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Otis Redding was king of the Sunset Strip in 1966


By Harvey Kubernik

Otis Redding’s “Live On The Sunset Strip,” culled from three full sets of his Whisky A Go Go shows in 1966, is a definitive live statement from Redding and songs are sequenced exactly as they went down. The collection includes some of Redding’s best-known songs: “I’ve Been Loving You Too Long,” “Security,” “I Can’t Turn You Loose,” “Satisfaction,” “Respect,” “These Arms of Mine” and “Just One More Day.”

Even better, the digitally remastered 2-CD set is now available in its entirety for the first time, and the set and includes extensive liner notes from Ashley Kahn, the author of “A Love Supreme: The Story of John Coltrane’s Signature Album,” and “Kind of Blue: The Making of the Miles Davis Masterpiece.”

Lou Adler had produced Johnny Rivers’ hit live album at the Whisky a Go Go in 1964 in West Hollywood, Calif., putting the club on the national entertainment map and establishing the now-heralded facility as a choice venue for a concert recording.

For Otis Redding, a live album in 1966 was a very logical career move. His manager and record label (respectively, Phil Walden and Volt, a Stax subsidiary) were seeking to further Redding’s crossover potential and expand his audience.

Engineer Wally Heider, the West Coast’s leading recorder of live performances, was hired to tape three nights of Redding’s run at the Whisky—two sets on Friday, April 8, three the next night and two on Sunday.

Located at the corner of Sunset Boulevard and Clark Street, The Whisky was owned and operated by Elmer Valentine and Mario Maglieri, two former cops from Chicago. The club had already initiated an integrated patron and live music booking policy that welcomed Otis and company with open arms

In ’66, the club booked the Otis Redding Revue and entourage, which included an emcee and a full 10-piece band (led by saxophonist Robert Holloway) coupled with three up-and-coming singers who were allowed one tune apiece before Redding entered the famed Whisky stage in Hollywood.

Redding’s band for that long weekend was Holloway; Robert Pittman and Donald Henry on tenor saxophone; Sammy Coleman and John Farris on trumpet; Clarence Johnson, Jr. on trombone; James Young on guitar; Ralph Stewart on bass; and Elbert Woodson on drums.

In the tradition of the R&B tours and whistle stops of the era, Redding also hand-picked some singing protégés including the keyboardist in his group, Katie Webster, Carl Sims and Kitty Lane for the club date.

As Kahn points out in his package notes, “In 1966, Redding was 24 and defined not only the sound but the style and look of a true soul man. Tall and lanky, he was ready to drop to his knees and tear off the thin-lapelled jacket of his sharply pressed suit when it was time to deliver the goods. His 10-piece band was his personal, traveling amen-corner, urging him to testify night after night … His out-of-breath stage patter was warm and down home. ‘Ladies and gentlemens,’ he addressed his fans, ‘holler as loud as you wanna — you ain’t home!’”

At the time, few realized Otis Redding had a previous regional and recording history in Hollywood, Calif.

In 1960, songwriter, music business activist and room-worker Kim Fowley was first West Coast Motown Records employee, and he was producing for the Hollywood-based Transworld/Lute Records label.

“Otis Redding was the first black artist on Transworld,” Fowley recalled. “‘Alley Oop,’ which I co-produced and co-published for The Hollywood Argyles, was on Lute, and Otis showed up and knocked on the door of the building I was responsible for buying because of all the royalties the record company made. So, Otis walked in and got on Transworld with an early version of ‘Shout Bamalama’ as ‘Gamma Lamma.’ He was like Little Richard performing as ‘Rockhouse’ Redding.

“Otis recorded ‘Shout Bamalama’ in Muscle Shoals,” Fowley added. “Like the Allman Brothers, Otis Redding came to L.A. and Hollywood to get a record deal. And then went back home. He brought the tape out, and Transworld put it out, and nothing happened. While he was waiting around for the verdict, he allegedly worked at a gas stations or a car wash. That’s what the rumor was.”

Redding also cut a handful of singles in town, including one number as Otis And the Shooters while staying regionally with one of his sisters. Redding split back to his home in Macon, Ga., in 1961 and that summer married his wife, Zelma.

Zelma Redding once remarked that a lot of the records Otis made were made up on the spot. And most of the songs were just done off the top of his head.

On the 1993 “OTIS! Definitive Otis Redding” Rhino/Atlantic Records 4-CD box set, producer Steve Cropper writes in the liner notes that when he heard Otis sing for the first time in a Memphis recording studio, he sure didn’t know that Redding “had gone earlier to California and cut three sides where the Hollywood Argyles cut.”

On Oct. 17, 1965, KHJ “Boss 30” Record play list “Respect” was number 14, and the town was already deep into the Redding vinyl repertoire. The city’s R&B soul radio stations played Redding regularly as well touting and anticipating his visit to Sunset Boulevard.

Two Redding numbers — “I’ve Been Loving You Too Long (To Stop Now)” and “Respect” — had cracked the Pop Top 40, and a number of his recordings inspired covers by rock ’n’ roll bands, especially The Rolling Stones, and his version of the group’s best-known song, “Satisfaction,” was soaring up the singles charts in April 1966.

“I think Otis’ arrangement of ‘Satisfaction’ is more urgent than The Stones,” says Dr. James Cushing of the Cal Poly San Luis Obispo English and Literature department, and a longtime DJ on the schools KCPR-FM radio station. “I think Otis sings it more as a song of triumph than a song of frustration. What Otis does with it is that the person might not be satisfied, but at least he has survived enough, whereas Jagger just sounds kinds of petulant and pissed off. Petulance and being pissed off is not bad, either,” he adds, “but it’s not a noble emotion, and Otis was more noble.”

The Rolling Stones have never shied away from their love and appreciation of Otis Redding. The band has recorded and played “That’s How Strong My Love Is,” “Pain In My Heart,” I’ve Been Loving You Too Long,” and, on its most recent U.S. tour, “Mr. Pitiful,” at a number of shows.

Just before his ’66 Whisky stint, Redding performed at the Hollywood Bowl on April 2 as part of a KHJ-produced “Appreciation Concert” (as part of a KHJ-AM listener appreciation concert to benefit The Braille Institute of America.) The Hollywood Bowl show included Donovan, Sonny & Cher, Bob Lind, The Knickerbockers, The Turtles, Jan & Dean, The Modern Folk Quintet and the Mamas & the Papas) and then his four-nighter at the Whisky A Go Go on the Sunset Strip.

Los Angeles music lovers and television children had already seen Redding in December 1965 when “Pain In My Heart” was broadcast in a TV performance on Dick Clark’s “Where The Action Is.” In addition, we caught “Just One More Day” from another Redding TV appearance the same day on “Hollywood A Go-Go.”

In 1966, musicologist, drummer and former Watts resident, Paul Body, lingered outside the Whisky hoping to catch a glimpse of Redding with other Soul music devotees. To some, Redding’s arrival was akin to Emperor Haile Selassie I of Ethiopia, soon to be landing in Jamaica on April 21, 1966, to a tumultuous crowd of 100,000 people.

“Otis at the Whisky,” Body beams. “I remember that it was a Friday night, and we went cruising down Sunset on the prowl for foxes. We ended up at the Whisky, standing outside. At that time we couldn’t get in because we were under age and didn’t have any fake ID on us. Anyway, we just hung around outside, and we could hear Otis Redding do his thing. It sounded great.”

“Through the Whiskey walls I could hear, ‘Respect,’ and it was stomping. The doorman said that Dylan was inside. I like to think that that was the night that Dylan tried to turn the Big O on to ‘Just Like A Woman,’ which always sounded like a soul song to me, anyway. It felt great that soul was coming to the Sunset Strip. Didn’t get to see Otis until next year at the Monterey International Pop Festival, and the rest is history.”
Music business veteran Robert Marchese (who won a Grammy for producing the first live Richard Pryor comedy album), once managed Body’s band, The Sheiks of Shake, and was former manager of The Troubadour 1970 to 1983.

“I saw Otis in Baltimore, Md., at the Howard Theater,” begins Robert, “on a Saturday night when he had ‘Pain In My Heart.” End of 1963. I was in the military stationed in Ft. Mead, Md. I also saw him at the Royal Theater on Friday night. He was dynamic. One of the great shows I ever saw. He did not disappoint. It was a package of the Top 10 R&B acts on the soul charts, and they would bring them in for the weekend and do a song each.”

Marchese then provides the run up to his next physical encounter with Otis Redding.

“In 1965, I was helping out arranger Don Randi as a stage hand, who was working for Phil Spector as his musical director on ‘The Big TNT Show’ on Sunset at the Moulin Rouge that had Donovan, Joan Baez, The Byrds, Lovin’ Spoonful, Roger Miller, Petula Clark and Ray Charles. Don Randi got me the gig. I was setting up the stage and working with the orchestra in the pit. I had earlier had gone to the Rolling Stones’ 1964 Long Beach concert with Phil Spector, where The Byrds were on the bill.

“I was observing a conversation at the Moulin Rouge where Phil and Don were sitting around bulls**ting, discussing Ike and Tina Turner. I said, ‘F**k Sam Cooke. F**k Wilson Pickett. The greatest soul singer of our time right now is Otis Redding!’ As I’m saying it, (Atlantic Records) Arif Mardin runs up and says, ‘Phil, you a**hole. Listen to this kid!’ He handed me a promo copy of either ‘Otis Blue/Otis Redding Sings Soul’ or ‘The Soul Album’ instead of to Phil.”

“When the Otis ’66 Whisky show was announced, I was parking cars across the street at the 9000 Building,” shrugs Marchese, “and I told my boss I was going to the Whisky to see Otis. ‘Well you can’t.’ ‘I quit!’

“I had my uniform on and walked into the Whisky. I sat with Dylan and his entourage, which I think included Robbie Robertson. I knew Elmer Valentine, who owned the club. Otis was as good as the album. The album is proof of the pudding. At the Whisky he was more sure of himself from ’63. He kicked everyone’s arse in,” Marchese confirms.

In the spring of 1966, Otis Redding’s touring act was achieving historical notices and press cuttings.

“At that time, Otis was it,” remembers Taj Mahal, whose Rising Sons opened the Redding shows. “Great band, great songs, great show. A lot of singers gave you a great lyric or was a great song stylist, but this guy delivered all the goods on every level that was possible. His was one of the most amazing performances I’d ever seen, and I’ve seen some great performances. I’m talking about being in the same room, not watching a film or being at some big festival. This cat just had the rafters falling down.”

“It wasn’t that it was a certain style—it was just great music, you know. Otis was just one of the most fantastic, natural-sounding singers, you know. He wasn’t trying to articulate like anybody else; he was himself. After performing our act, we couldn’t wait to get off stage to watch all the things the musicians did, you know—like the bass player would stay down off the stage, behind the drummer and watch the foot pedal on the drums, and those guys would lock in.”

“I remember we realized that Ry [Cooder]’s guitar was in the same tuning that Otis wrote most of his songs in, which was open-D tuning. Anyway, he asked to borrow it, and, of course Ry ran right over with his great big, blonde-top. I’ll never forget Otis picking it up, and that was the first time I knew he played guitar!”

Denny Bruce also caught Redding and his team blast at the Whisky. Bruce, a drummer-turned-record-producer and manager, was an avid R&B fan who played with the pre-“Freak Out” Mothers, and then guided the careers of Leo Kottke, John Fahey, John Hiatt and The Fabulous Thunderbirds.

“I was amazed to see how big Otis was in person,” exclaims Denny. “I went as a paying customer and stood on the dance floor for this epic stand. It was a relief to see the real thing in person after The Enemies and The Leaves in that room.”

Redding was an instant phenomenon, and his local ’66 shows did not go unnoticed by reviewer Pete Johnson of The Los Angeles Times. In his headline review, “Otis Redding’s Southern-Style Blues Band Lets Off Steam,” Johnson wrote: “Drawn by his growing popularity, a fervid audience shoehorned into the club, chorused in on some of his songs, and, at one point, interrupted his introduction of a ballad by clamoring for more of his fast-paced tunes. Redding was assured of an In Group [sic] following Thursday night when, from among his spectators, emerged Bob Dylan, trailed by an entourage of camp followers.” (Legend holds that Dylan offered him “Just Like a Woman” as a possible cover that night, though Redding thought the song was a little wordy.)

In May 2010, pianist Pete Johnson contacted me about witnessing the cosmic Redding performance.

“I loved Otis Redding very much, both as a recording artist and as a performer. I saw him twice: at the Whisky and at the Monterey International Pop Festival. They were both magnificent performances. Like Ray Charles, he could slow down and elaborate a blues piece, morphing it from a song to a dramatic performance — ‘I’ve Been Loving You Too Long,’ for instance, with its stately horn figures and his vocal agony stretched thin. Similar to, but quite different from, Ray Charles’ slow-motion live versions of ‘Drown in my Own Tears’ and ‘A Fool for You,’ where time stands still as Ray duets with his piano, building toward the horns and the Raelettes. And then Otis could stomp on the accelerator and rip through ‘I Can’t Turn You Loose,’ a rock ’n’ roll locomotive. At this point I can’t remember how they crammed his band onto the Whisky stage.

The Whisky hosted lots of great performances. This was up near the top.”

Otis and his group departed Los Angeles, and in the months that followed, the buzz and legend around Redding grew. The gigs at the Whisky became part of the momentum of ’66, including two more radio hits, “Fa-Fa-Fa-Fa-Fa (Sad Song)” and “Try a Little Tenderness,” and the top slot on an all-star soul tour of the U.S., and his first tour of Europe and England. During Christmas week, a three-night stand at San Francisco’s Fillmore Auditorium propelled Redding into his final year.

For the Aug. 21, 1976, issue of Melody Maker, I interviewed music promoter and entrepreneur Bill Graham at his Mill Valley home, along with Carlos Santana and Jerry Garcia.

I asked Graham about his favorite concert performer, and without hesitation he ranked Otis as “The single most extraordinary talent I had ever seen.”

But first, Graham remarked that he had to first fly from San Francisco to Macon, Ga., to personally convince Redding to play his fabled rock palace with the 18-piece Robert Holloway band.

How could Graham describe Redding on his stage? “A six-foot-three black Adonis in a green suit, a black shirt and a yellow tie who moved like a serpent. Or a panther stalking his prey.”

There was another triumph for Redding on the Stax/Volt tour of Europe and England the following March. Then the spot at the legendary Monterey International Pop Festival. Aretha Franklin re-worked and covered his tune “Respect” that dominated the R&B and Pop radio airwaves all summer and fall.

And tragically, on Dec. 10, 1967, came Redding’s death, with four members of his backing band The Bar-Kays, when Redding’s private airplane crashed in a Madison, Wis. Lake. It was a day that constantly steers us to his frozen legacy that now houses these fully unearthed Otis’ Whisky A Go Go frenzied recitals from April 1966.

“We are reminded of Buddy Holly, and this extends to Stevie Ray Vaughn and his helicopter crash,” Cushing suggests. “Death by air travel. That is the most honorable and respectable way for someone in show business to die — on the road. You can’t not be on the road and be in show business. Right? You don’t have to shoot heroin for s**t’s sake. But you have to tour. And if you are touring, that means you are on wheels or in the air and stuff can go wrong that is not your fault. So, that’s the real tragedy of those people, is that their flight was cut down in the literal and metaphoric iconic sense.”

“What I think happens in these cases is a re-kindling of the great myth of Greek god Dionysus, who is the young man who dies young. Or Orpheus. The dying youth is one of the great classic and romantic figures,” Cushing says.

“Otis Redding & His Orchestra Live On The Sunset Strip” should now be considered the true official, historical and spiritual audio document of Redding’s three consecutive sets that have now been sequenced as the powerful event occurred.

“I’m still real clear about those shows,” recalls Taj Mahal about the shows he encountered that memorable weekend at The Whisky A Go Go. “It was raw and unscripted. It was just the joy of music, you know. The joy of rhythm, the joy of energy …”

Ashley Kahn, who teaches history and journalism at New York University, was blown away by the music when listening to the unedited recordings. “Otis backed by a well-honed R&B road band at their best in 1966. But it was the details of the show that had not made it onto LP or CD in the past that hit hardest —like hearing the opening acts, emcee announcements — and Otis himself: his out-of-breath banter with his band, the audience, and his upbeat, down-home good-time humor,” Kahn said. “I remember discussing this with Bill Belmont, who produced the reissue, and asking him to keep as much as he could to help capture what a concert felt like in spring of ’66.”

Various Redding-driven vinyl, tapes and CDs have been available on the market since Redding’s death, and a certain amount of respect and sensitivity has been employed by Stax and the label’s distributors and owners in restricting the posthumous products.

Earlier came the LP “In Person at the Whisky A Go Go” in 1968 with 10 selected titles that contained Pete Johnson liner notes.

Another Redding CD, “Good to Me: Recorded Live at the Whisky, Vol. 2” was released in 1992 in expanded format from a hard-to-find 1982 LP, which integrated some tracks and emcee introduction.

The original supervision on these discs and the new 2010 Redding Stax/Concord Music model lists Neshui Ertegun in the credits. He was either in the recording truck with engineer Wally Heider at the Whisky,or assembled the tapes later in New York at the Atlantic Studios.
This rarely acknowledged Ertegun was no stranger to Los Angeles, either.

In 1951 to 1954, Nesuhi Ertegun worked in Los Angeles for Lester Koenig’s Contemporary Records and penned liner notes on a couple of Barney Kessel albums for the Contemporary label. He taught the first history of jazz course at UCLA that garnered academic credit at a major United States university. He co-owned — or owned outright — the Jazz Man Record Store originally owned by David Stuart in Hollywood, on the Sunset Strip. Ertegun then bought the store and moved it to La Cienega Boulveard. with his wife, Marli Morden, who was once hitched to Dave Stuart. The new duo operated the record store on Santa Monica Boulevard in Hollywood before moving the business to Pico Boulevard in West L.A.

Ertegun was about to work for L.A.-based Imperial records before his brother, Ahmet, and Jerry Wexler persuaded him to join Atlantic Records. He was vice president of the jazz and LP department and actively involved in their R&B recordings, hence his music supervision credit on all configurations of this Redding catalogue item.

“I will say Ahmet’s brother, Nesuhi Ertegun, who gets way underplayed, the way they don’t talk about my Uncle Phil and just my father Leonard,” iconic record man Marshall Chess says. “Both of them were keys. Nesuhi was key to Atlantic, and they would not have been as good or near as good without Nesuhi, and nor would have Chess without my Uncle Phil. They always underplay these guys. Nesuhi ran WEA, the international side of that, and that was the first total synergy network,” explains Chess, who helmed Rolling Stones Records 1971-1978.

The fact that this new Otis release is coming through the Stax/Concord label is something of note to Cushing. “It also continues the legacy and contributions of Neshui Ertegun. It’s very logical that a record company in Beverly Hills would put out an album cut in West Hollywood. Why leave the neighborhood if it is such a great place?”

“Otis Redding & His Orchestra Live On The Sunset Strip” should now be considered the true, official, historical and spiritual audio document of Otis’ three consecutive sets that have now been fully unearthed and sequenced as this seminal Hollywood event occurred. “Honor the incarnation,” as spiritual teacher Ram Dass requests when investigating this epochal journey.

The cover and poster artwork for the 2010 Stax/Concord Redding CD was created by San Francisco-based designer Dennis Loren. He had been contacted by Abbey Anna, vice president of catalog and corporate art services for Concord Music Group.

“She had seen some of the poster work that I had done for The Whisky over the years – online. Abbey ‘Googled’ my name, found my Web site and then got in touch with me,” Loren said. “Abbey then asked if I would design a promotional poster for their new Otis Redding CD project, that looked like the ‘commemorative’ poster series that I did for The Whisky A Go Go’s 35th Anniversary in 1999. She especially liked my Albert King poster design. I had a 1966 Stax publicity photo of Otis Redding in my collection and went to work on the poster.

“Abbey liked what I came up with so much that she asked me to adapt it for the CD cover design. In fact,” reveals Dennis, “I did two variations for the cover and the poster designs, just in case The Whisky owners didn’t grant permission to use The Whisky name on the cover. I made a blue duotone of the photo of Otis and boosted the contrast a bit. After I did the lettering and art elements, the color scheme evolved based on my use of contrasting colors. I also used complimentary spit-fountain colors in the lettering and background stripes to add some additional punch.”

“I felt honored to be able to do this CD cover and promotional poster design. I’m only sorry that the folks at The Whisky didn’t choose to cooperate with the Concord Music Group on this project.”

Cushing played the initial LP pressing on his radio show. “If you spin it on good equipment, you can tell different songs were taken from different shows, so there are obvious differences in sound quality,” Cushing said. “Some songs with almost no bass, others with a fair amount of bass. I’m sure they were working out the logistics on the recording end as Otis’ Whisky shows happened.”
The recording got better as the gigs progressed, Cushing said.

“Otis’ voice sounds really good on all the tracks, front and center. What a wonderful rhythmic improviser he is in terms of his voice, in terms of way of his delivery. It is his best live album but the instruments are a little inconsistent,” he said. “I loved hearing brass at The Whisky. It’s Otis at The Whisky! The club then and now had great sight lines and great acoustics. There were seats on the dance floor level, too. And you could see everything well, even from the balcony on top. The sound system, then and now, always state of the art. The idea of somebody there like Otis Redding who had that stadium size charisma, with a full band and horn section…”

“I’m so happy about the new remastered album,” he enthuses. “There is more emphasis on the drum sound. On the original it was equalized little far down. The addition of added tracks and material is fine. The extra minutes now added do not dilute the initial configuration. I don’t feel the intention has been violated, because the original intention had to do with finding the retail market and with finding a balance between the music as music and the music as LP, the restrictions of what it could hold on each side of the vinyl. But now with the expanded playing time of CDs and the whole computer MP3 thing, I feel that with this 2010 Redding at the Whisky A Go Go model we are getting a much more accurate picture of our own cultural past, with all its richness, liveliness, humor and all of the human touches now inserted.”

“It is what we need from the culture now is a larger picture of what we had so we can start getting some of it back. ‘Cause we need to get some of it back. To get back to that spirit like Otis Redding can emerge.”

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Explore Otis Redding’s legacy with new DVD


By  Peter Lindblad

Otis-DVD-cover.jpgThe death of Otis Redding in that tragic plane crash near Madison, Wis., almost 40 years ago came as a shock to everybody, except, perhaps, Otis himself.

As untimely as his passing was, Redding, it seems, may have known beforehand that his time on this earth was up.

At least that’s the impression you’re left with after watching the new DVD “Dreams To Remember: The Legacy of Otis Redding,” from Reelin’ In The Years Productions and Stax Records.

“When you watch the film, it wasn’t a conscious decision on our part, but it almost seems like from day one, he had some kind of premonition,” says one of the documentary’s producers, David Peck.

As evidence, there’s the Redding’s song “Just One More Day,” and then, in the film, Redding responds to an interviewer asking him a fairly innocuous question about his future by saying, “Well, in five years, if I’m living …”

“What 25-year-old man talks about that?” asks Peck.

Does that constitute precognition? Maybe not, but there is more. As Zelma Redding, Otis’ wife, relates in the documentary, Otis called her from the road the morning of that fateful flight and asked to speak to his children.

“And she’s like, they’re not up yet,” says Peck, but Otis insists on talking to them.

“And then, they told me a story that [Otis’] brother Rogers Redding … Otis had desperately been trying to call him days before he died and could not reach him, and you know, his brother was really cut up about that,” says Peck. “So, it was almost like he was trying to tie up loose ends.”

Spliced in among 16 vintage TV performances — available here for the first time on DVD — are a new video for “(Sittin’ On) The Dock of the Bay,” featuring footage of the boathouse where Redding wrote the song, and interviews with some of the people who were closest to Redding, including Stax Records founder Jim Stewart, the Memphis Horns’ Wayne Jackson and Booker T. & The MG’s guitarist Steve Cropper. Cropper talked about receiving the news of Otis’ death in one of the film’s most poignant moments.

“The one that moved me was really when Steve Cropper said that he was mixing [(Sittin’ on) the Dock of the Bay], and they hadn’t even found his body yet,” says Peck. “That’s just a dagger. That’s like someone stuck a knife in my chest.”

It’s impossible to tell the story of Otis Redding without dealing with his death, but Peck and fellow producer Phil Galloway, who worked on similar documentaries about the Temptations and Smokey Robinson and The Miracles, took great pains not to exploit the tragedy.

“When we chose how to cut this small portion of [the film], obviously we didn’t want to show images of the plane or just a bunch of kind of famous images associated with it that are a little more morbid,” explains Galloway. “We just really wanted to go with people who remembered — obviously, Zelma getting that phone call of Otis’ in the morning, and that’s really powerful; Steve Cropper talking about having to mix ‘Dock of the Bay’ over his body; [Memphis Horns’ trumpet player] Wayne Jackson talking about how he heard it. We really consciously wanted to stay on them more.”

Conducted by longtime music journalist and Stax Records authority Rob Bowman, the 40 minutes of interviews paint a portrait of a beloved artist who touched everyone he met.

“You hear them talk, and it’s almost like he was one of the apostles or something,” says Peck. “It’s just like, I don’t mean to be sacrilegious, but it’s almost like he was a deity. Just the way they talk about him, there’s just a light in their eyes.”

Audiences reacted much the same way to Redding. The very embodiment of Southern “deep soul,” Redding’s rich, smooth voice and emotional, pleading delivery captivated crowds in ways other performers couldn’t.

“There’s just so many great songs the man did,” says Peck. “For me, my favorite performance on the DVD, and one of my favorite performances of all-time, is ‘My Lover’s Prayer.’ Every time I see it, and I’ve seen it a trillion times, I get chills up my spine.”

The archival TV footage for the DVD came from various sources, including Reelin’ In The Years’ own library and companies like Research Video and Dick Clark Media Archives. Among the pieces is Redding’s last televised performance.

“One of the most unique clips is obviously the footage of Otis 16 hours before he died,” says Peck. “You know, I watched that clip for years, and every time I watch it, I want to change history. I keep thinking, ‘Don’t leave the studio.’ It’s like watching President Kennedy’s motorcade, and it’s like, ‘Man, don’t turn down that street.’ And, sadly, you can’t change history, but it’s very poignant and powerful.”

On the show, Redding belted out powerhouse, gut-wrenching versions of “Try A Little Tenderness” and “Respect.”

“You know, it’s funny. We’ve shown the film to a number of people — not theatrically or anything — and I’ve shown it to a lot of men in their 30s and 40s, like myself, and it’s really amazed me that all of them cry at the end of the movie,” says Peck. “It’s kind of like, ‘Wow!’ I think if you can create something that entertains, educates and touches somebody emotionally — not necessarily to get them crying — you’ve done something really powerful.”

‘Powerful” is a word often associated with Redding the performer. Behind the scenes, Redding was just as electrifying. Even in the studio, when he’d be arranging horn parts, Redding, also a songwriter in his own right, brought passion to the job.

“Wayne Jackson even talked about a shift in the energy in the studio when Otis was parking his car and getting ready to come into the studio,” relates Galloway.

Without interruption, Cropper and Jackson talk in the film about Redding preparing for his Monterey Pop Festival show and how Redding took over the stage. And that’s how Galloway and Peck make documentaries, not by employing clips taken from a thousand camera angles like an MTV movie, but just by using simple storytelling techniques and a minimum of camera shots.

“All we had to do was get out of the way and let them talk,” says Galloway. “And also, when they mention, and I still think about this, when [Jackson] says, ‘And when Otis hit that stage, the energy level and heat went up.’ That level of power and that level of excitement that the man generated …

“Otis was very different from Sam and Dave. He wasn’t a whirlwind all around the stage. He wasn’t a dynamo or anything like that. He was kind of, in a certain way, almost lumbering at times, but he had this incredible power, and this incredible voice, and this incredible excitement and presence. And so, it’s like we didn’t even have to call that out. One of the things Zelma talked about was how he wasn’t a very good lip-syncer, and … he’s kind of clumsy on stage, but he’s still the amazingly powerful Otis Redding the whole time.”

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Feature Story: Felix Cavaliere traces the tumultuous history of The Rascals


By  Elliot Stephen Cohen

“One time when we were recording, Otis Redding stuck his head in the studio and said, ‘My God, you guys really are white!’ recalls ex-Rascals leader Felix Cavaliere, with a huge self-satisfied laugh.

FELIX CAVALIERE PHOTO ONE.jpgListening to some of their more soulful ’60s recordings — “People Got To Be Free,” “Mustang Sally,” “In The Midnight Hour,” “See,” “Carry Me Back,” “Heaven,” and “Good Lovin’” — it’s easy to fathom why one of the all-time greats of the genre made that proclamation of the band’s authenticity in capturing the spirit of black music.

Starting out with a funky, stripped-down urban sound, the Rascals’ string of hits also included such great ballads as “Lonely Too Long,” “Groovin,’” and “How Can I Be Sure,” as well as perfectly constructed pop singles like “It’s a Beautiful Morning,” and “A Girl Like You,” before flowering into the psychedelia of “It’s Wonderful” in their later stages.

There were also some terrific B-sides, such as “Love Is A Beautiful Thing” and “What Is The Reason,” which could have been hits as well, but were largely ignored.

Cavaliere, now 64, looks fondly on the recent reissues of all seven Rascals’ Atlantic albums (Collector’s Choice), with the initial four (The Young Rascals, Collections, Groovin’, and Once Upon A Dream) also including the first-ever CD release of the original monaural mixes. Unfortunately, he doesn’t harbor the same affection for his three ex-bandmates, two of whom defected while the Rascals were still a viable commodity.

Growing up in the suburban town of Pelham, N.Y., Cavaliere, who now resides in Nashville, was exposed to music at a very young age. His mother, who wanted him to become a professional classical pianist, had Felix taking lessons three times a week from the age of 6 until she died when he was just 14. However, the young musician became frustrated with classical music’s rigidity.

“I did like classical music, except for the fact that it didn’t let me create, he recalls. “Whenever I would vary from what was on the written page, the teacher would get angry (and say) ‘How dare you change Schubert’s ideas!’ So, that’s where I ran into difficulty, because if you have creative ability, that’s not the place to be, unless you’re going to compose in that format.”

The teen musician’s ears were more in tune to the exciting sounds of Ray Charles, Little Richard, Fats Domino, the Harptones and Moonglows, as well as the jazz organist Jimmy Smith.

“Fortunately,’ he remembers,” I was able to get my music from (nearby) New Rochelle, which had a large black community. Without access to those record stores, I would have never learned about those things.”

It was there that Cavaliere also witnessed his first organ-based jazz trio. Blown away by the sheer power of the massive Hammond, he now considers that event the most defining moment in his musical development.

He was also studying medicine at the Syracuse University (Lou Reed was a fellow student!), but his heart lay more with rock ’n’ roll.

After forming a band that played fraternity dances and even recording an original, local-themed song called “The Syracuse,” (which was later bootlegged under the Rascals’ name) he dropped out of school in his sophomore year, much to the chagrin of his more conservative father, a successful dentist.

Intrigued by the burgeoning New York music scene of 1963, he hooked up with Joey Dee and the Starlighters — joining after their popular recording of “The Peppermint Twist.” It was with them that he met two future Rascals, Canadian-born guitarist Gene Cornish, and singer-percussionist Eddie Brigati, as well as getting a first-hand look at rock’s future.

“We actually worked with the Beatles over in Europe, just before they came to the States,” he proudly offers. “I had no idea of what was going on. All I knew was that there were these four long-haired guys with big audiences going absolutely berserk over them. I vividly remember trying to hear their music over all the noise. When they did our music, you know, American music, I did not feel they were that great. But, when they did their music, it just had an obviously supernatural quality that I had never heard before.”

When the Starlighters returned to New York, Cavaliere, seeing how the Beatles were garnering all the glory for themselves, said to his fellow band members, “‘You guys want to start a band together? Let’s stop being sidemen. Let’s go out and be frontmen.’ My plan worked, because six months later we were very fortunate to have an Atlantic Records contract, which was unheard of at the time.”

This was due in large part to the band, which now included stick-twirling ace drummer Dino Danelli, being “discovered” by famed music impresario Sid Bernstein, who had booked the Beatles into Carnegie Hall and would soon do the same at the massive Shea Stadium. Bernstein saw the excitement the Rascals were causing at a Manhattan discotheque called The Phone Booth, and brought them to Atlantic’s attention. 

Cavaliere still enthuses that it was a “dream come true” being the first white group signed to the same legendary label that fostered so many of his musical heroes, such as the Drifters, Coasters and Clyde McFatter.

“Three-quarters of my record collection were Atlantic products, and of course they also had the jazz guys, like John Coltrane. It was a pretty incredible place.” (This was still prior to the arrival of soul music giants like Aretha Franklin and Sam and Dave. Ed.)

Their debut single, “I Ain’t Gonna Eat Out My Heart Anymore” (written by Pam Sawyer and Lori Burton and perfectly interpreted by Brigati, who unknowingly anticipated Johnny Rotten’s misogynistic snarl by more than a decade), only reached #52 on the national record charts. While it deserved a far better commercial fate, the Rascals’ follow-up single is probably their most beloved hit.

“I had heard (“Good Lovin’”) on the radio done by a group called the Olympics, that I loved,” recalls Cavaliere. ”Their record was done as a Latin Cha Cha. I thought it could be a lot cooler if it was done in a rock beat, so I did it that way in our sets, and the people just went nuts. Everyone would just get off of their chairs and jump on the floor to dance. It was amazing.”

Albums were another story. The band’s first, The Young Rascals (“Young” had been added by management, much to the displeasure of Cavaliere, and would remain that way until 1968, when they reverted back to their pre-fame name of “Rascals”). It featured a cover photo of the quartet looking uncomfortable in Little Lord Fauntleroy outfits, a further play on their juvenile-sounding moniker. (Coming many years before AC/DC adopted a similar schoolboy look).

The music inside sounded like a rushed job by Atlantic, designed to capitalize on what the label may have perceived as the band’s proverbial 15 minutes of fame.

Cavaliere and Brigati hadn’t yet developed as the excellent songwriters they would soon become, and the only original composition, “Do You Feel It,” credited to Cavaliere and Cornish, was rather pedestrian. The other 11 tracks, which were all covers, ran the gamut from their terrific interpretation of Mack Rice’s “Mustang Sally,” to the Beau Brummels’ “Just A Little” and Dylan’s “Like A Rolling Stone,” which both sounded as embarrassingly out of place and unconvincing as if someone had called out those requests to a third-rate wedding band.

The album, like the successive three, was released in both monaural and stereo, with mono still being the more popular format. While the stereo version of “Good Lovin’” — where the famous “One, Two, Three” opening and successive verses bounce back and forth between channels — sounds gimmicky, even distractive, Cavaliere explains,

“I mean, today you could say that, but you have to realize that was the beginning of stereo. We didn’t have a clue what to do with it. The reason everything was mixed in mono and stereo was because radio stations at that time couldn’t play stereo until FM came in existence.”

The band was, indeed, fortunate to have the access to not only the most sophisticated recording equipment available, but also the services of renowned engineers Tom Dowd and Adrian Barber, and legendary producer/arranger Arif Mardin.

“I just have to toot the horn of Atlantic Records man,” acknowledges Cavaliere,” because they were so far ahead of the curve. The people in their engineering, mastering and A&R departments were some of the best in the business. Everything was really state of the art. They had the only eight-track tape recorders in existence, except for Les Paul’s.” (To put that in perspective, the Beatles were still working with a four-track when they recorded Sgt. Pepper).

After the #1 success of “Good Lovin,’” the Rascals decided to pen their own material, which was the only way nearly every contemporary band could sustain any type of commercial chart success, not to mention artistic credibility in the wake of the Beatles. Even the Rolling Stones learned that lesson.

However, The Rascals’ maiden efforts as songwriters, “You Better Run,” and “Come On Up,” were relative failures, and it looked like the band might be yet another rock ’n’ roll one-hit wonder.
However, the Motown-like “Lonely Too Long,” arguably their very best ballad, reversed their commercial fortunes.

The self-composed “Groovin’” was an even bigger seller, but, if not for the intervention of possibly America’s most revered and influential disc jockey, Murray the ‘K,’ it might not have been released as a single A-side.

“To tell you the truth, they didn’t originally like the record because it had no drum on it,” admits Cavaliere. “We had just cut it, and he came in the studio to say hello. After he heard the song, he said, ‘Man, this is a smash.’ So, when he (later) heard that Atlantic didn’t want to put it out, he went to see (Atlantic executive) Jerry Wexler and said, ‘Are you crazy? This is a friggin’ #1 record.’ He was right, because it eventually became #1 for five straight weeks.”

Cavaliere and Atlantic again butted heads on their most controversial, but also best-selling single, “People Got To Be Free.”

“There’s always a kind of tug-of-war between a record company and the artist,” he observes. “They’ve got their opinions, and you’ve got yours, but you know what? When you’re right, and when you’re wrong, you’re [always] wrong.”

However, he believed passionately in the song’s message for racial unity, which he and Brigati had composed a week after the June 5, 1968, assassination of liberal presidential hopeful Sen. Robert F. Kennedy, which came only two months after Martin Luther King’s.
Cavaliere, who had been involved with Kennedy’s campaign, was also dating a woman who also worked on it and had actually been in the room where the assassination took place. According to Cavaliere, he was never the same after that.

“Something in me just snapped,” he says, somewhat angrily. “I thought, besides just selling records, the Rascals have a kind of a bully pulpit, and we’ve got to make a statement. We’ve got to take a stand and draw a line in the sand. ‘Hey, this is where we’re coming from. Take it or leave it. This is where we’re at, and this is where the band is coming from.’”

Not everybody was on board with Cavaliere’s plan.

“Atlantic Records did not like the idea at all,” says Cavaliere. “Jerry Wexler was very opposed to the record. He said, ‘You’ve got a great situation going with a great audience. Why are you getting involved?’ I said, ‘Look, sometimes you’ve got to stand for something,’ and it worked out better than I ever dreamt. The song became #1 in all of those oppressed places like South America, Berlin, and Hong Kong. I’m very proud of that.”

However, the record also became the last Rascals single to enter the Top 20. Successive follow-up singles like the similarly themed “A Ray of Hope,” “Heaven,” “See,” “Carry Me Back,” “Hold On,” and “Glory, Glory” each sold less and less than its predecessors. Cavaliere and Brigati seemed to be running out of fresh ideas.
The band was also unable to make the transition from Top 40 hitmakers to being accepted by the newer, more important, hipper album-buying market, a fate similar to other veteran American groups like the Beach Boys and Four Seasons in the post Sgt. Pepper-Woodstock era.

The group’s overly ambitious double album Freedom Suite was weighed down with too many pretentious jazz-based instrumentals, even though that was also commonplace in the era of too many tedious Cream-styled jams. The Rascals had proved themselves to be masters of the three-minute pop single, but as a band, they could hardly compete with the best new ones of the day.

Atlantic’s newest sensations, such as Led Zeppelin and Crosby, Stills and Nash, signaled the future direction rock would be taking, and the Rascals seemed like a lost anachronism from another era.
As the group’s commercial and critical stock was slipping, Brigati was the first to lose interest. On the group’s final Atlantic album, Search and Nearness, the once-prolific lyricist contributed nothing new, actually leaving the band prior to its completion. Cornish left soon afterwards. As the group had already signed with Columbia Records, Atlantic did little to promote the album, which only reached #198 on the Billboard charts.

The Rascals’ debut Columbia effort, Peaceful Mind, recorded by Cavaliere, Danelli and supporting musicians, did little to reverse their downward spiral of popularity. The group’s final jazzy longplayer, Island of Real, only made it to #180. Their final three singles — “Lucky Day,” “Brother Tree,” and “Hummin’ Song” — failed to even tip into the Top 100. The time seemed right for Cavaliere and Danelli to retire the Rascals.

The group temporarily reformed in 1988, without Brigati, to perform at Madison Square Garden for the nationally televised tribute commemorating Atlantic Records 40th anniversary. The trio also did a brief tour playing their old hits.

However, instead of returning as another past-its prime oldies act, the publicity could have provided the perfect opportunity to return with an album of all-new material. Brigati’s involvement would have made it even better.

The estranged singer did perform with the band for its 1997 Rock And Roll Hall Of Fame induction ceremony, which was the last time to date. 

In assessing the group’s tenure with Atlantic Records, Cavaliere now blames the company’s relentless demand for new product for the Rascals’ premature demise.

“The main criticism I can make about them is that we were always forced to work under a severe time constraint. Unlike a lot of today’s artists who make like one album every two or three years, we just pumped them out like most of the other people in the business back then,” he said. “I think we literally recorded everything we wrote, and I don’t think that was the best idea.

“Eventually, it wore my partner and associate in songwriting, Eddie, out. He couldn’t do it anymore. He just burned the fuse, and that was that, whereas the people who came after us dictated policy a little differently. They nurtured their careers, and a lot of theirs lasted a lot longer than ours. Atlantic needed a constant supply of hits in those days. When the hits came through the room, they wanted more, and more.”

He wearily acknowledges, “We were pushed pretty hard in those days.”

It was that constant pressure, along with petty jealousies, that signaled the group’s imminent doom.

“The band was going through hell,” he admits. “We could see that Eddie was floating away from us. He just wasn’t there anymore in spirit. He wasn’t creating. He wasn’t doing anything. You know, if you have four wheels on a car and one of them stops going, man, you’re gonna spin out of control pretty soon.”

After the group’s dissolution, the band members jointly sold off their very lucrative song publishing rights for “a pittance.” Cavaliere blames it on the same type of indifference and short-sightedness that caused their breakup.

“We got a raw deal,” he bitterly admits. “If you don’t have that unification of a band, you become prey to people like lawyers, who gave us bad advice. We used to know how to keep our family together, and we should have kept our publishing. But, when you’re split and fighting amongst yourselves, you can’t successfully hold up against outside forces.”

Of his three former band members, he seems to reserve the most veiled animosity towards Brigati, who was the first one to jump ship.
“Eddie was about 28 or 29 when he left the group, and from then until now, he has really done nothing in the music business. At all. Not even live. His only involvement with it is to complain about people who took advantage of him, which is a sad thing. Just join the club. People take advantage of everyone.”

Cavaliere has just completed work on a new R&B-based album of all original compositions, co-produced with fellow Hall of Famer Steve Cropper. Equally important, he is still out performing his classic repertoire. As a judge ruled that all former band members should share the group’s name, he tours as “Felix Cavaliere’s Rascals,” while Cornish and Danelli work under “The New Rascals” banner.

Cavaliere relates that both his active former bandmates have experienced health issues. Cornish has survived a quintuple heart bypass while Danelli also has a heart problem.

Health problems, plus Brigati’s indifference and the strained relationships between original band members suggest that a reunion is not in the offing.

”We are in a business,” says Cavaliere. ”The Rolling Stones and Eagles do not get along (with each other), but they take their private feelings home with them. My guys, for whatever reason, have never been able to rise above their emotions.

“Anyway,” he ruefully, concludes, “it’s probably too late now for all of us.”

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Follow the 'Shooting Star' of Paul Rodgers, Part 4



Paying Homage

In 1993, Paul Rodgers released two albums that paid tribute to his influences. The first was his Grammy-nominated Muddy Waters Blues: A Tribute to Muddy Waters. The album featured a Who’s Who of guitarists appearing as Rodgers’ guests. Jeff Beck, Buddy Guy, David Gilmour, Brian May, Gary Moore, Brian Setzer, Richie Sambora, Slash, Steve Miller and Trevor Rabin all contributed to the album while Rodgers wrote the title track “Muddy Water Blues.”

Rodgers also recorded a live album titled The Hendrix Set that paid homage to the world’s most innovative guitarist.

“I still put some Hendrix in my solo set,” Rodgers admits. “Hendrix was fantastic. Doing his songs really showed me just how special they were. I can step right into songs like ‘The Wind Cries Mary’ and ‘Little Wing.’ I tag ‘Angel’ onto the end of ‘Little Wing,’ and it is almost like it is supposed to be there.”
Rodgers confesses there is one more artist that he would like to pay homage to.

“One day, I would like to do the same thing for Otis Redding, but I don’t find myself worthy. I hold Otis in such high esteem. He got me through my early teenage years of emotional angst. I believe that I am following in a lot of great people’s footsteps. Otis is number one, but there is also Aretha, Sam Moore, the Four Tops, James Brown, Albert King, BB King, John Lee Hooker and Elmore James. I absorbed what they did when I was young, and now their influences come out in what I do.”

Rodgers actually shared the stage with one of his heroes at the Led Zeppelin reunion show in London. After performing two songs on the main stage, Rodgers played “We Shall Be Free” on a B stage with Sam Moore from Sam & Dave, making Rodgers the only artist to perform twice that historic evening. Rodgers proudly professes, “Sam is a hero of mine, and I’m still learning from him.”

Queen + Paul Rodgers

In 2004, Rodgers was invited to close the first Annual U.K. Music Hall of Fame Awards show with “All Right Now.” Having just played the song on “The Strat Pack” DVD, celebrating the 50th Anniversary of the Fender Stratocaster, with Brian May, Rodgers called May to see about performing the song again at the awards show.

Rodgers found out that Queen was among the inductees that night, and that if Rodgers would return the favor, then Queen could perform live, too. They performed “We Will Rock You” and “We Are The Champions” and followed with a hair-raising rendition of “All Right Now.” The creative sparks were palpable; the next logical step was to do more.

Queen + Paul Rodgers have, to date, completed two massive tours and released a live CD/DVD, Return of the Champions in 2005 and a studio CD of new songs titled The Cosmos Rocks in 2008.

On working with Queen’s Brian May and Roger Taylor, Rodgers says, “They are fabulous musicians. That little spark has taken us around the world twice and into doing a brand new album. Doing a new album is something that Queen have not attempted since Freddie [Mercury] passed. I think that, in itself, is a fantastic achievement. I am really proud of what we did together.”

Rodgers and May shared bass duties on the album.

While The Cosmos Rocks has charted across the world, there has been no major push by the record company in America.

“A lot of this business is marketing,” says Rodgers. “There is a lot of fantastic talent out there that some will never know

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