Dave Mason’s Rock ‘n Soul Revue


Dave Mason today. Photo by and copyright Stuart Walls-Woodstock Photography/Courtesy of Albright Entertainment

In his decades-long career, Dave Mason has been a lot of things. Founding member of the seminal band Traffic (which punched his ticket into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame), hit-producing solo artist in the ‘70s, and collaborator and friend to a who’s who of rock royalty including Jimi Hendrix, Eric Clapton, and George Harrison.

But his most recent tour found him in a buddy act with another Rock Hall of Fame member, Mason gets to be something he’s always wanted to be: Wicked. As in just like Wilson Pickett.

“I get to sing ‘In the Midnight Hour’ with the original guitar player!” Mason laughs. That six string virtuosos is none other than Steve Cropper, founding member of Booker T and the MG’s and member of the Stax Records house band who played on scores of massive soul hits. When you hear Sam and Dave or John Belushi of the Blues Brothers yell “Play It, Steve!” on either hit version of “Soul Man,” it’s Cropper they’re talking to.

So in addition to that and other Cropper-penned and/or played Stax gems like “(Sittin’) On the Dock of the Bay,” “Green Onions,” “Knock On Wood,” and “Try a Little Tenderness,” the set list will include Mason staples like “We Just Disagree,” “Dear Mr. Fantasy,” “Every Woman,” and his two signature songs: “We Just Disagree” and “Feelin’ Alright.”

In a bit of irony, “We Just Disagree” was Mason’s biggest solo hit, but was written by singer/guitarist and Mason collaborator Jim Krueger. The soft rock standard reached #12 in 1977. Conversely, “Feelin’ Alright” – which Mason penned when he was all of 18 and wasvoriginally released by Traffic – had its biggest success in Joe Cocker’s 1969 version. And that hit even higher on the charts when it was re-released three years later. In concert, Mason calls “Feelin’ Alright” his “Energizer Bunny of a song,” and artists as diverse as Three Dog Night, Lou Rawls, the Jackson 5, and Paul Weller have also covered it.

Mason says that he and Cropper first met in Los Angeles in the late ‘70s, but reconnected three years ago when they had lunch together in Nashville. Cropper later performed at a New Year’s Eve benefit show which Mason puts on annually in Hawaii with fellow musicians including Mick Fleetwood and Steven Tyler.

“After that show, I said to Steve ‘How do you feel about getting your tired old ass on the road with my tired old ass!” Mason laughs. “I mean, I was listening to him when I was 16 and 17 years old. It’s the music that all of us Brits learned from and made our own version of. It’s a great honor to stand up on stage with that man every night.”


Steve Cropper and Dave Mason on tour. Photo by and copyright Rich Saputo Photography/Courtesy of Albright Entertainment

Indeed, Mason is quick to note that much of the success of many of the British Invasion bands and performers stemmed from their own takes on American music. The early set lists and albums of just about every band that made the trek across the Atlantic were riddled with covers of this material.

“Without that American music, that blues and R&B and country, there would be no Eric Clapton and no Rolling Stones. And no me,” Mason offers. “That was our basis to learn from. You did have to go out of your way a little bit to find the music, but in England, we didn’t have radio that was segregated by [genres]. So we heard it all.”

In addition to Mason and Cropper, the other players in the “Rock and Soul Revue” included Mason’s touring band of Johnne Sambataro (guitar), Alvino Bennett (drums), Tony Patler (keyboards), and backup singer Gretchen Rhodes. She opened the show with her own set, and sang lead on some of the Stax material while Mason exited the stage.

“Steve’s guitar style is such an integral part of those songs, I don’t want to get in the way!” Mason laughs. “But he then also sits in on parts of my songs that he feels will work for him.”

Dave Mason is also creating new music. But like so many other classic rock-era artists, finds it nearly impossible to release or promote, even if they have a current recording contract. And radio – both terrestrial and satellite – aren’t interested in playing a new Dave Mason song when they can spin “Only You Know and I Know” or one of his other hits for the millionth time.

“There is no putting out anything anymore, so I make CDs to basically sell at shows,” he sums up. “Making new music is an exercise in futility and the biggest problem is radio. It’s just wallpaper for selling products, regurgitating the same shit over and over again. And then with [new music], people can just go on the internet and steal it. But this our livelihood. It’s what we do to make a living.”

A version of this article originally appeared at HoustonPress.com

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Another Sip of the Lovin’ Spoonful with Steve Boone


The Lovin’ Spoonful today: (front row) Joe Butler, Steve Boone; (back row) Murray Weinstock, Mike Arturi and Phil Smith. Photo by Leon Volskis, courtesy of Steve Boone

It was the evening of August 26, 1966.  In the bowels of New York’s Shea Stadium – though only they knew it – the Beatles were preparing for what would likely be one of their final concerts in front of a paid audience. But instead of pacing the floor, the biggest band in the world were amiably visiting and chatting it up with one of their own favorite groups, the Lovin’ Spoonful.

The Spoonful themselves hadn’t planned on being backstage at all, but were taken there by security after fans spotted them in the general admission seats and began to cause a ruckus. And why not? At that very moment, the Lovin’ Spoonful had the #1 hit in the country with “Summer in the City.”

“That was probably the most complex of all the writing we did, and it started as a song by John’s teenage brother Mark,” Spoonful bassist and one of the song’s co-writer Steve Boone recalls. “They created a workable song and we went into the studio and worked on the arrangement from scratch.”

While most “summer” songs to date had extolled the virtues of the season, this one was a bit rougher. Its narrator with the grit on the back of his neck complaining about high temps as construction noises and car horns blared around him. Complaining that is, until he knows he can go up on a building roof with his girl where it’s a little cooler. And Boone’s distinctive piano riff is the song’s most recognizable musical part.

“John said we needed a middle section and he had heard me doodling on this piano part I couldn’t get out of my head, and we put it in,” he continues. “It ended up being the glue that held the song together. And our producer, Erik Jacobsen, doesn’t get the credit he’s due for working on our songs. He made them sound great on the radio.”

Those radio hits – including “Do You Believe in Magic?” “Daydream,” “Did You Ever Have to Make Up Your Mind?” “You Didn’t Have to Be So Nice,” “Darling Be Home Soon,” and “Nashville Cats” – will likely be on the set list when Boone and the current edition of the Lovin’ Spoonful play as part of a ‘60s package show  Feb. 16 at the Stafford Centre. And no one is more shocked that he’s still playing these songs 50+ years later than Boone himself. And to so many age groups.

“At the shows today, there’s definitely a multi-generational audience. And I mention to them that none of us ever thought it would last!” he laughs. “The contemporary opinion back in the day was once you turn 30, you got another job in the music business or a completely different career. You were done as a performer. But things like the Monterey Pop and Woodstock Festivals broadened the audience, and the rules went out the window. There was no longer a timeline to being a rock star.”


The Lovin’ Spoonful’s 1966 debut record; (clockwise from bottom left): Zal Yanovsky, Joe Butler, Steve Boone, and John Sebastian. Kama Sutra album cover

The Lovin’ Spoonful were also rock stars at a time that they weren’t so much, uh, accepted by all tiers of society. In his entertaining memoir Hotter Than a Match Head (written with Tony Moss), Boone recalls a 1965 tour that paired his band with the Supremes on a tour of the deep south. One night after playing a college in Waxahachie, Texas, he got a lesson in how things were a bit different than up in New York. Beginning with the fact that at the segregated late night restaurant they went to, the Supremes and their backing band weren’t allowed inside. They had to order from the take-out window. And then things got worse.

“It was still pretty rare to wear your hair longer than your collar, especially in Texas,” Boone says today. “Some rednecks who had way too much to drink decided to pick on John, who was so blissed out in his pink striped shirt didn’t know what was going on!”

Sebastian’s bandmates and some college kids who had been to the show tried to diffuse the situation, but it took the imposing entrance of the dozen-plus members of the tour’s all-black orchestra – led by a guy named “Big John” – to avert possible tragedy and whisk the Spoonful away before things got…hairy

The genesis of the Lovin’ Spoonful began with singer/guitarist/harmonica player John Sebastian and guitarist Zal Yanovsky. The pair were veterans of the New York/Greenwich Village folk rock scene, and had been in a group called the Mugwumps with singer Cass Elliott. She would later go on to join the Mamas and Papas, and their song “Creeque Alley” mentions the group and her former bandmates.

In 1965, Sebastian and Yanovsky decided to form a new band, calling it the Lovin’ Spoonful after a line in a blues song from Mississippi John Hurt—which actually refers to coffee, and not heroin or even semen as urban legend has dictated. Steve Boone (bass) and eventually Joe Butler (drums) rounded out the working lineup. They honed their act the Night Owl café and scored a record deal largely based on the strength of the demo for “Do You Believe in Magic?”

The Lovin’ Spoonful were even considered by two TV producers for the roles of a wacky rock group for series they were developing. Though they’d have to change their name to…the Monkees. They did not pursue the gig.

After a couple of years, the familiar tale of creative, personal, and business differences began to fracture the group. Yanovsky was fired by his bandmates in 1967 for a variety of reasons and replaced with Jerry Yester. Boone was closest to Yanovsky of any member, and it hit him hard. Though he knows the highly-extroverted and often maniacally funny guitarist could rub people the wrong way.

“Zally was certainly the clown prince of our band, and that’s a very positive description from me. He was also the pure lightning rod in our stage show, who brought the excitement and entertainment,” Boone says. “But yes, his image sometimes got in the way of how people took him as a musician. He was very intuitive and really explored depths of guitar playing in making it sound like other instruments. He had fans in guys like Eric Clapton and George Harrison. In fact, Eric and Zally hung out a lot after Zally left.”

That was later followed by the departure of Sebastian, also the band’s primary songwriter. The Spoonful’s hippie credentials (at least on the West Coast) suffered after it was revealed that Boone and Yanovsky, after being busted for drug possession, briefly and against their will became police informants. The Spoonful were also seen as a singles band in a time of burgeoning album rock, their “good time music” no longer in vogue. The band limped into 1969, then dissolved.


Steve Boone’s 2014 memoir. ECW Press book cover.

The core four reunited for a concert segment in Paul Simon’s 1980 film One Trick Pony, and also for their induction into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 2000. In 1991, Boone and Butler resuscitated the band with Yester and have been touring ever since. In a postscript, Boone fell in love with and married Yester’s daughter. Yester himself was ousted from the band in 2017 after being arrested on and pleading guilty to charges stemming from possessing images of underaged girls on his computer.

The current lineup of the band includes Boone, Butler, Phil Smith (guitar), Mike Arturi (drums), and Murray Weinstock (keyboards).  And while purists will grumble that frontman Sebastian is no longer with them – or say it’s akin to seeing the current lineups of Grand Funk without Mark Farner or Styx without Dennis DeYoung – it’s ultimately the power and attraction of the songs that supersedes the individuals who happen to be onstage playing them.

“John and I stay very close. He is the best rhythm guitar player I’ve ever worked with. In fact, I’m calling him right after I get off the phone with you!” Boone says. “He didn’t want to be touring with the whole band again. But yes, it is the power of the songs that really [carries], and that’s what the audience tunes in to. We were fortunate to have nine top 20 hits, and that’s a tribute to John’s writing. They’ve clever and it’s good time music, which is our motto!”

This article originally appeared on HoustonPress.com


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Gary Lewis is the Real King of the Playboys

Count Them In: Gary Lewis and the Playboys in 2018. (L-R) Michael Gladstone (guitar), Nick Rather (bass), Gary Lewis (vocals, guitar), Willy o’Riley (keyboards), and Bobby Bond (drums). Photo courtesy of Donna Lewis.

It’s fairly unusual for a band to hit #1 on the charts with their very first single – and especially considering they had never even gone on a tour before. But that’s exactly what happened in February 1965 when the debut by Gary Lewis and the Playboys, the tale of wobegotten love “This Diamond Ring” topped the Billboard listing. It ranked higher that week than both “You’ve Lost That Lovin’ Feeling” by the Righteous Brothers and “My Girl” by the Temptations.

Six other AM gold top ten singles would quickly follow including “Count Me In,” “Save Your Heart for Me,”  “She’s Just My Style,” “Green Grass,” “Sure Gonna Miss Her,” and “Everybody Loves a Clown” – the last song inspired by Gary’s father, stage and screen comedian Jerry Lewis. Gary’s 1967 draft into the U.S. Army and changing musical tastes when he returned stalled the band’s career, but Lewis has been a staple on package shows since then.

His most recent tour was with a fellow ‘60s hitmaking Gary (Puckett, and the Union Gap) for a dual bill. A longer set time allowed him to dig deeper into his catalog for an audience that now spans his original fans, their kids, and their kids.

“Whoever thought that I would be playing to three generations? The younger people say their grandmothers or mothers used to play our songs and then they check us out,” he says adding that any can access his music from decade ago with the touch of a computer keyboard. “It’s such a technical world and I believe it’s [kept the music] around. I am amazed at how many younger people will come up to me and know not just the hits, but B-sides and album cuts.”

Lewis says he and the current version of the Playboys use the extra time to play covers by people that influenced him like ‘Runaway’ by Del Shannon and ‘Love Potion NO. 9’ by the Clovers. And also some of his other songs that made the top 40 like ‘My Heart’s Symphony’ and ‘(You Don’t Have to) Paint a Picture.”

The band in 1966: Dave Walker, Tommy Tripplehorn, Gary Lewis, Carl Radle, and John West Photo from garylewisandtheplayboys.com

But back in 1965, Lewis and his group were in the fresh flush of fame, so much that he had to move from his original instrument (the drums), to guitar. As the group’s singer, audiences wanted to see him up front and not in the back behind cymbals.

And in those days – before iTunes, YouTube, and MTV – every band was eager to appear on a nationally-televised TV variety program like “The Ed Sullivan Show,” “American Bandstand,” and “Hullabaloo” as the quickest way to reach the most people (and record buying teens) as possible at the same time with their music. After all, it worked out OK for those four longhairs from Liverpool. Lewis and the band did them all, but had relatively laid back approach.

“I never felt pressure being on those shows or competition with other acts, but the TV shows were important. We got on the ‘Ed Sullivan’ show with ‘This Diamond Ring’ and we got asked back five more times and that broke all those singles to the country,” he recalls. “People would have to work 20 years to get one shot on Sullivan! And ‘Hulabaloo’ was the first network rock show going to the entire country. They were the internet of today.”

More time consuming and grueling were the package tours that crammed multiple acts on buses for one-nighters across the country, with just enough time for each singer or group to do a few numbers and get off the stage. Gary Lewis and the Playboys were part of that in 1966 on “Dick Clark’s Caravan of Stars,” and returned the next year as well.

Gary Lewis today. Photo courtesy of Donna Lewis.

“It was funny because the people that were on that first tour were people that I enjoyed listening to before I even got into rock and roll. Gene Pitney, Bobby Goldsboro, Brian Hyland, the Yardbirds, the Crystals, Sam the Sham and the Pharaohs, I could believe I was on tour with those guys!” Lewis says.

He adds that on today’s package tours, he’s become friend with ‘60s contemporaries that he didn’t know back then like Peter Noone of Herman’s Hermits, the Buckinghams, Howard Kaylan and Mark Volman of the Turtles, and current tour mate Gary Puckett. In fact, the two Garys drove together to each gig on the 2013 Happy Together tour.

As for their recorded output, it features the playing of not just the group, but also the fabled L.A. session musicians the Wrecking Crew – who did similar services for the Byrds, the Beach Boys, the Monkees, and dozens of other hit acts. Producer Snuff Garrett and Gary Lewis have had sometimes differing opinions over the years on the topic about who is playing what on the final vinyl, but Lewis is steadfast in his recollection.

“The Wrecking Crew didn’t play on the tracks, they did the overdubs. I wasn’t upset about that because these players were seasoned and very good. We were too young to have any experience,” he says. “Plus, having Leon Russell for our arranger, he took care of all that stuff and tastefully add things. It was a great team, Snuffy Garrett, Leon Russell, and myself.”

Today, Gary Lewis says he’s both happy to still be on the road playing his songs for audiences. A few years ago he released a new single on iTunes, “You Can’t Go Back.” Though that seems exactly what his 2018 audiences want to do.

“No matter where I go, I have fun doing it, because I’m grateful for what I have. I realize that the fans have put me wherever I am. It’s not hard to feel blessed,” Lewis sums up. “I have plans to never stop! That’s my plan. I’m 73, but I don’t feel old, my body doesn’t feel old, and I just want to continue as long as I can.”

This article originally appeared on HoustonPress.com

For more on Gary Lewis and the Playboys, visit their website.

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Led Zep’s Fearsome Manager Gets a Book of His Own

Peter Grant (standing) with Led Zeppelin, Marine Drive, Mumbai, India, 1972. Photo from the Grant Family Collection/Courtesy of Da Capo Press

Bring It On Home: Peter Grant, Led Zeppelin, and Beyond – The Story of Rock’s Greatest Manager By Mark Blake

304 pp., $27, Da Capo Press

As any Led Zeppelin fan who has thumbed through Hammer of the Gods, seen the concert film The Song Remains the Same, or flipped TV channels showing any innumerable rock docs on TV can attest, manager Peter Grant was a formidable and frightening figure.

At 6’ 3” tall and weighing over 300 pounds, anecdote after anecdote about the balding, heavily-bearded Grant showcase him using physical threats – with occasional  follow through – to get his way or get a point across, whether confronting Zep T-shirt bootleggers or record company heads alike.

He was a heavy both in the literal and metaphorical sense, and it would surprise no one that his “fantasy sequence” in The Song Remains the Same shows him dressed up like a 1930’s gangster – complete with pinstripe suit – gunning down music biz execs in suits or, really, anybody who would diminish or derail the success of his beloved band and in particular, leader/guitarist Jimmy Page.

And while some of those stories are apocryphal and some steadfastly true, Grant’s story and life are much deeper and nuanced than most think of the thuggish caricature (which he himself happily promoted).

He’s largely been chronicled as an addendum to the larger Zep story, but here music journo Mark Blake (who also penned the Pink Floyd bio Comfortably Numb and Queen book Is This The Real Life?) makes Peter Grant the center of his own story. Which, ultimately, both surprises the reader with new things and confirms opinions already held.

Blake’s work was greatly benefitted by unprecedented access to Grant’s family, circle of associates (including members of Zeppelin themselves in previous interviews), personal papers, and the full cooperation of his estate. So we get the clearest picture yet about how, say, his offbeat upbringing and familial relations (he never knew his father) could make him find a sort of substitute family with the world’s biggest rock band.

Growing up, Grant had a series of colorful jobs including wrestler, club bouncer, bit actor, and artist minder – delivering performers like Little Richard and Gene Vincent around town when they toured England. He also learned some of his harder, Mafia-style tactics working for the notorious manager/promoter Don Arden (Sharon Osbourne’s father). He also learned to build his career from names familiar to rock nerds like producer Mickie Most and accountant Allen Klein.

Peter Grant would eventually manage the Animals and then the Yardbirds. And  when the latter group split into two factions, he cast his fate with Jimmy Page who wanted to create a harder band with a harder sound. That would become Led Zeppelin.

Peter Grant dessed as Santa Claus with the Yardbirds (Chris Dreja, Keith Relf, Jim McCarty, Jimmy Page), Chelsea, London, Christmas, 1967. Photo from the Richard Cole Collection/Courtesy of Da Capo Press

As Blake’s narrative winds into the early and mid ‘70s when they were arguably the biggest band in the world, the familiar tales of excess and bawdiness come reeling out. And while Zeppelin were hardly the only group living the “sex, drugs, and rock and roll” mantra to the limits and beyond, theirs took on a darker tinge in both the press and public’s mind – again, not wholly stoked by Grant.

His own life began to unravel with a cocaine addiction, bizarre behavior, and his wife leaving and taking their two children, a loss of which many Blake interviewed said he never got over. Page and drummer John Bonham were similarly falling down a hole of narcotics and booze. When Page accidentally spilled some ink from a pen into a pile of cocaine, for days after you could tell who was partying with the guitarist by the telltale streak of blue coming from their nostrils.

Paranoia and bullying became the norm as the band’s circle on tour grew wider and wider to include various gofers, assistants, bodyguards, “physicians,” friends, and groupies. The quality of the albums and live shows started to suffer, and the atmosphere around the band got heavier.

Blake reports that band members were actively discussing replacing Grant as their manager, but the 1980 “death by accidental suicide” of Bonham (who choked on his own vomit after drinking something in the neighborhood of 40 shots of vodka) effectively ended the career of Led Zeppelin. Surviving band members and Grant  chose not to continue as a unit.

In the last decade and a half of his life, Peter Grant found some sort of redemption. He gave up drugs and lost about half of himself in body weight. But he kept mostly secluded in his English castle (complete with a moat), only occasionally and half-heartedly looking for new bands to manage or involved himself with. Because after you’ve managed Led fucking Zeppelin, well…

Grant would also pop up at music conferences and panels, regaling wide-eyed audience members and industry professionals with his well-polished tales of Zep and Bad Company, even as former members of those groups distanced themselves from him personally.

In the end, Bring It On Home both bolsters and fleshes out the “Peter Grant” of lore with the Peter Grant of reality. And while it could be argued if he was “rock’s greatest manager” (though he did pioneer some practices still in use today), he certainly could be the one most passionate about his charges with his head and his heart into his job.

This review originally appeared on HoustonPress.com

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Eric Clapton’s Life, Loves, & Lean Guitar Strings


Eric Clapton onstage in Rotterdam, 2006. Photo by Chris Kuhl/ChrisKuhl.com/via WikiCommons


Slowhand: The Life and Music of Eric Clapton by Philip Norman

448 pp., $30, Little, Brown & Co.

Among music book scribes, Philip Norman stands near the top in terms of influence and skill. His 1981 Beatles tome Shout! set the stage for the modern rock bio (as well as dirty up a bit the clean image of the Mop Tops with tales of their pre-fame days). And he has penned similarly door stop-size tree killers on John and Paul individually, Mick, and Elton (no last names needed).

Now, he turns his attention to classic rock’s most revered guitarist and often reluctant front man, Eric Clapton. Authors Ray Coleman, Harry Shapiro, Michael Schumacher and even Clapton himself have told the story. And though it does cover some familiar material, it’s Norman’s stab that will likely do down as the definitive work of the man who was the subject of the famous graffiti that appeared in London during his Yardbirds days, “Clapton is God.”

Raised in a situation in which he was told his grandmother was his mother, then only to be rejected by the real thing when she reappeared with a new family in town, the quiet, coddled boy became obsessed with music, and in particular the blues – having first heard the song “Whoopin’ the Blues” by Sonny Terry and Brownie McGhee on a BBC radio show.

He became proficient – very proficient – first showcasing his work with the Yardbirds. And in the first of what would be many quixotic comings and goings in bands, left when they became “too” commercially successful and not in his view sufficiently pure to the music. Similar whims would have him popping in and out of John Mayall’s Bluesbreakers, Cream, Blind Faith, and Derek and the Dominos before establishing his solo career.


Norman details the soap opera-worthy romantic entanglements of Clapton, his best friend George Harrison, and Harrison’s wife, Pattie Boyd – certainly rock’s greatest muse for inspiring not only the Beatles’ “Something,” but Clapton’s “Layla,” “Bell Bottom Blues,” and “Wonderful Tonight.”

Though in reality, it wasn’t much of a triangle. Harrison – whose attentions were mostly geared toward Krishna and cocaine – didn’t flinch when Clapton declared his love for his wife. By that time, the ex-Beatle had grown fairly cold and distant to the stunning blonde, while flaunting his own many affairs in her face at the same time (including one with former bandmate Ringo Starr’s wife, Maureen). Clapton was pursuing not only Pattie, but her own younger sister as kind of a bizarre substitute.

That Clapton and Harrison’s friendship would outlast either of their marriages to Boyd is telling (and she told her own story in her great memoir Wonderful Tonight). But in one strange incident that Norman tells, Harrison at least once decided to challenge Clapton.

Not to a duel with pistols, but with instruments. Clapton found himself summoned to Harrison’s mansion to be confronted by two electric guitars, two amps, and an audience consisting only of Boyd and actor John Hurt. And though Harrison gave Clapton the inferior instrument and kept plying his confused friend with brandy while he drank only tea, “God” emerged the winner of this sonic pissing match.

Not hedging his bets, Clapton also consulted New Orleans musician Dr. John for a little voodoo help, for which the burly piano player gave Clapton a straw box with written instructions for some sort of love ritual. Instead, he turned to heroin and shut himself off in his mansion with a resilient teenage girlfriend, Alice Ormsby-Gore, for three years. That was before he spent years as a hardcore alcoholic, which let to drunken concert appearances. While standard rock lore names Keith Richards as the Ultimate Survivor, it could also be argued that Clapton should have been dead 20 times by now.

However – as was the case in many instances in his life – as soon as Clapton achieved his goal or won his prize when Boyd finally left Harrison for him after years of approaching and occasional coupling, he almost immediately began to slowly distance himself. And even finally getting his prized Pattie didn’t deter his voracious appetite for other women. Throughout, Norman paints Clapton as often selfish and pretty much a shitheel and dog when it came to women – sober or not.

And while it does sound like Slowhand is more about the highs and lows of Clapton’s personal life and struggles than his music, Norman does get into that as well – though not nearly as much as a fan might want. Clapton eventually reclaimed his life, sobriety, career, and has made a new family for himself with a wife and young children. He continues to record, play sporadic shows, underwrote and sat for interviews in the surprisingly candid documentary on himself Life in 12 Bars, and even just released a Christmas album.

Norman’s narrative benefits greatly from original interviews with scores of people including Boyd, former manager Roger Forrester, childhood friend and relatives, and fellow musicians and former flames. All in all, Slowhand (Clapton’s nickname derived from the “slow clapping” of Yardbirds audiences to show their impatience with the glacial pace that he replaced frequently broken guitar strings onstage) is a comprehensive and deep dive into a singular pool of talent.

This review originally appeared in The Houston Press.

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Judy Collins on Stills, Songs, and the Summer of Freedom

Stephen Stills and Judy Collins portrait by Anna Webber 12/05/2016 Los Angeles CA

Stephen Stills and Judy Collins: A 50+ year relationship of romance and music (but mostly music!). Photo by Anna Webber/Courtesy of Jensen Communications

As musician couplings go, the romantic tenure of singer/songwriters Stephen Stills and Judy Collins was fairly brief – less than two years in the late ‘60s, as both of their careers were in sharp ascension. She as a folksinger and he about to launch Crosby, Stills and Nash. Though their time together was the inspiration for not only one of classic rock’s greatest songs, but a highpoint of the musician/muse canon with the Stills-penned “Suite: Judy Blues Eyes” on CSN’s debut record.

“He was possibly the most attractive man I had ever seen,” Collins wrote of their initial 1968 meeting in her most recent memoir, Sweet Judy Blue Eyes. “His eyes found mine, and we gazed at each other, transfixed. I knew then that he would change my life.”

But while their romance didn’t last, their friendship has, and fans of both were treated to last year’s collaborative record Stills & Collins along with a full band concert tour. The trek found them playing their respective hits as well as exploring the nooks and crannies of their catalogs. It went so well both between them and their audience, Stills and Collins decided to extend their bookings.

“It’s been great right from the beginning. I think we knew when we started out that we’d be on the road again because it was so successful,” Collins says – fittingly – while on the road making her way toward Houston. “Everything was selling out and we had such a good time.”

Judy Collins has had more than enough hits to fill out a CD, though her best known songs have tended to be interpretations of folk standards and covers like “Both Sides Now” (Joni Mitchell), “Send in the Clowns” (Stephen Sondheim), “Cook with Honey” (Valerie Carter), “Someday Soon” (Ian Tyson) and the standard “Amazing Grace.” She was well into her career when she was both challenged and encouraged to write her own material from an interesting source: Leonard Cohen.

“After I recorded his song ‘Suzanne,’ we became very close. He was always sending me things to record, but he told me ‘I just don’t understand why you’re not writing your own songs,’” Collins recollects. “I didn’t have an answer for him because frankly, I had never thought of it. So I just started writing. And that’s how you get hooked! But you can’t know what you know until you know it!” Collins’ own originals would include “Since You Asked,” “My Father,” “Holly Ann,” and “Secret Gardens.” A version of Cohen’s “Everybody Knows” is indeed a highlight of Stills & Collins.


Released in 2017, Stills & Collins is the epitome of a comfort record, a sonic journey of two old friends exploring familiar tunes that have more than a little to say about their own relationship, past and present. Its ten track include covers (Tim Hardin’s “Reason to Believe,” Bob Dylan’s “Girl from the North Country,” the Traveling Wilburys’ “Handle with Care”), reinterpretations of their own previously-recorded songs (“So Begins the Task” and “Questions” from Stills, “River of Gold and “Who Knows Where the Time Goes” from Collins).

There’s even material they wrote about each other (Collins’ “Houses,” and Stills’ “Judy”). The latter is a lost tune that Collins didn’t even know existed until the 2007 release of Just Roll Tape, an off-the-cuff studio performance that Stills cut solo in 1968 after guesting on a Collins session.

As to why the record didn’t include any new, original collaborations, Collins laughs. “It’s hard enough just to get on the road to do the shows! And [writing new songs] is a big commitment.” While they are keeping a chunk of their set list the same from the previous tour, Collins notes they’ve also added “You Don’t Have to Cry,” “The Highwaymen,” Tom Petty’s “I Won’t Back Down,” and a new song that Collins has written called “Dreamers,” a very topical tune about the children of illegal immigrants in this country.

That’s nothing new for Judy Collins, whose resume of fighting for liberal and progressive political and social causes is long. She participated in many concerts and protests against the Vietnam War, fought for women’s issues, and even testified in the trial of the Chicago Seven.

But perhaps the cause that made the most impact on her was when she traveled to Mississippi during the “Freedom Summer” of 1964 to try and register residents in mostly poor black neighborhoods to vote. A summer that, unfortunately, resulted in the murder of three young student activists by men with ties to both the local sheriff’s department and the Ku Klux Klan.

In Sweet Judy Blue Eyes, Collins recalls with awe traveling with activist Fannie Lou Hamer. Hamer’s preferred method to get her message out would be to stand in a neighborhood street singing spirituals as the top of her lungs until doors and windows opened and curious residents would gather around her. It was then that she would go into her pitch and discuss the importance of voter registration and actually voting to a sometimes fearful community.

Collins was sometimes the only white face to be seen. “It was very real, I’ll tell you that!” she says today. “It was scary because we were there when the three kids were murdered, and everyone knew they’d been murdered by racists. It was not an easy trip.”

Back to the recent tour, she says that Stills is continuing to surprise her by telling her just how many of his songs she directly inspired – including “You Don’t Have to Cry,” which he revealed to her only recently. But none will every top the importance and impact of “Suite: Judy Blues Eyes” with its “do do do do do” chorus and several movements.

As Collins offered in her book, she still has a gut reaction to hearing it, even after the thousands of listenings over decades. “Whenever I hear the song – in a grocery store, in an airport, on my own CD player – it resounds like a call from mystic lakes,” she wrote. “It pierces the heart of this girl and all the other grown-up girls who think it tells their story.”

Asked about it today, she says the appeal (even beyond her subjectivity) is plain: it’s just a damn great song.

“I think everybody feels that way about it!” she laughs. “I think that’s why it plays all the time on the radio!”

A version of this interview originally appeared in The Houston Press.

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CCR’s Doug Clifford Keeps on Chooglin’


CCR during the cover photo shoot for “Cosmo’s Factory”: Doug Clifford (whose nickname was “Cosmo”), Tom Fogerty, John Fogerty, Stu Cook. Photo by Didi Zill/Courtesy of Craft Recordings

While it’s easy to assume that the Year in Rock 1969 was wholly dominated by English acts like the Beatles (Abbey Road), the Rolling Stones (Let it Bleed), the Who (Tommy), and Led Zeppelin (Led Zeppelin II), there was heady competition from an American band who were at the peak of their chart success, releasing an astonishing three full length records in that one year.

In fact, Creedence Clearwater Revival would release a total of seven albums in just four years and a few weeks, chalking up massive selling hits on both AM and FM radio like “Born on the Bayou,” “Proud Mary,” “Fortunate Son,” “Down on the Corner,” “Green River,” “Lookin’ Out My Back Door,” “Up Around the Bend,” “Suzie Q,” “Who’ll Stop the Rain,” and an expansive cover of “I Heard it Through the Grapevine” – just to name a few.

It seems that John Fogerty (vocals/lead guitar), brother Tom Fogerty (rhythm guitar), Stu Cook (bass) and Doug Clifford (drums) out of the San Francisco Bay area were busy, busy boys. As of today, they’ve sold 30 million LP records in the U.S. alone.

Now, all seven of Creedence’s LPs (Creedence Clearwater RevivalBayou CountryGreen RiverWilly and the Poor BoysCosmo’s Factory,  Pendulum, and Mardi Gras) have been collected in on massive box set The Studio Albums Collection (Craft Recordings). It also features a hardback book with extensive liner notes and a treasure trove of photos, record covers, concert posters, and more.

These 180 gram vinyl records have also never sounded better, using a precision lathe cutting process to improve the sound called “half-speed mastering,” which was completed at Abbey Road Studios from the source masters.


Box set by Craft Recordings

Doug Clifford remembers his reaction when he first held the box set in his own hands. “It was quite a flashback, and I remember the first single we put out after years of trying, and here we are 50 years later and the fans are still there and the music is still viable. It’s a very humbling, warm and fuzzy feeling!” he says.

And the sound has impressed him – not that he could have ever predicated that vinyl would come back. “I mean, here you have world’s hardest material, a diamond with a very sharp point, running over the surface of a soft piece of plastic! Whoever thought of this!” he laughs. “And the half speed mastering really creates an amazing sound, especially in the mid and lower mid-range.”

The members of Creedence Clearwater Revival (or CCR for short), began playing together in bands in the mid ‘60s with names like the Blue Velvets and the Golliwogs before changing their name to the more familiar one in 1968. And while their club band set list included many rock and soul covers, their original material – all written by John Fogerty – had a much bluesier, gritty sound, buoyed by Fogerty’s otherworldy voice. Many listeners just assumed that the band rose up from the Deep South or the bayous of Louisiana. And their album covers did little to dispel the myth.

“It was pretty funny to us! People thought we came from the swamp!” Clifford says. “But we were doing what we always did, and we were students of music that came out of the south and the early rock and roll side. When we all first met, we had virtually the same record collections. So we started with [common] references.”

As the liner notes spell out, most of Creedence’s 45 rpm singles were in fact double-sided hits that became their best known material. In an era where FM rock was gaining a lot of power – the format being basically developed by San Francisco DJ Big Daddy Tom Donahue –  CCR still managed to also get heavy airplay on AM stations. But according to Clifford, the pace that the band was working at didn’t seem crazy in the flush of their success.

“At the time, with the rapid pace we were working, we were burning singles at twice the speed! But we didn’t plan it that way. The songs were usually pretty different from each other,” he says. “You just try and keep the wheel moving. We were deep in the process. John Fogerty had a theory that if we were ever off the charts, we would be forgotten. But none of our peers did it that way. We followed the orders of keeping the machine going and marched on.”


John Fogerty, Stu Cook, Doug Clifford, Tom Fogerty. Photo by Joel Selvin/Courtesy of Craft Recordings.

One of the surprise pleasures of The Studio Albums Collection is hearing a lot of the band’s deeper original cuts (“Ramble Tamble,” “Commotion,” “Sailor’s Lament,” “Tombstone Shadow,” and the anti-Nixon “Effigy”) as well as covers of rock and soul oldies like Roy Orbison’s “Ooby Dooby,” Little Richard’s “Good Golly Miss Molly” and Bo Diddley’s “Before You Accuse Me.”

“Those [covers] were the songs we would play in our early shows in the clubs before we had our own hits and was what we listened to growing up,” Clifford offers. “Most people today just buy greatest hits albums and sometimes the original albums of a band aren’t in print anymore, so I’m glad that [this box set] will expose people to a lot of our other material.”

Of all the songs on the albums, Clifford says that “Born on the Bayou” was and is his favorite of all. As a drummer, he says playing this quarter-note song opens up space and makes the backbeat simpler, but more powerful than frenetic playing. When asked about his own contribution to the CCR sound when the singing, guitar, and bass can more easily stand out, he notes that he aimed for a combination of standing out and support.

“All the attention in band is usually on the singer and the guitar player and even early on in rock ‘n roll, the sax player. But to be your best, you have to keep the groove going, what the guy in the truck driving down the road hears,” he says.

“If [the drummer] is on it, they make everybody else sound better. Gene Krupa brought the drummers out of the shadows! I saw him in a special when I was 12 or 13 and they showed mostly him and not the band and he was in the white sport coat with the movie star looks. And he had real personality.”


Stu Cook, Tom Fogerty, John Fogerty, and Doug Clifford. Photo by Ed Caraeff/Courtesy of Craft Recordings.

By the time of the band’s last record, the group had been reduced to a trio with Tom Fogerty quitting. John’s often controlling and autocratic ways in the studio and about the band’s musical direction chafed at the other members—but then again it was John Fogerty who was writing all the hits, and the ship needed a captain. Bad blood, sniping in the press, and lawsuits between bandmembers, their record label Fantasy, and label owner Saul Zaentz flew back and forth fast over the decades.

Unfortunately, relations between the four members never repaired. Tom Fogerty died in 1990, with the brothers never reconciling. At their 1993 induction into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, John Fogerty refused to play with his bandmates, so Cook and Clifford watch from their seats as Fogerty and others played the music that brought them there in the first place.

Still, Clifford was excited to be honored. “You’re voted in by your peers, and that meant a lot to me,” he says. We had made a mark in music history as one of the biggest bands of our time, and we continued to pick up fans through the generations.”

John Fogerty told his side of the story in the 2015 autobiography Fortunate Son (which Clifford says he has not read). Fogerty continues to play CCR material in his concerts, while Cook and Clifford have done the same since 1995 with other players in Creedence Clearwater Revisited – a name which John Fogerty unsuccessfully tried to stop them legally from using. CCRevisited have dates booked through the next year, but Clifford will end 2018 with a groundbreaking show.

“We’re playing New Year’s Eve – which we don’t normally do. And two shows, which we don’t either!” he laughs. “So we’re working on ‘Auld Lang Syne.’ I hope we get it right in time!”

Portions of this article originally appeared in the Houston Press.

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