950’s, Sam began recording secular material in 1957. His “You Send Me” is one of the classics of the American Bandstand era. Mind you, 1963 is a year before his legendary “A Change Is Gonna Come” but Sam had a ton of hits, the latest of which had been “Another Saturday Night”. Most importantly? That voice! The voice Atlantic Records producer Jerry Wexler called the best soul singer of them all. And Sam knew how to work a stage without breaking a sweat. No histrionics like Jackie Wilson or James Brown. Sam could just suavely shuffle to one side of the stage and give the audience a wink to bring the house down.

The heavy hitting supporting cast that night consisted of eleven acts, most boasting current hits on the charts. There was a young songstress from New Jersey who was new on the scene named Dionne Warwick. There were the sexy Crystals, known for their Phil Spector produced hits. There were veteran artists like Jerry Butler, Solomon Burke, The Drifters and Little Esther Phillips. All these acts were limited to ten or fifteen minutes on stage, just time enough to do their hits. (Headliner Cooke got 30 minutes to close the show.)

The production was backed by the Upsetters band. The Upsetters were a show unto themselves and opened the night with a funky instrumental before their saxophonist-vocalist Gene Burks would warm things up, usually with a James Brown cover. Led by another saxophonist, Grady Gaines, the Upsetters dated back to 1955 when they became Little Richard’s own touring band. When Richard traded the road for a Bible, the Upsetters latched onto Little Willie john for a few years before becoming Sam Cooke’s road band.

The emcee for all of Wynn’s tours was Gorgeous George (Odell). The flamboyant, gorgeous one was a svelte, sexy dude who sported a blonde wig styled like James Brown’s most prolific 60’s hair style. George was more than an emcee. He was also Wynn’s stage manager and he ran backstage like a police chief, making certain that every artist got on and off at the right time. Thing was, George also liked to sing. He was a terrific Jackie Wilson mimic. He had Wilson’s trademark dance steps down pat, including rolling on his back to the lip of the stage and teasing women in the front row. Problem was he couldn’t sing as well as Jackie Wilson. In fact he couldn’t sing as well as almost anyone. Maybe that’s why he carried his own guitarist to accompany him along with the Upsetters. I didn’t catch his name but the young, skinny guitarist with flowing processed hair could play his ass off. In addition to his impressive musical chops, he had tricks. He played holding his guitar over his head. He played behind his back. Dude even played with his teeth. Other than the fabulous Sam Cooke, the most memorable moment of a memorably packed show was the guitar player with Gorgeous George!

(Oh, FYI. Many years later, I mean MANY years later, I learned that young guitarist I saw on this date in 1963 was Jimi Hendrix! Go figure.)

PRINCE’S DAILY NEWS

On this date in 1987………..well, maybe I better set this up first.

April, 1987, found Prince rehearsing SIGN O’ THE TIMES, arguably his first major tour since PURPLE RAIN. Yes, I know, he had his abbreviated PARADE tour in 1986 but it only played a few hit and run dates in the states and a couple quick weeks in parts of Europe. But SOTT had a lengthy two month schedule through Europe and the U.K. with a full production. After a week of production rehearsals at the N.E.C. in Birmingham (U.K.), on April 25^th we moved to Stockholm, Sweden. Stockholm would be the first official stop on the tour with shows beginning on May 8 so it made logistical sense to continue full production rehearsals there on April 27^th.

My brother Eric (Saxophonist in Prince’s band and leader of the tour’s support act, the jazzy Madhouse) and I were particularly intrigued with our extended stay in Stockholm. Our grandparents on our mother’s side were both Swedish so I looked at the visit as a homecoming of sorts. A bit of a stretch really since Eric and I identify as Jewish, owing to our father’s side of things but, face it, we are as much Swedish as Jewish.

Our mother was more excited about our visit than we were. She insisted that we look up distant relatives in Sweden – relatives that she knew but we didn’t. Mom didn’t really understand how exhausting the long days of production rehearsals could be – particularly in the perfection obsessed world of Prince. Our schedules left little time for anything except much needed meals and rest. But Mom had jumped the gun and informed our Swedish familj of our whereabouts. Sure enough, after a few days at the Sheraton Stockholm I received a sweet note from someone named Viveca who said she was living in Stockholm, working for a fashion magazine and would like to meet her distant cousins.

The arrogant rock and roller in me looked at the idea as a nuisance obligation, just to make Mom happy. I foolishly envisioned a girl from the boondocks who had moved to the big city and probably just wanted free tickets to a Prince show. Boy was I wrong! We scheduled a lunch at the Sheraton. Almost instantly, bright, personable and worldly Viveca was on the way to becoming the sister Eric and I never had. She later spent over a decade living in L.A., visited us in Minneapolis and bonded with my wife Gwen. We’ve stayed close ever since. Thank you, Mom! (Yes, Viveca did get Prince tickets.)

Back to this date. On April 28^th, 1987, night crawler Prince felt like hanging out and asked us to find a club where he might be comfortable. Our local promoter suggested The Daily News Café, a 600 seat music club near Kungsan park in central Stockholm. Prince rounded up Sheila E, keyboardist Boni Boyer and dancer Cat Glover and off we went. The Daily News was a perfect choice. Little is remembered about that night but, suffice it to say, some band’s gear was sitting idle on the club’s stage. I shouldn’t have to tell you what’s next. It wasn’t long before Prince and his gang were on that stage and treating the Daily News to a front page headline!

Contrary to some Prince histories, this was just an impromptu jam, not a full club show with his entire band. Prince, Boni and Sheila were joined by Plasmatics bassist Jean Beauvoir who happened to be hanging out in the club. Jean pretty much stuck to playing some percussion. It seems the fifteen minute performance was one of the few that wasn’t secretly recorded by any fans as no bootlegs have surfaced to remind us of what songs were actually played other than “Girls And Boys”. The brief set was documented with a report and a fuzzy photo by a Stockholm newspaper. That alone cemented our presence in Sweden, leading up to the three sold out nights at Isstadion.

Our stay in Stockholm was memorable in many ways. The Daily News became a casual hang of sorts but we also found a jazz club, Fasching, where we took over on May 2^nd, introducing tour support act Madhouse to an enthusiastic crowd. (The legendary Fasching is still thriving as the center of jazz in Sweden and has hosted tons of iconic musicians including Chick Corea, Wayne Shorter and Branford Marsalis.) Unlike the Daily News jam, this was a real show and Eric and the combo were on fire.

The opening SOTT gigs at Isstadion went smoothly and most importantly, Viveca met us at our next stop in Gothenburg. She and I stole away from sound check for a long dinner at a nearby Chinese restaurant followed by the tour’s 4^th concert and still another late night after-show. Third cousin? Fourth cousin? Umpteenth cousin? Who knows and who cares. We were now officially family!

The SOTT tour remains my personal favorite of the Prince tours I managed. Thanks Prince. (And thanks Mom!)

I had rejoined James Brown Productions several weeks earlier as one of his three tour directors. James Brown Productions self-promoted the vast majority of his gigs and we three pretty much divided the country into our own territories. The shows that week, including the Petersburg gig were among the first few within my domain. Thankfully, our show the night before in Salem, Virginia, did well so the boss was happy with my efforts.

Brown was happy enough to say, “Mr. Leeds, why don’t you come with me to Cincinnati tonight?”

James preferred the familiar Terrace Hilton in Cincinnati to a random hotel in a town like Salem or nearby Roanoke. Or maybe he simply had a night’s companion waiting in Ohio. Whatever, it meant a ride in his personal Lear Jet. Early the next afternoon we flew back to Virginia, landing at Byrd Field in Richmond, the closest airport to Petersburg. We were met by the expected rental cars (this is 1970, no limos). A sedan for the boss and a station wagon for Danny Ray and Henry Stallings. Believe it or not, in those days James typically drove himself from airports to his gigs! He and I jumped into the sedan, James at the wheel, while Danny and Henry stayed back loading the wagon with Brown’s luggage.

After fifteen years of touring, particularly in the south, James knew his way around remarkably well. It didn’t matter what town, he always knew his way from airports to venues, local radio stations and hotels. Richmond was very familiar but Petersburg, 25 miles to the south? Turns out he did know the Black part of Petersburg, even pointed out a dancehall he played at in his chitlin’ circuit days, but we couldn’t find the Virginia State campus. Finally, we stopped and I got out to get directions from a young fella standing at a bus stop. He was the right guy to ask but when he leaned in and saw who was driving he shook his head in disbelief. I thanked him for the info and just said, “don’t believe your lyin’ eyes” and got back in the car.

The show sold out so I passed my “test”. But audiences were still adjusting to the new James Brown Show of the 1970’s. Truthfully, most of us were too. The band was just six weeks old but thanks to exhausting rehearsals and a week of two show days at the Latin Casino, the show was taking shape. The young horn section couldn’t have shined the shoes of the majestic Brown horns of the 60’s but James wisely put emphasis on the spunky rhythm section, even calling out Bootsy for a featured spot on “Ain’t It Funky Now”.

As always, the show began with an instrumental set by the band – a set that lasted too long. The repertoire curiously varied from “Light My Fire” and Jimi Hendrix” “Power Of Soul” (a song the old band would have been unlikely to choose) to pop songs like “The Look Of Love” and “Up, Up And Away”. They also included several songs associated with Maceo Parker and the old band like “The Popcorn” and “Soul Pride”. Funky guitar solos by Phelps “Catfish” Collins distracted from the struggling horn players.

Finally, James signaled that he was ready and he joined the band for his traditional set at the organ. That night was one of the few times I heard James perform the fabled “Funky Drummer” on stage. It was kind of weird since the song’s namesake, drummer Clyde Stubblefield was no longer in the band.

Singer Vicki Anderson and comedian Clay Tyson wrapped up Act I and after intermission, James stormed back on stage for Star Time.

The set list at that time was kind of in transition. James always kept his show fresh, adding his newest singles as soon as they were released. But he hadn’t had a huge hit since “Mother Popcorn”. Back then, his singles always sold reasonably well but tunes like “Let A Man Come In And Do The Popcorn” and “It’s A New Day” hadn’t caught on in a big way.

The show started with a rousing “Say It Loud, I’m Black And I’m Proud” and then settled into a succession of the reliable hits including a revised arrangement of “There Was A Time”, “Try Me” and “I Got The Feeling”. It hit a peak with a fiery new version of “Give It Up Or Turnit A Loose”. The latter firmly established that this young rhythm section just might take James Brown to a fresh level. (These were the arrangements recorded a few months later for the SEX MACHINE album.) Having risen to a fever pitch, James took it down with a long, Gospel-like introduction to a soulful “It’s A Man’s Man’s Man’s World” leading into the obligatory “Please, Please, Please”. The encore consisted of the show’s newest songs, a medley of the afore mentioned “Let A Man Come In “ and “It’s A New Day”.

This may not have been the equal of the James Brown Shows captured on his popular live albums but the audience left satisfied. And James left satisfied with the box office receipts, back to Cincinnati. But nobody else left.

After the show we learned that the bus broke down and we’d have to fly the band and crew to Nashville for our job the next day. By the time we unloaded the bus with everyone’s bags and gear and organized a fleet of taxis it was almost three A.M. Too late to find a hotel with enough vacancies to accommodate us all. So road manager Freddie Holmes and I decided we should head to Byrd Field and park everyone in the airport while we worked some payphones to find flights to Nashville. After an hour or two of finagling reservations, we got everyone booked, forced to split the group among two different flights. Nobody was very happy about spending what was left of the night sprawled about an airport waiting room.

The word “tired” is universally barred from tour vocabulary. It’s not denial, the concept just isn’t on our radar screen. I guess because on the road we’re always tired. But once we were all back under one roof, this time in Nashville, word spread that there would be a late night recording session after the show. The band was exhausted but this was their first session for an official James Brown record so their excitement woke them up. Woke them enough to produce the legendary “Sex Machine”, late that night in Nashville.

None of us were imagining the lasting impact that “Sex Machine” would have when we settled into the revived tour bus that had caught up with us. Brown was already in his plush Nashville hotel suite when the bus pulled away from the recording studio for the 300 mile trek to Asheville, North Carolina. We had a gig there that evening. As my tour director partner Bob Patton used to say, “show business is fantastic.”

(The complete, behind the scenes story of the fabled “Sex Machine” recording session constitutes a whole chapter in my upcoming book, IT’S GOT TO BE FUNKY – My Life In Music. )

Funk fans have probably read about the influence of the grest 1960’s James Brown rhythm section. Guitarist Jimmy Nolen and drummers Jabo Starks and Clyde Stubblefield rightfully share credit for the innovations that James Brown funk brought to the music world. But what equally set the James Brown Band apart from the other soul bands of their era was their stellar horn section. I don’t just mean the familiar, fiery solos of Maceo Parker and Fred Wesley. I mean their tone and tightness as a section.

Almost all of the horn players that passed through the Brown band had jazz aspirations. All these guys – Waymon Reed, Ron Tooley, Fred Wesley, St. Clair Pinckney and Maceo Parker – were jazz informed. They talked about and admired star hard bop soloists like Lee Morgan and Hank Crawford and their exceptional techniques. But the one band they all worshipped was Count Basie’s.

The Brown horns led by Alfred “Pee Wee” Ellis and Fred Wesley were strictly focused on their articulation within their section. THAT is what makes a horn section sound like one and nobody did that better than the hard swingin’ Basie Band.

On April 22, 1967, I saw COUNT BASIE and his band at the Riverboat in New York. Officially known as the Mark Twain Riverboat, the restaurant-club was located on the ground floor of the Empire State Building and in 1965 had replaced Basin Street East as the Basie band’s New York home base. April 22^nd fell in one of Basie’s semi-annual two-week stints at the Riverboat. (Interestingly, the vocalist for those two weeks was Motown’s Kim Weston.)

My mother had taken me to see Basie in January of 1959. That night did a lot to open my ears to big band jazz at a time when I was otherwise stuck on r&b and rock and roll. Basie’s singer Joe Williams helped matters with his bluesy covers of “Shake, Rattle And Roll” and Ray Charles’ “Hallelujah, I Love Her So”, but this was what was commonly referred to as Basie’s “Atomic” band. Soloists like Thad Jones and Frank Foster soared and then there was the drummer who was truly atomic, Sonny Payne, who had the fiercest foot this side of Art Blakey.

Back to 1967. The latest Basie band had some damn good soloists too – Eric Dixon, Sal Nistico, Richard Boone – and a smokin’, if not quite atomic drummer, Rufus Jones. But that Basie signature was still there. Each section sounded like one man. Five saxophones? One man. Four trumpets? One man. Four trombones? One man. It’s the kind of tightness only found in a band that plays almost every night and devotes itself to their articulation. That was the tightness that the James Brown horns represented. In fact, in 1969 trumpeter Waymon Reed joined the Basie band with whom he toured, off and on, through 1978. And in 1978 Fred Wesley quit Bootsy’s Rubber Band and came running when Waymon told him Basie needed a trombonist.

I don’t remember exactly what the Basie band played that April night in 1967 but I’m certain the set included some of their most familiar smokers like “Little Pony”, “Blee Blop Blues”, “Blues In Hoss’ Flat” and their tireless theme “One O’Clock Jump”. To borrow a phrase Fred Wesley attached to James Brown’s bands, ANY band with Count Basie at the helm was a great band. If you don’t believe me, dig up his LIVE AT BIRDLAND album and call me back!

Fats had two shows in Richmond that day., the afternoon matinee at the Sheik and a late night gig at the Clay Street Coliseum. In 1965 Richmond, clubs were still segregated – if not by law then by custom. The Sheik was a comfortable club/restaurant run by white folks for white folks. The Clay Street Coliseum was a Black dance hall downtown in historic Jackson Ward (look up Maggie L. Walker). Outside of the band and the promoter I was probably the only other person to see both shows that day.

By 1965 the legendary Fat Man’s decade long string of hits had dried up – for a spell in the 1950’s he had been rock and roll’s biggest touring attraction. Now Fats was pretty much on automatic pilot but his plane was still worth flying. The pilots were a terrific band, equally at home with blues shuffles as NOLA jazz. Among the trumpets was Tommy Turrentine (brother of Stanley) whose jazz credits included Jackie McLean and Max Roach. Roy Montrell was the guitarist, a veteran of countless classic NOLA recording sessions. Bassist Jimmy Davis and drummer Cornelius “Tenoo” Coleman had been among Domino’s road rats for the majority of his career.

For some of us, Tenoo was the shows’ co-star. His legend died along with the chitlin’ circuit in the late 1960’s but it deserved a better fate. Without trying, Tenoo was one of the more influential drummers of his era. He has been acknowledged as a role model by James Brown drummers Clayton Fillyua and John “Jabo” Starks, the Meters’ Zigaboo Modeliste as well as G. C. Coleman (no relation) who is known for hip-hop’s prodigiously ripped “Amen Break”. Starks once said, “Tenoo was as funky as any of them. I learned some of that funk by listening to Tenoo.”

Fats had a lot of firsts in his career. He was one of, if not the first to make New Orleans rhythms a part of rock and roll. His first hit was his signature “The Fat Man” in 1950. By 1955 he had amassed twelve top ten hits on the r&b charts. He was a major star on the chitlin’ circuit but everything changed after “Ain’t That A Shame” was picked up by white radio and became his first hit with the young rock and roll crowd. Followed by “I’m In Love Again” and his biggest hit of them all, “Blueberry Hill”, Domino became a mainstream headliner right along side Bill Haley and Elvis Presley.

Fats was also the first Black artist to be accepted, if short of embraced, by the white rock and roll media. White kids may have loved the equally exciting records of Little Richard and Chuck Berry but the tabloids were full of their ribald off-stage antics. In the Jim Crow 1950’s, the humble, unassuming Domino was deemed safer (read less threatening) than Richard or Chuck. You didn’t see either of them on the Ed Sullivan Show or the Perry Como Show but you saw Fats Domino!

The Sheik audience adored him. The band was casually rockin’ but as he raced through his hits, the practiced smile on Domino’s face seldom changed. For the Fat Man, this was just another of the hundreds of gigs he’d do in 1965. Just another day at the office.

After the show, I struck up a conversation with road manager Billy Diamond who had been Fats’ original bassist. Billy seemed concerned about his artist’s long work day, two gigs in two different locations with hours to kill in between. He admitted that the Fat Man liked his hooch and that the day’s challenge would be keeping Domino sober enough for the second show. (Ahhh………..the headaches of a road manager. Be careful what you ask for, young Mr. Leeds).

Whatever his methods, Billy pulled it off. The disappointing turnout did nothing to inhibit the the rockin’ Domino band. The late set was on fire with the hard driving, left handed Coleman and Domino’s pounding piano at the helm. I remember their “When The Saints Go Marching In” finale lasting over ten minutes.

The horn players in the band jumped off the stage intending to turn the “Saints” into a NOLA parade through the audience but after a few steps they discovered that most folks were putting on their coats and heading towards the exit. Among the young Black crowd that frequented the Clay Street Coliseum, Fats Domino was yesterday’s news. A younger James Brown held the house record for the club with an even younger Otis Redding right behind.

I couldn’t help but think back to the Sheik audience’s ecstatic response to the same part of the finale, some folks – folks who have never encountered a Black person on anything resembling an equal level - gleefully jumping up and joining the parade right behind the horn players. Even with my naïve, 18 year old, white mindsight, I wrestled with the symbolism. There was a lot to unpack in comparing the two audiences – one excited and the other blasé’. In 1965 a lot wasn’t what it seemed. Now, much older, I can only sigh “T’was forever thus”.

All things aside, don’t sleep on Antoine “Fats” Domino. He was a superstar before the term was even invented.

(A victim of the era’s hard road, it’s temptations and lifestyle, Tenoo Coleman died in New Orleans at the tender age of 44. Meanwhile, Fats Domino toured until he physically couldn’t and lived to be 89.)

1) HERE’S LITTLE RICHARD (1957) – I was a grade schooler when I discovered Little Richard on Alan Freed’s radio show. I was as stunned. My uncle worked in radio and regularly sent me records, so I begged him to find me some Little Richard. This album contains most of Richard’s explosive hits. I was so excited I couldn’t wait to share my discovery with my Mom. I played her “Long Tall Sally” and asked, “isn’t it pretty?” I suspect she was ready to have me committed then and there. But what I had discovered was melisma, the essence of Gospel/soul singing. And guess what? Damnit, it’s still pretty! Richard only stayed on the charts for about 2 years but these tracks captivated a generation into recognizing that the rock and roll revolution was about more than Elvis’ hair and hips and taught white kids that black music was about more than Johnny Mathis and Nat “King” Cole.

2) SATCHMO THE GREAT – Louis Armstrong (1958) – A weird compilation of performances and interviews recorded during Armstrong’s first visit to Africa. One hypnotic track captures an African group musically welcoming Satchmo at an airport. But ultimately it was Armstrong’s legendary trumpet that grabbed me, particularly on a poignant version of “St. Louis Blues”. Armstrong played with the same feeling as Little Richard sang and it touched me.

3) COUNT BASIE AT BIRDLAND (1960) – So closely miked you can hear the ice in the glasses on the ringside tables – the band literally sounds like it’s in your living room. And what a band! The 5 saxes breathed as one. The brass sections hit like a single fine edged dart. And Sonny Payne gave me fantasies of being a drummer. I made a kit out of an old chair (snare), a waste basket and a couple tin pans and when my parents weren’t home, I bashed along to the entire album until I knew every one of Payne’s accents. With the onset of rock and roll, I had dismissed big band jazz as my father’s franchise until I discovered this album. It sounds fresh today!

4) RAY CHARLES IN PERSON (1960) - I hadn’t encountered black radio yet, so my exposure to RC came a bit late, with his crossover hit “What’d I Say”. But this amazing performance recorded at an r&b show in Atlanta showed me what I had been missing. “What’d I Say” was even sexier and funkier than the single but it was “Drown In My Own Tears” and “Tell The Truth” that bowled me over. I had discovered true soul music, steeped in all the elements borrowed from Gospel. Oddly, the set included a couple of blistering instrumentals which served to teach me that the musicians were no joke. The late saxophonist David “Fathead” Newman’s solos touched me the same as Ray’s vocals. Newman also inspired my younger brother to pick up a horn and forge a career. Ray’s nuances and stylings were so massively influential and so widely imitated that they gradually became clichés. But NOBODY outside the black church had heard music like this before Ray Charles.

5) THELONIUS MONK’S GREATEST HITS (1962) – Greatest hits? An odd title for a jazz compilation, let alone by an artist as eccentric as Monk. I knew little about Monk’s music when an older friend took it upon himself to hip me. I suspect Monk’s reputation for weirdness was my initial attraction but there was nothing weird about the beautiful “Ruby, My Dear” and “’Round Midnight”. The coup was the stompin’ big band version of “Little Rootie Tootie” (surprise, recorded live). Monk encouraged me to explore the association between soulful beauty and the intellect that helped shape this music.

6) JAZZ WORKSHOP REVISITED – CANNONBALL ADDERLEY SEXTET (1962) – Another spirited live album that made me want to be in the club. Here was the intellect with a hard bop that was just a touch more soulful (and accessible). But Adderley’s sextet with brother Nat, fellow saxophonist Yusef Lateef and keyboard wunderkind Josef Zawinul never dummied down. Lateef brought along his penchant for Eastern music and unusual instruments (what other jazzer played oboe?) and Zawinul, the extraordinarily soulful Austrian ex-patriot who married a sister gave me hope that one day my life could grow closer to this music. I interviewed Zawinul in the 1990’s and he fondly called the Adderley sextet the swingingest r&b band there ever was. I wasn’t about categorizing things back then. “Primitivo” and “Jive Samba” made me feel the same way as “What’d I Say” and “Little Rootie Tootie”.

7) HERBIE MANN AT THE VILLAGE GATE (1962) – Another club – in fact the first jazz club I’d eventually set foot in. This is probably the least profound record on this list but Mann’s exotic group opened my eyes to Latin and African music, along the way showing me that percussionists could be more than window dressing. Mann was to the flute what David Sanborn later became to the saxophone, an extremely accessible albeit admirably skilled player with a knack for sexy music that worked. Mann also had a weakness for groove and regularly re-shaped his band with young musical phenoms, later to include Chick Corea, Miroslav Vitous, Roy Ayers and Sonny Sharrock. This was his most successful record, just 3 songs – and just flute, vibes, bass, and 3 percussionists. I didn’t know it yet, but Mann had set me up to get into salsa.

8) JAMES BROWN LIVE AT THE APOLLO VOL. 1 (1962) – Stop the presses! So THIS is what those little soulful 45’s turn into on a stage? I rest my case for the “live”. The Holy Grail of soul music and the keyhole to what would become funk. The record that made a 15 year old Jewish kid want to be black. On a more realistic note, the record that made a 15 year old Jewish kid want to work for James Brown. One out of two ain’t bad, is it?

9) DESCARGAS VOL. 3 – THE TICO ALL STARS AT THE VILLAGE GATE (1966) – Meanwhile back at the “Gate”. When I bought this album I had no idea what it was. I vaguely knew who Tito Puente was but interesting sounding names like Joe Cuba, Ray Barretto, Eddie and Charlie Palmieri, Cachao, Johnny Pacheco and Barry Rogers (how did he get in there?) meant nothing to me. Until I played the record – 3 long jams by whom I soon learned were the all stars de musica Latino desde Nuevo York. Here were all the musical elements dear to my heart under one roof. Blazing horns, funky piano and bass, brainy improvisations and the complex rhythms Herbie Mann had hinted at – all with the sass, sex and aggression of rock and roll. Talk about confused – now the Jewish kid closed his eyes and wanted to be in El Barrio.

10) COLD SWEAT – JAMES BROWN (1967) – Not so much the album which was stocked with filler, but the marathon funk jam itself reinvented how r&b was written and played – and I might add, listened to and danced to! COLD SWEAT cemented the fact that JB had finally assembled the band he’d wanted from day one – undeniably the most innovative AND funkiest r&b band of its era. Long live Clyde Stubblefield, Pee Wee Ellis, Jabo Starks, Little Joe Dupars and Maceo Parker. RIP Waymon Reed, Jimmy Nolen, Country Kellum and Buddy Odum. By now I knew James Brown personally and knew I HAD to work for him.

11) 74 MILES AWAY-WALK TALL – CANNONBALL ADDERLEY (1968) – It’s about that guy Zawinul again. This was Cannon’s funkier take on the boundary stretching Miles Davis was doing on BITCHES BREW (also with Zawinul). The BREW was easily the more important album but this one was for the people - “Walk Tall” made me strut and “74 Miles Away” made me dance. Zawinul wrote both songs.

12) SWEETNIGHTER – WEATHER REPORT (1972) – Not my favorite WR album. MYSTERIOUS TRAVELER is my desert island disc, but this is the LP that sold me a life long membership in their fan club. This super group helmed by Zawinul, Wayne Shorter and Miroslav Vitous had already released two intriguing albums but each was a bit heady. SWEETNIGHTER is where it all came together – more successfully incorporating r&b influenced vamps into the challenging rhythms of jazz.

13) SENTIDO – EDDIE PALMIERI (1973) – The Miles-JB figure of salsa, Palmieri puts it all together. The musicianship is impeccable, the vocals soulful (even if you don’t speak Spanish) and the writing is exceptional. Later for all that, “Puerto Rico” and “Adoracion” are ON FIYAH!!! The album taught me that salsa was capable of expanding beyond its Fania formula while retaining all the base elements that made it so exciting. See a pattern in my list yet? Soul + Brains = Genius!

14) AGHARTA – MILES DAVIS (1975) – Despite his glaring absence on my list thus far, I had been an avid Miles advocate since IN A SILENT WAY and a fan of his “funk” band from its inception although I have to confess to a bit of confusion about where they were going sometimes. AGHARTA sorted all that out for me. That it was recorded in concert is crucial. Davis’ 70’s albums had become increasingly studio reliant. Album tracks were liberally looped and edited. They made for great records but how was this music to translate to live performance? AGHARTA, that’s how. Despite what the dumb ass critics wrote at the time, AGHARTA revealed this revolutionary funk had form and purpose despite the looseness with which MD sometimes approached it. Later live recordings would demonstrate that no two performances were the same, the band had lots of freedom to shape this music and that was its charm. That this record was exceptionally well recorded was a bonus – never before had we so clearly heard the rich textures and delicacies this band offered.

15) PARLIAMENT LIVE – P-FUNK EARTH TOUR (1977) – In the same way that Miles had assembled all that had happened in jazz with AGHARTA, George Clinton’s cast of characters did it with funk. Sly Stone fans will hate on me but once you take away the Family Stone’s wardrobe and mixed heritage, you have Larry Graham’s bass, Sly’s wit and mostly otherwise derivative music. Strictly as musicians the Family Stone couldn’t hold P-Funk’s jock straps (hate on me, I know). The P-Funk studio records were a hint – MOTHERSHIP CONNECTION is the classic and there were others - but none made me feel like this did. Once you put this joint on and got caught up in Jerome Brailey’s foot while Bernie Worrell and Maceo Parker fills set up the groove, it was over! God bless JB, the funk had moved on – there was a new sheriff in town.

16) FRESH FRUIT IN FOREIGN PLACES – KID CREOLE & THE COCONUTS (1981) – A transitional time. Funk had morphed into disco and played out. New rock was caught up in electronics and dirty needles. On the soul side, most of the country was caught up in Prince’s off shoot, Morris Day and The Time. But in New York City it was the more sophisticated August “Kid Creole” Darnell who had it all figured out. Both The Time and Creole’s were outstanding bands, but throw back threads was all Morris had in common with The Kid. Darnell’s lyrics had wit to rival George Clinton and his multi-dimensional music freshly merged funk, hard (real) salsa, rock and Broadway in a uniquely New York manner. Their gigs at the Ritz are legendary. August staged some of the cleverest productions of that era with a fraction of the budgets afforded more successful artist’s large venue tours. That Creole’s remarkable band and music never attracted a larger audience is tragic but not surprising. They were just TOO damn hip!

17) 1999 – PRINCE (1982) – A confession – I was late coming to Prince. I thought he was just another falsetto slingin’ r&b dandy until a girl friend persuaded me to see the CONTROVERSY tour. Of course I was blown away – not just by his awesome skills as a singer-musician but for his stage show in which every production element was as musical as his band. 1999 became the album that convinced me that he was also a magician in the studio. The dance joints were bangin’ and what a lot of us came to refer to as his “boutique” songs were captivating. At a time when keyboard electronics were rapidly becoming cliché-ish, Prince proved how personable the new technology could become in the right hands.

18) DREAM OF THE BLUE TURTLES – STING (1985) – Another confession – I spent much of my life as what I considered a musical purist (read racist). While countless friends begged me to check out the Police, I said “reggae is about Bob Marley – period”. I still play more Marley than Police but the amazing band that Sting assembled drew me to his debut solo disc. So this was my introduction to not just Sting’s wonderful writing and performing but also to the idea that there was some great music outside the fences I had foolishly erected.

19) EYES OPEN – YOUSSOU N’DOUR (1992) – Late again. Not my fave Youssou album, that’s probably SET. But this is the CD that, well, opened my eyes to N’Dour and modern African music as a whole. I had a share of old afro beat in my collection but other than Ebenezer Obey and King Sunny Ade, I was as ignorant of modern African music as most bwanas. Youssou is the Marley of Senegal and sings intelligently and inspirationally about all the issues facing both Africa and the world. AND he has a killer band.

20) SHOKI SHOKI – FEMI KUTI (2000) – Final confession – an awful lot of the new music I listen to today is from African artists. Gigi’s first Bill Laswell produced CD made me want to marry an East African. Thandiswa’s solo CD gave me a new appreciation of South Africa. Thankfully I’m happily settled with my wife from New Jersey but my infatuation with African music that began with Youssou and Salif Keita in the 1990’s is alive and well. Femi has a lot in common with his late Dad, Fela. Like his Dad, he’s neither a great singer nor instrumentalist (although he gets the nod on sax) but he’s a superior band leader and takes his music more seriously. This infectious album took Fela’s Afro pop and shaped it into cohesive songs with clever arrangements while preserving the Kuti legacy of meaningful lyrics and can’t sit down rhythms.