The last installment prompted a number of responses having to do with a couple of bands that I and some of the readers feel should have been more successful. I thought that before we continued with a little history, I’d give Popdose readers some titles from what I consider my “Greatest Misses.” For those who would like to explore a little, these are songs I produced that I consider outstanding in one way or another, but which never really saw the light of day. By checking these out, you may even discover an obscure band whose music you really like.
Mother’s Finest (covered in installment # 7) – “Truth’ll Set You Free” and “Mickey’s Monkey“
The Producers – (covered in installment # 7) — “What’s He Got,” “She Sheila,” “Life of Crime,” “Dear John,” “Back to Basics.”
Brownsville Station – “Who Do You Love” – A 1979 remake of the classic Bo Diddley tune recorded with the Record Plant Remote truck in the basement of the band’s manager’s office building in Ann Arbor, Michigan. The lead guitar, played by the late Cub Coda, is an original Sears Silvertone, and the speaker was built into the actual guitar case itself. I think this version is every bit as good as George Thorogood’s, which is now a classic rock radio staple.
Krokus – “School’s Out” – I did one Krokus LP in 1986, and I invited my daughter’s 5th grade class into the studio to sing on this classic Alice Cooper song.
Love / Hate — “Why Do You Think They Call It Dope?” This is a wonderful song from a band I discovered in a San Fernando Valley rehearsal studio and brought to Columbia Records in 1989 — more about them in a future installment.
LA Guns — “Rip & Tear.” I did one album with this band in 1989, and there will be more about them in a future installment. (more…)
When I became involved with Ted Nugent’s recording, I spent quite a bit of time in Atlanta. We were recording at The Sound Pit, a nice little studio in downtown Atlanta owned by a man named Mike Thevis, who apparently had something to do with pornography, and who also apparently spent some time in prison as a result. I never met Mr. Thevis, but I did become very friendly with the house engineer, Tony Reale. Tony was a great engineer with a very agreeable personality. Aside from engineering my early records with Ted, he also mixed the Johnny Nash hit “I Can See Clearly Now.” To a visitor like myself, Atlanta in the Seventies had the feeling of a boom town – we were told that women outnumbered men three to one, and the population was young. There was a buzz about the town, and a festive atmosphere. Anyone who grew up in the South and had a dream seemed to be drawn to Atlanta in order to realize that dream.
Jeff Beck was an Epic act with whom I was familiar as a result of my being the A&R liaison with our British artists, who also included Argent, the Hollies and Argent’s lead singer, Colin Blunstone. I had spent some time with Jeff at his home outside London, where he showed me his hotrod collection and we played some snooker in the game room. Since the Yardbirds, Jeff was pretty much a solo act, and when he played live, it was usually with other well-known musicians (Carmine Appice, Tim Bogert, Rod Stewart, etc.).
In the Seventies, New York’s music scene was largely downtown in the Village area. Aside from all the traditional West Village clubs like the Village Vanguard, the Village Gate, Gerde’s Folk City and the Bitter End, two of the mainstays were the Bottom Line and Max’s Kansas City. Allan Pepper and Stanley Snadowsky opened the Bottom Line in 1974, and it quickly became an adjunct to the New York record business – the premier showcase spot for both new and veteran acts. The owners of the club worked closely with the major labels, and if you worked for one of these labels, you could walk into the Bottom Line on any given night, and you’d know enough record executives there to literally work the room for 30 minutes before showtime, meeting and greeting both your competition and your colleagues.
The office I was given at Epic was located between the offices of Barry Kornfeld and Sandy Linzer, who were both A&R men and producers, as well. Both had been there for some time, and were at least five years older than I. Barry seemed partial to folk music, and had longish hair and a curly beard. He was soft-spoken, helpful and easygoing. I’m honestly not sure what he did at Epic, but I know he was involved with Tom & Harry Chapin early in their singing careers, and he was related to Artie Kornfeld , a successful producer/songwriter in the ’60s, and one of Woodstock’s originators. On the other side of me was Sandy Linzer, a pleasant, clean-cut guy from New Jersey who was a great songwriter, and had written some big hits for Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons, including “Let’s Hang On.” Sandy was involved with a few artists while I was there, and just before he and Barry left Epic, he cut the original track to “Brandy” by Looking Glass, but the band felt it was a little too pop and wound up re-recording it with another producer. Sandy was managed by a casually dressed young guy with a great sense of humor, who would stop in my office after his frequent meetings with Sandy, and greet me with “Werman, what’s up?” He would sit down and we’d chat about the music business for a few minutes. I always enjoyed these impromptu meetings with the young Tommy Mottola.
Epic Records was located on the 13th floor of the imposing Eero Saarinen-designed CBS Building, dubbed “Black Rock” due to its black granite exterior. The interior was furnished with fine tables and chairs designed by Mies van der Rohe, and many of those same tables and chairs could be found at the Museum of Modern Art, just down the block on 53rd Street. During that time, one could find himself in the elevator with John Hammond, Goddard Lieberson, Clive Davis, or even William Paley, the president of CBS. I had an office at Epic in New York from 1970 to 1978, when I moved to Los Angeles. During that time, our annual record sales grew from roughly $12 million to $250 million, but strangely, the number of offices never increased — we actually occupied very little space for the powerhouse we had become. The entire national Epic Records staff occupied 15 offices. We had one conference room. Epic shared creative services with the Columbia label, which was located on the 10th and 11th floors, and occupied all of both floors.
