Notes

When Sam Giancana called, the Rat Pack came a-runnin’.

There wasn’t much Frank wouldn’t do for his old friend, Sam.  So why did Sam eventually want to put a bullet in Frank?  In this episode of NOTES, we explore the unhealthy friendship of singer/actor Frank Sinatra and mob boss Sam Giancana.

For more on the relationship of Frank Sinatra and Sam Giancana, see “With Friends Like That….”

For more on the music of Frank Sinatra, see “The Concept Albums of Frank Sinatra.”

 

 NOTES - The Chairman and the Boss [4:33m]: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

The following originally appeared in the GRAND JUNCTION FREE PRESS:

Let your mind travel for a moment to the New York City of 1905. 

Let it drift over the nocturnal bustle of the city, illuminated by the white-hot light of the gas luminaires that hang from the gooseneck masts of the new mantle lamps now rising over each of the five boroughs.  Let it waft uptown, into Harlem, and then alight at the corner of 134th Street and Seventh Avenue, outside the ostentatious facade of Barron Wilkens’ Club, the members-only cabaret that caters to some of New York’s most affluent citizens.  At this time, in the early days of the 20th century, Harlem is still a segregated community with a large Irish contingent… but this year has seen a rapid influx of New Yorkers of color, and Barron Wilkens’ has already become noteworthy as “the rich man’s black and white club.” 

There on the curb outside sits a seven-year-old white boy, bopping his round head to the syncopated rhythms pulsing from inside the club.  That’s a young George Gershwin, who will be mightily affected in his later life as a songwriter by the music he now hears emanating from Barron Wilkens’.  This music, with its swinging cadences and brassy bombast, is heady stuff indeed.  It is the music of a man who will go on to help invent jazz, develop the fox trot and fight for his country in the trenches of France. 

You see, that’s the music of the great James Reese Europe, an American hero by any standard.

Reese was born in 1881 in Mobile, Alabama to Henry and Lorraine Europe, themselves musicians who lost no time inculcating their only son in all matters musical.  After moving to Washington, D.C. in 1891, the young Europe studied with violin virtuoso Enrico Hurlei of the Marine Corps Band.  When he was 22, Europe moved to New York and sought work as a professional violinist.  Frustrated by the color bias he encountered in the world of classical music, Europe took on piano-playing gigs in cabarets and speakeasies.  During these journeyman years, Europe befriended many other black musicians in New York, including songwriter Bob Cole and his prodigious partners, the brothers J. Rosamond Johnson and James Weldon Johnson.  In 1907, when Cole and the Johnsons needed a musical director for their latest black musical  THE SHOO-FLY REGIMENT, they turned to Europe, inaugurating a career that would eventually see the young bandleader become the conductor for world-famous dancers Vernon and Irene Castle.  It was with the Castles that Europe helped develop the fox trot, a dance craze that swept the nation (and — unlike the other so-called “animal dances” of its time like the horse trot and the chicken scratch — survived to become a staple of DANCING WITH THE STARS).

In the future, we’ll tell the whole story of a man who became an American war hero and who jazz great Eubie Blake called “the Martin Luther King of music” (including how he was brutally murdered in 1919) in this space.  Please join us then in celebrating a man whose name should be better known today. 

Could Klaatu have barada niktoed Gort without Dr. Samuel Hoffman?

Although he invented the instrument that bears his name, Leon Theremin was by no means the only theremin virtuoso.  In this episode of NOTES, we take a look at some of the other great theremin players, including Theremin’s own pupil, Clara Rockmore, and the podiatrist-turned-thereminist, Dr. Samuel Hoffman.

 

 NOTES - In the Wake of Theremin [4:34m]: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

Leon Theremin toiled in the horrible gulag of Kolyma.

In this episode of NOTES, we learn how the inventing prowess of a man once lauded as a hero of Russia’s Communist revolution caused him to wind up doing hard time in a Siberian gulag… and how that same engineering genius brought about his eventual release.

 

 NOTES - The Amazing Theremin, Pt. 2 [4:42m]: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

Leon Theremin invented the world’s first electronic musical instrument.

In this episode of NOTES, the first of a two-part look back at the truly flabbergasting life story of Leon Theremin, we examine the meteoric rise of a humble inventor who became a favorite of Lenin and the toast of New York’s intelligentsia… before his world crumbled below his feet.

For more on Leon Theremin, see “The Astonishing Theremin.”

 

 NOTES - The Amazing Theremin, Pt. 1 [4:23m]: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

The following originally appeared in the GRAND JUNCTION FREE PRESS:

Today’s headlines once again shout that the scientific theory of evolution is being buffeted by theist challenges, most recently under the rubric of “Intelligent Design” (or ID, as its proponents often abbreviate it).  Despite its reputation as a new idea, the basic precepts of ID date back to 1802 — more than 50 years before Charles Darwin published THE ORIGIN OF SPECIES – when Anglican theologician William Paley posited his famous “watchmaker analogy,” which compared the complexity of the human race to that of a pocket watch found in a field.

But of course there have been other alternatives to Darwin’s theory as well, including one that has been publicly disseminated in the world of pop music for nearly three decades.  I speak of the “theory of de-evolution,” a notion that germinated at the site of a shameful American tragedy, then was kindled by an obscure Christian pamphlet, forged in the crazed writings of a racist German monk and that gave its name to the rock band that has espoused it since the early 1970s… Devo.

Devo was formed in 1972 by Kent State students Mark Mothersbaugh and Jerry Casale.  After witnessing the infamous shootings of student protesters by National Guardsmen two years earlier, Mothersbaugh and Casale came across a 1930s-era religious tract printed in nearby Rogers, Ohio.  Entitled “Jocko Homo, Heaven Bound King of the Apes,” the pamphlet was a mocking fundamentalist anti-Darwin diatribe.  About the same time, the pair were exposed to a recent book called THE BEGINNING WAS THE END: KNOWLEDGE CAN BE EATEN by Teutonic lunatic Oscar Kiss-Maerth.  Kiss-Maerth’s bizarre thesis was that mankind had evolved from sex-crazed, brain-eating apes. 

With their tongues lodged deep into their cheeks, Mothersbaugh and Casale combined the wild-eyed imagery of the religious pamphlet with the pseudo-scientific contentions of Kiss-Maerth to form their theory of de-evolution, which suggested that mankind was moving back toward its primate roots by way of corporate culture and lifestyle conformity.  The duo were soon joined by their brothers Bob Mothersbaugh and Bob Casale, as well as drummer Alan Myers, to set their satirical philosophy to the strange melange of punky beats, jagged guitar riffs and insistent synthesizer chords that characterized the Devo sound.

From their first single “Jocko Homo” — the most explicit statement of their de-evolution theory — through subsequent albums like FREEDOM OF CHOICE (which included their one Top 40 hit, “Whip It”), Devo’s songs were sharpened by a subversive anti-authoritarian edge that was not always understood by critics of the time, some of whom labelled the band “fascist.”  (A similar fate would befall filmmaker Paul Verhoeven in 1997 when his anti-fascist sci-fi satire STARSHIP TROOPERS was misperceived as advocating the very totalitarianism it criticized.)

We’ll look at the protest roots of Devo in this space in the near future.  I hope you can join us then as we examine the band of Spudboys who made plastic hair a fashion accessory and who urged a complacent United States to “use your freedom of choice.” 
 

He wrote the best songs about decapitation ever.

When Hasil Adkins recorded songs like “No More Hot Dogs” and “She Said,” he wanted to be a pop star, like his hero, Elvis Presley.  Instead, he invented psychobilly and gave the world the Cramps.  Here is the story of a musician like no other.

 

 NOTES - Psycho Rocker Hasil Adkins [4:49m]: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

The following originally appeared in the GRAND JUNCTION FREE PRESS:

In 1954, when French filmmaker and critic Francois Truffaut launched the so-called “auteur theory” of filmmaking in the pages of CAHIERS DU CINEMA, he lobbed the first volley in an argument that has transfixed cinema buffs ever since.  Can a film that is produced through the collaboration of dozens of actors, artists and craftsmen be properly judged as the work of a single author?

Without question, cinema history has seen dozens if not hundreds of directors whose blandly competent works defy auteurial analysis.  Deprived of screen credits, could even the most perceptive film buff discern the difference between the work of journeymen like, say, Chris Columbus and Charles Shyer? 

But every once in a great while, there emerges that rare movie-maker whose personal vision so resonates in his or her work that it’s as if the director’s fingerprints are stamped into the celluloid between the sprockets.  Alfred Hitchcock, John Ford, Preston Sturges, Akira Kurosawa, David Lynch… these are a few of the directors who have imbued their works with their own unique, utterly individual personalities. 

Not all such auteurs have occupied respectable Hollywood studio offices, however, or basked in the glow of industry accolades.  Not all have mingled with the rich and famous at post-Oscar parties, or shared rostrums with politicians and community leaders.  Some have patrolled the outer fringes of filmmaking, thumbing their noses at the arbiters of taste and doyens of culture. 

Take, for example, the late Russ Meyer.

For the average film fan, the mention of Meyer (who died  in 2004 from pneumonia after battling Alzheimers) conjures images of the anatomically astonishing actresses who populated the sexy features he helmed between 1959 and 1979.  Certainly, the filmmaker dubbed as “King Leer” by the WALL STREET JOURNAL will never be popular with the proper, the prudish and the politically correct.  Meyer’s movies gleefully skewer sacred cows and poke persistently at the boundaries of the acceptable. 

But if ever a director personified the auteur theory, it was Meyer.  His movies could never be confused with the work of any other director.  From 1965’s FASTER, PUSSYCAT! KILL! KILL! — which unspools like a noir thriller shot by and starring the gods of Olympus  — to his steroidal sudser BEYOND THE VALLEY OF THE DOLLS (one of three Meyer flicks that benefited from a script penned by Roger Ebert), Meyer’s movies are unmistakeably, indelibly Meyer.

That these films, which relentlessly revel in the rude and raunchy, were the work of a celebrated WWII veteran (who also played a part in the creation of THE DIRTY DOZEN) is  but one of the many contradictions that riddle the life-story of Russ Meyer, a story that is well-told in the pages of BIG BOSOMS AND SQUARE JAWS (Crown Publishers), Jimmy McDonough’s 2005 biography of Meyer.

In upcoming weeks, we’ll look at the music of Russ Meyer’s films in this space.  Join us then when we learn what the gender-boggling record producer Z-Man of BEYOND THE VALLEY OF THE DOLLS meant when he said: “It’s my happening and it freaks me out!”

James P. Johnson mediated the transition from ragtime to jazz.

He taught Fats Waller how to play… inspired Duke Ellington and Thelonious Monk… gave the world symphonies and dance crazes… and forged a style of jazz that continues to shape the works of 21st century pianists.  Learn more about the hugely influential James P. Johnson in this episode of NOTES.

 

 NOTES - James P. Johnson's Giant Stride [5:01m]: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

The following originally appeared in the GRAND JUNCTION FREE PRESS:

All roads lead to Rome, or so goes the old saying.  But in the disparate domains of music, theatre and literature, all roads lead to Ron Dante.

Few people can claim to have scored Top 40 hits as a member of three different bands… won multiple Tony Awards for producing top-notch Broadway fare like AIN’T MISBEHAVIN’ and CHILDREN OF A LESSER GOD… produced platinum-selling songs by one of the 1970s’ most successful artists…  and published the PARIS REVIEW, the esteemed magazine that has delighted literati with the fiction and poetry of authors like Philip Roth and Samuel Beckett.  His name may not be well-known, but Dante’s salient status as a triple-threat performer, producer and publisher is unparalleled.

Dante was born in New York City 60 years ago as Carmine Granito, but changed his name in the late 1950s while playing with his first band, the Persuaders.  After being signed with manager (and former child actor) Bobby Breen, Dante came to the attention of pop music impresario Don Kirshner, who hired Dante as a demo singer.

Meanwhile, in 1964, Dante began to record singles (as “Ronnie Dante”) for Gene Pitney’s label, Musicor.  But popular success was elusive until the following year, when Dante sang lead on a one-off novelty record for Roulette Records.  “Leader of the Laundromat” was a parody of the Shangri-Las’ hit “Leader of the Pack,” and was credited to the Detergents.  Dante’s dopy delivery of the song’s lyrics of love amidst the dryers helped land it at #19 on Billboard’s Hot 100.  At the time, Dante could have no idea that his future would be dramatically shaped by the man who wrote the song on which “Laundromat” was based.

Jeff Barry wrote “Leader of the Pack” with his then-wife Ellie Greenwich, along with other classics of the girl group era like “Da Doo Ron Ron,” “Baby I Love You” and “Chapel of Love.”  In the mid-1960s, Barry produced hits by the Monkees and Neil Diamond for Kirshner who, after the Monkees began to assert their creative autonomy, put Barry in charge of creating a pop band that would never talk back.

After signing a deal with Archie Comics, Barry and Kirshner began searching for the musicians who would give voice to Archie Andrews and the other Riverdale High regulars who comprised the cartoon combo, the Archies.  In three years, the Archies produced five albums and six hit singles, including the timeless “Sugar Sugar.”  But the only musician who remained a constant fixture in their recordings was the voice of Archie himself, Ron Dante, who also continued singing with other bands even while bopping next to Betty and Veronica.  In 1970, while “Sugar Sugar” was still dominating pop radio playlists, Dante found himself in the unique position of singing lead on two Top 10 hits by different bands when the Cuff Links’ confection “Tracy” went to #9.

In the 1970s, Dante’s musical success continued when he formed a musical partnership with singer-songwriter Barry Manilow.  Dante manned the knobs for all of Manilow’s best-selling albums from 1974 to 1981.  Also during the 1970s, the pop polymath branched out… first into publishing when he took the reins of the PARIS REVIEW, and then into theatrical production when he teamed with former soap opera actor and now oft-parodied host of INSIDE THE ACTORS’ STUDIO James Lipton to mount the original Broadway run of AIN’T MISBEHAVIN’, based on the works of Fats Waller.

For more on the music of Saturday morning cartoons, see “This is Your Brain on Cartoon Music.”