Sue shared an apartment with Ronnie James, who was separated from Tommy James, of the SHANDELS fame. Because we were meeting after her dinner engagement, we were just going to drive around and talk, ultimately landing up in the parking area around Bethesda Fountain, in Central Park.
Sue was in the music business, working at Paramount Records. We had many mutual interests and, amusing to ourselves, many mutual acquaintances. Comparing notes, we often found ourselves laughing hysterically. It was a lot of fun.
I told her about my band and she particularly expressed interest in hearing us.
Getting more introspective, Sue started talking about her childhood and how she grew up in Matatuck, Long Island with her younger brother, Charlie. Her father, who was a doctor, died when she was very young. Her mother, unfortunately, was a drunk.
Sue showed remarkable sensitivity and maturity. When I told her my mother was an artist, she laughed, admitting she also dabbled in art.
We then suddenly stopped talking and just looked at each other for the longest time.
The next thing we knew, we were passionately kissing. My hand slid down and slowly went between her spreading legs. There was a hole in her panty hose and my finger took advantage, braking through the nylon armor so to dive into her succulence. It was obvious we would have to see each other again to consummate our passion.
I drove her back to her apartment and she said she would try to figure out a night when Ronnie wouldn’t be there. We were both very up about each other, and as I drove back home to Great Neck, I kept thinking about her.
Talking on the phone the next day, Sue said Ronnie wasn’t returning home until very late that night. We were psyched. I drove to her place on York Avenue, which was in the shadows of the Fifty-Ninth Street Bridge.
It was obvious what we were there for. She had some grass, which we smoked and then took our clothes off and made love on a sheepskin rug for the next few hours.
This was the first girl I was to experience who not only had multiple orgasms, but was very vocal about them when they were approaching and finally arriving. This was very ego building, needless to say, when a male learns early on to satisfy a woman. Sue came at least fifteen times and probably would have come many more if I hadn’t finally come by then.
Laying there in complete exhaustion and bliss, totally stoned from the grass we smoked, I started to hallucinate and saw a vision of myself as a very old man sitting in a winged-back chair. I had all white hair down to my shoulders and this expression of total calm, with a slight grin of satisfaction recognizing my success in fulfilling my life’s ambition. This was a very important revelation for me, even if one were to dismiss it as simply a drug fantasy. It only reinforced my belief in myself and my purpose in life, which I was to pursue with all my heart and soul.
Needless to say, Sue and I were not about to let each other go, thus beginning our daily lives together, even though we lived apart. Whenever schedules permitted, we arranged to see each other.
Sue invited me up to her office one afternoon to see where she worked. Paramount Records had just moved into the top floor of the newly erected Gulf and Western Building at Columbus Circle, which is presently Trump International Hotel and Residences. It was a forty story tall structure that the designers had bragged about being on huge steel wheels on train-like tracks, so to handle the stress of twisting in the wind.
The building was surely tested when a hurricane force blow whipped it into swaying back and forth to the extent that the top floor was moving side-to-side five feet off plum in each direction. If the filing cabinets hadn’t been bolted down to the floors, they would have been tossed across the room. The fire department evacuated everybody from the building with expectation of the structures possible collapse. Windows popped from the facing, but the building stood up through this storm.
Some days later, after the building was re-opened, Sue brought me up to her office to see for myself. There was a vertical crack down the elevator shaft for seventeen floors. You could still see the twitching through the wall paper as the building still rocked ever so slightly. There’s no question. Whoever designed this structure, knew exactly what they were doing.
That evening we went to see a movie at the brand new Playboy Cinema at 110 West Fifty-Seventh Street, down from Carnegie Hall. This short lived enterprise subsequently became CI Recording, then Mercury Records and finally the present day Director’s Guild.
After coming out of the movie house, I was so affected by the tackiness of the decor, I started reciting the following poem, which Sue quickly wrote down in dictation:
A DOWNWARD THRUST BANANA
INTO PEANUT BUTTER SPREAD
ADD NOT SO RIPENED RASPBERRIES
TO STALE WHITE FROZEN BREAD
WHILE BUTTER OF THE ENDIVE
DRIPPING FROM A STICK
PUSHES YELLOW MELLOW CUSTARD
THROUGH A LEADENED BRICK
THRICE I LAID UPON YOU
AND THRICE YOU DID GET OFF
AND THRICE A WETTED MATRIX
AND THRICE A HEAVY COUGH
THE DAYS AND NIGHTS ACCOST YOU
WITH A PLEATED GRACE
BUT ONLY GOD CAN MAKE A TREE
AND THAT’S WHAT BUGS THE RACE
I drove Sue back to her apartment. She wanted to invite me up but Ronnie was adamant about having “boy friends” come up into the apartment. She, apparently, was also devolving into a real pain in the ass, busting Sue’s chops about everything else. I gave her a long succulent kiss good-bye and then I drove home.
On the weekend, I cleared it with my folks to invite Sue to stay with us. They liked her very much. With my father working at night, and my mom doing her own thing, Sue and I found many an opportune moment to continue our passionate love making.
Sue’s business side was very impressive to me. She had invited me down to a demo recording session as part of the on going search for talent by the A & R department. The artist was a singer named Troy. He had a very strong rock ‘n’ roll voice, an incredibly infectious engaging sense of humor, but was a rather homely looking fellow with multiple pock mark scares from a bad early bout with acne.
We became friends and Sue and I found ourselves visiting him and his girl friend, Brenda, who had a child, Robby, from a previous relationship. Robby was the cutest kid and Troy seemed to raise him like a father. He called him “Sunshine,” and the boy seemed happy.
Troy loved to play the game Parcheesi, and inevitably whipped out the game whenever we got together. Over the game, he would start telling his tall tails and make us deeply laugh. He liked me as a keyboard player and wanted to eventually have me play for him if he ever managed to get a record deal. I thought he was genuine in spite of his ridiculous story telling.
We started to see each other on a pretty regular basis. He even invited Sue and myself down to stay for a weekend at his parents who lived in Baltimore, Maryland. I specifically remember his mother snapping at me for my pronunciation of Baltimore. “God damn it, boy. Stop sayin’ Bal-tee-more like so damn Yankee and start sayin’ ‘Balmer’ like the rest of us.” Needless to say she got my attention. The other conversation I remember was with Troy’s father, “Papa Jack.” He was sitting outside on the porch reading the newspaper painstakingly slow. I asked him why he did so. Without ever looking up at me, he said, “I read the first half during the morning and the second during the afternoon. If I were to read it any faster, I’d have nothing to do for the rest of the day.” I just looked at him. Not once did he ever look at me. Finally becoming self-conscious just standing there in silence, I left.
Not soon enough did Sue and I returned to New York. I, of course, never held this against Troy, let alone, brought it up in conversation. But, I could only imagine what growing up in such an environment was like. As compared to the constant warmth at home I had grown accustomed, this was something else.
In the mean time, Tom Jurkoski had me continue setting music to his silly songs. And then one day, out of the blue, he asked me to write a national television spot for CONTAC Time Capsules with the following copy:
With Drew Laurence Productions now defunct, Tom was working freelance and managed winning an account he pitched at Ogilvy and Mather. He had created a character ala Jim Henson, a pink rag mop with eyes and a sink faucet nose who ran up to a family at a picnic table. I sang it in my inimitable style and it was highly successful.
It was the spring of 1971 and the commercial was to air during the summer. I brought the trio in to perform the music part of the commercial. They were paid scale. I, because I also sang the spot, not only got my player scale, but was also brought into the union, the American Federation of Television and Radio Artists. I got a nice check for my singing efforts and then was to first experience the exhilaration of royalty checks.
The trickle started with thirty-five dollars here and then thirty dollars there. Then I got one hundred and twenty five dollars and then two more checks came in the same week. Then checks started coming in together and the amounts kept getting larger. Two hundred something, three hundred, and then my eyes bugged out, four hundred seventy-five.
This went on for three months until the inevitable thinning of payments. I had become so jaded that when I received a sole check for one hundred and fifty dollars, I disdainfully thought of it as nothing.
My beloved Triumph was proving to be too expensive to maintain. I loved that car, but I had already put two thousand dollars into it. That was a lot of money back then and I couldn’t keep it up.
America’s love affair with cars, especially foreign cars was to prove a cash cow for all the dealerships with repair shops. North Country Motors, in Glen Cove, Long Island, was to eventually have the New York Attorney’s General go after them for over pricing and phony repairs contracting. I, as so many others, were victims of these bastards.
Anyway, with my newly earned money, from the commercial, I traded in my Triumph and bought a brand new orange Volkswagon Super Beetle. Giving up my Triumph was one of the most painful things I ever did, but it had to be done. And the lesson learned was to NEVER fall in love with your car.
Tom was becoming an older brother to me. I respected him so and he seemed to genuinely like the music I was writing for him. He would call me up in the middle of the night and have me drive to his apartment upstate in Peekskill, with my portable Wurlitzer electric piano. Arriving around mid-night, in my car, we’d start working on another song together till the wee hours of the morning. I would sleep on his couch, while his de-smelled skunk, named Ralph, would venture out of the closet onto the living room rug.
Ultimately, I was to set forty-four of his “silly” lyrics to music. And all during the process, I took on the expense and copyrighted our efforts under mutual claimant.
I enjoyed hanging out with Tom. It was fun. But there was a dark side to him I was too naive to notice. Looking back now, I realize he was an alcoholic. He drank beer all the time. In fact, you could set your watch to his going to the bathroom. After his initial intake of three or four beers over and hour or so, he would then, to the minute, have to go every half an hour. It used to crack up the rest of whatever entourage was with him at the time.
While he was at Drew Laurence, he was pulling in at least fifty grand year. But now, he was out of work and trying to launch his kids show. He knew Paul McCartney and periodically talked with him on the phone. But nothing was happening and the strain was beginning to show.
His teeth started to seriously turn yellowish brown from all the alcohol and his chain smoking. His general appearance started looking ragged.
Drunk one afternoon, I heard him tell his brother Bobby, he wanted a “contract” put out on someone he just found out was having an affair with his wife, Emily. Bobby went along to humor him, but there was no question of the violence in Tom’s soul. I just quietly observed.
One evening, I received, something I had grown accustomed to, a phone call from Tom. But this time he wanted me to do a tape of the GNUS SHOW theme song, separate from all the other tapes I had given him of our work; and to get it to him immediately for a presentation.
The next day, in a bar that we often had our meetings, I handed him the tape and quickly added, “Don’t worry, because I’ve copyrighted the song in our names, so we’re protected.” He, obviously, had been drinking for a while. “You did what?,” he snapped back. “The song is mutually copyrighted the way I’ve done it with all of our songs.” “What d’ya do that for?” I continued, “Obviously, to protect ourselves. You can’t trust anybody in this business.”
By now, Tom was pretty drunk. He leaned in to me and hostilely said, “Not even me!” I was mortified. I went home and told my parents and started to cry. It was like Cain and Abel. He was a brother to me. I trusted him with my wellbeing. I took money out of my own pocket to protect us together in our joint venture, and now, I realize that if I hadn’t, Tom would have separated me out of any deal from my own compositions.
I never saw Tom after that. I was to hear his wife soon left him with their two little girls, Joy and Jenny. It was a year or so later I would hear he ultimately died from alcoholism.
I don’t know where my inner strength came from, other than the love I received from my parents and the resulting self esteem. It was a brutal period of deception; Noel and the record deal that wasn’t to be and now, Tom. But somehow, I refused to give in and life went on.
Troy and Brenda had invited Sue and I over for my birthday and gave me a shirt and a beautiful card telling me how much I meant to them. In wake of my recent deceptions, the words went right to my heart and I welled up with emotion.
I finally started to formulate the opening to the trilogy that had long eluded me. It was dramatically romantic and sweeping in scope, with its instrumental center. By the end of December 1971, Indian was finally realized. It balanced Gathering In and Hamilton Smith perfectly. I had John and Jimmy come over to the house so I could show it to them on our grand piano. They were knocked out. Pleased with their response and encouragement, I promised them I would do everything in my power to get us a record deal.
So, rehearsals now had a new purpose and we relentlessly refined the trilogy as a whole and the other material we had already learned. We enthusiastically rehearsed and refined every evening after Jimmy had come home from work, standing on his feet all day, as a foreman at Superior Ink in Manhattan.
While I was in THE SALVATION NAVY, I had befriended the bass player, Mitch Aliota, of Rotary Connection, who we shared the stage in performance. I would run into him all this time later, and he invited me up to an apartment where he and his performing partner were rehearsing for their next recording.
Aliota/Hayes already had recorded one album with Vinnie Testa as the producer. Mitch was a very warm and open fellow. He knew how I played and took it on trust my ensemble was worth having Vinnie listen to. So, he gave me Vinnie’s telephone number and I subsequently called him to set up a meeting to hear the band. When I told him we rehearsed out in Brooklyn, he declined from coming all the way from Hemstead Long Island. I did, however, manage to convince him to come to Great Neck, where I’d show him the material I wanted to record and meet the other band members.
I was hoping, at best, he would then come to hear us rehearse. But upon hearing the trilogy and the strength of my other material, playing and singing, he said he would do a demo with us. It’s strange, in retrospect, how easy it fell together.
Vinnie was most specifically impressed with the trilogy: “Indian,” and wanted to record it. He had a recording studio, in his town of Hemstead, that he favored, and said he would book some time for us and get back to me about the schedule.
After he left, John, Jimmy, myself, as well as my mother, who had witnessed the presentation, were very excited. We were hopeful. And when Vinnie called later that week saying we were going to record in two weeks, we were in heaven. We knew we were onto something and the attitude of the band was to go into the studio and blow Vinnie away.
I called Sue the next day to tell her the good news. She was excited for me and looked forward to hearing the recording herself.
The recording came and LION AUTUMN was so focused, we executed the Trilogy without any problems. It was an excellent demo, indicating what would be done in the direction of a master recording of this material. I laid down a one take scratch vocal and some background counterpoint vocals for the finale of Hamilton Smith. Vinnie was very pleased and gave me a copy of the session to study for any fixing for the master recording.
I had John and Jimmy come to my home in Great Neck so to play it for them, as well as my folks. It was all there. Anyone could tell the material would only get better with the properly allocated studio time.
I then called Sue up on the phone telling her that I finally had a copy of the recording in my hand. She immediately had me come up to Paramount to play the tape on their large sound system, hoping that, perhaps, someone might overhear us and take interest. But, alas, there were no extra ears to be found.
Sue liked it a lot but also recognized the fact that a record producer would now run interference with any company he would submit the product to. It was important, for me, to try to still keep enough of the “pie” to negotiate with after he took his share, for surely, a record company would want theirs, and I would like to have something for myself, as well, if anything then would be left.
Impressed with Sue’s logic, and recognizing her caring for me, as she continued to demonstrate, I thought it might not be such a bad idea for her to represent my interests.
Two weeks later, Vinnie had the band come into his Hemstead office and we listened to the recording together. We picked spots where a better performance could happen, but were all and all mutually pleased with the product. He wanted to sign us and then find a record company to raise the money to record a master version of the work and well as the additional material to complete the other side of the record.
Sue was right. He would be the middle man, and for his efforts, take a serious portion of whatever advance for the band, for himself. Vinnie said he would have his lawyer draw up the contracts between us.
Now, even more impressed with Sue’s knowledge of the business, I approached the band about her and arranged for her to come to one of our rehearsals in Brooklyn. She had not as yet heard the band live. There, she stated her case and impressed John and Jimmy as well to give her the go ahead to represent us. It was a verbal agreement and a token figure of fifteen percent would go to her upon closing the deal.
Up until that point, rehearsals were closed to outside viewing. Jimmy had evolved us to this point of privacy and personal bonding. Specific days would be arranged to bring other friends, or the “girls” down to hear us. But for the most part, this had been our private world. Sue had been cool about it and never pressed the issue. Now she was about to become a regular and as a result, the rehearsals began to open to outside viewing more often than not.
Arranging on the phone to pick Sue up after work at home, there I was greeted at the door by Ronnie James. To my surprise, she invited me in. It was a first. Cautiously entering, as if I having never been in there before, I was asked to take a seat, waiting for Sue to come out of the bedroom. I sat down on the couch directly across from a winged back chair that had a sheet draped over it.
Soon enough Sue came out dressed to leave. Ronnie was staring at me as I got up. I was about to say good-bye, when Sue suddenly said, “Oh, I’ve got a surprise for you.” Catching me off guard, I turned around as she trotted back into the living room. She then, in one sweeping grand gesture, pulled off the sheet from the chair. “Viola!” On the chair was a painting of a majestic male lion in a frame. “I did it for you, because of the name of your band.” I was impressed. “I created it as a logo for the band; the hair of the lion is intentionally like yours.” It was so ego boosting, that I swallowed the whole presentation. Ronnie just kept staring at me, as if studying me. I didn’t realize why, until almost a year later.
Managing to squeeze the portrait into the back seat of my Volkswagon, we drove out to Great Neck, where Sue was to spend the weekend. Arriving, I excitedly brought the painting in to show Mom. Dad was, of course performing. Mom was accommodating but didn’t show the excitement that I had for the work. It didn’t occurred to me to ask her what she thought. My excitement at the moment overshadowed her reaction.
When Mom left to see a Broadway show and then meet up with Dad afterwards, that meant Sue and I were alone to do each other to death. Sue kept screaming and coming all night long. She even demonstrated an ability that I had never seen before or experienced since. Sitting on top of me, facing away, she rode me as I held onto her ass. In her rising excitement, she started bucking and accidentally jumped further than my length while she was coming. Audible as ever, I held her cheeks apart, as she ejaculated all over me. I didn’t think it was possible, and yet, there it was, “Live, up close and personal.” She then pulled herself together, reached back to grab me and then stuffed me back inside of her to ride some more.
The weekend came and went, excuse the pun, and I drove Sue back to her apartment. Then Monday morning, from a telephone on the street, I received a frantic phone call from Sue. Ronnie James suddenly demanded Sue leave her premises. Though Sue had split the money for the rent, utilities, food and phone, Ronnie held the lease and Sue had no say. Without any previous notice, and, now, on her way to work, Sue had to be out completely before Tuesday. I told my parents about what had happened and they more than welcomed her to stay with us in Great Neck, until she found a new residence. So that afternoon, after work, I started ferrying Sue’s effects out to Great Neck. It took several trips into the late evening, but it was done. We had a split level house, and in the lower level playroom, there were a wall of closets that were allocated for Sue’s clothing. There was also a bathroom there, so Sue was able to keep a low profile if needed. My parents happened to like Sue very much. They were particularly taken by her devotion to me.
Sue, now, commuted from Great Neck to get to work. She was extremely polite and ingratiating. Having breakfast with her in the morning didn’t put any wrinkles into the life style of my parents, who woke up later because of my father’s work schedule.
Two weeks would pass before the contract was mailed to me. Upon reading it, I was immediately put off by the clause that said I would forfeit half my domestic and one hundred percent of my foreign publishing to Vinnie’s own publishing company. I wasn’t happy. I knew I would have to relinquish something, it was standard operational procedure. But, one hundred percent of foreign was excessive, and without an out clause stating that one, if a record deal did not go through, the publishing reverted back to me; two, that I would not have to relinquish any more of my publishing in subsequent negotiations Vinnie would have with record companies; and three, that Vinnie would have to be prepared to relinquish his publishing if the record company requested fifty percent of the total publishing themselves.
This ultimately became the stumbling block to get over. I was upset because I was the sole entity having to bare the burden of whether the deal would go through or not, and I was the specific person in the band who had to forfeit something to make the deal. I was very self-conscious and felt somewhat guilty. But, my writing was very important to me. And if the record deal ultimately didn’t bring the band success, my forfeiture would still remain.
Sue continually demonstrated caring about me and my interests. My parents believed in her integrity to that end. The subsequent discussion with Sue, myself and my folks laid out all the possible scenarios. My parents then very simply stated, “Ya know, fifty percent of something, is better than one hundred percent of nothing.” Sue still felt that Vinnie’s request was excessive.
Maybe it was short sighted. If I had agreed and if Vinnie had made a record deal, even if that record didn’t sell well, it could have opened other doors and possibly another record deal because we would have demonstrated to the record business, that we had “crossed the line,” and once you have, you’re on the inside. These thoughts haunt me still today. In reality, maybe nothing would have happened.
But the memory is still as fresh as if it had just happened. There were Sue and I in Vinnie’s office trying to negotiate a better point spread on the publishing for me, and Vinnie adamant about what he wanted. We seemed to have ground to a halt when Sue then responded, “But, who are you, to make such a request?” I was stunned by the lack of diplomacy and held my breath. Vinnie, obviously offended by not only the comment but by a woman saying it, immediately threw up his arms and said, “That’s it. Get out!” I piped in, “Now, wait a second.” “No, I’ve had it. The deal’s off.”
I was numb. I looked at Sue in total disbelief. Another deal was now in the toilet. I was beside myself. As Sue and I drove back to the city, she defended her position saying Vinnie was being totally unreasonable. My response was maybe there still was room to negotiate, but now that was impossible. Having to tell John and Jimmy, let alone my parents, that once again the deal tanked, now flooded my mind.
The atmosphere at home was very cautious, to say the least. What could be said, really? At rehearsal, John and Jimmy seemed to understand the situation and didn’t hold me or Sue responsible. They believed in my resolve, and we began practicing a new work I was writing. It was a suite, consisting of three sections, ultimately to be called, “And They Shall Inherit The Earth.”
Later that week Troy calls me on the phone, frantic about Brenda being admitted to the hospital. She immediately needed surgery. He was hysterical, crying about the woman he loved so and wanted to be with. “Could ya take ‘Sunshine’ so that I could be with Brenda at her bedside?” “Of course,” I responded. Sue and I then jumped into my car and drove to pick up Robbie as Mom prepared a bed for him.
Returning with a sleepy little boy, Mom put him to bed. He was to stay with us for three days; by the time Brenda was considered out of critical condition. Troy then came over and picked him up to take him home. He couldn’t thank us enough. He never did explain what was wrong with Brenda, only that she was out of danger. It was Mom, really, who deserves all the credit for her selflessness. With Sue gone from early morning to late afternoon because of work, and me running between my music lessons, writing and rehearsing at night, Mom had no choice but to take responsibility. It wasn’t fare to burden her so, but she also felt that it was her duty as a mother.
It was around that time, a white baritone saxophone player, named Dick Herbert, came over to my home with a Puerto Rican trumpet player, named Larry Spencer. Dick had gotten word about me and wanted me to write for the Latin band he and Larry were in. Larry was very distant and reluctant, almost racially protective of his musical interests, in spite of the fact that Dick was white, his friend and also playing in the band.
After showing the trilogy and a few more individual pieces, I decided to show them the new suite I had just finished, but as an instrumental. As such, it would be called, “Earth.” Larry, still reluctant, allowed Dick to at least invite me down to one of their rehearsals.
The band was quite impressive. Larry played lead trumpet and Clay Torres, who the band teased as “clitoris,” played second. Charles Legonde played tenor and Dick, of course baritone sax. An extremely shy kid, named Jimmy Lopez, played a guitar that not only looked like a twenty-nine dollar special that had come out of Woolworth’s, but was taped together holding the pick-ups from falling out. In spite of this ridiculous obstacle, he demonstrated himself to being a genius. Eddie “Gua Gua” Revera played bass. Then there was the percussion. Steve Bario played the traps (the standard drum kit), Tony Jemenes and Angel Conchete Maldinato played congas, Pablo Rosario played pilar and bells, Eddie Calone, with his explosive personality, played timbale. What I knew as a well rounded musician, Angel and Eddie were just as deep with their hands and knowledge of rhythm. For vocals, there was the brother and sister team of Nancy and Dino Sedino. It was humbling.
During a break, Dick introduced me to the band members. I sat down at the piano and started showing them the instrumental version of the suite that I, for their purposes would call “Earth.” For twenty-six minutes I held them spellbound. Finally concluding, they exploded with awe and approval, calling me a genius. Dick was very proud of himself to be responsible for introducing me to them. Larry, himself, turned to Dick nodding his approval.
What was to follow, was some of the most exciting and gratifying musical and life experiences I ever had. It is impossible to relate the feeling of being in the middle of an ensemble so explosive, liquid and yet cohesive. LION AUTUMN was a wonderful trio, but this was twelve musicians of extraordinary quality.
Rehearsals, during the day, were held in a small family house in the Bronx. Larry Spencer, Dalilah, his wife and two children lived upstairs. Gua Gua’s down stairs apartment was were the band practiced. I drove there in my Volkswagon which was crusted over with dirt from not being washed since I bought it. Upon seeing the car, the band members started goofing on me. I simply laughingly retorted the dirt protected my new paint job and it discouraged anyone from steeling the car. They seemed to accept the logic and we proceeded, I with my Clavinet D6 and Fender Twin Reverb, into the house.
As we set up, joints were rolled and lit, almost as a ritual prerequisite. It was a relatively small room brimming with musicians. Upon the first note performed, I had to stuff my ears with tissue. It was deafening. But with the oncoming high, the sheer physical power of the vibration was primordially seminal. Never had I heard percussion use in such a musical way. Obviously steeped with its African roots, Latin rhythm sections are the lead instruments. The bass is the rock, the piano, with its juaharos set the rhythmic cohesion with the guitar. The clave, the implied beat, where one would clap either three-two or two three; not the western conventional four-four, with its two-four back beat. Finally the trumpets and reeds carry the respective melodies and particular punctuations. On top of all of this, sat the vocals.
The band had never heard a Clavinet before, let alone some of the toys I was processing the sound through. All during the rehearsal, the bass and guitar players wanted to try their instrument through such processing. They were simply enthralled.
I was holding my on and Larry seemed to be getting very excited about the sound of the band. He then, with total abandon, gestured to Dick, as if squeezing a syringe into his arm, he had great “smack,” heroine, in the back room for them to shoot up later. I could see through the corner of my eye, that Dick was mortified at this disclosure. Frankly, it scared the shit out of me, by affiliation. But, that was their business.
We rehearsed a few more times to be ready for a gig at The Cheetah a few weeks later. Larry was also the lead trumpet player in an ensemble, HARLOW, with half of our band. This gig would introduce our band, not only to Harlow, but to the several other bands that were performing that night. I had particular keyboard solos as I had done in practice, but I didn’t really know how I would be received by the Latin world at large. Larry had always, vacillated about how successful I had been with my juaharos. The gig happened to go well without any glitches.
At a time when clubs were closing all over the city because people were getting high and not really drinking, the Latin clubs, particularly in the Bronx, were booming. One club was The Act One. As we entered the club, we had to walk down one flight of stairs to a lounge that had a bar and small dance floor. There, a small combo would play to entertain that immediate audience. On either side of that dance floor were two descending stair cases which led to an enormous dance floor below with two very large proscenium stages side by side which could handle large ensembles. When the performance of the “A” stage ended, a pair of comics would then entertain while the band on stage “B” got ready. It was truly extraordinary. And this place was apparently packed every night.
Needing a place to rehearse, Larry managed to wrangle one of the large stages during the day. This day was special for me because I had just finished writing out the orchestrations of “Earth” for the band. I didn’t know what to expect, but had my hopes. It was as if I had created a European road map for a Afro/Latin excursion. It was electrifying and the band freaked out. They had never experienced anything like that before within their own Latin music scene.
So, it was decided, for the last set at our next gig, at the Hippocompo, we would surprise everyone and just play the work. It was a nice intimate club, with a bandstand, dance floor and phenomenal sound system.
The night proved to be magic for me. I set up facing Jimmy Lopez. He was so shy, sitting on his amplifier, but seemed encouraged by me facing him to egg him on. We would ultimately do exchanges to each other during the entire night of music. During my first really big solo, the band cried out for me to take another chorus, and then another. I get goose bumps thinking about it now, as I was so graciously received into the Latin community. It was, without a doubt, one of the high points, not only of my musical life, but my life itself. I will always have a warm spot in my heart for the Latin world and how generous they were to me.
After two sets of playing our material, Gua Gua and Pablo said, “It’s time for ‘Earth’.” Not knowing how the crowd would react, Gua Gua started the piece with his opening bass solo. Within a minute, everyone in the club gathered around the bandstand to listen. They screamed with excitement as the piece rolled on and gave us a thunderous ovation at its conclusion all those minutes later. From that point on, I was a regular and treated as one of the family.
But in reality, my involvement with SOMOS, only represented a very small part of my musical life. Our rehearsals were here and there. Our performances were the same. What was truly extraordinary about the ensemble, was we would not see each other for the longest periods of time (one separation being ten months), and then come together for a gig. We would then rehearse and later play that evening, blowing the main act off the stage. There were two recording sessions. I even had my father come to one of them. He said, “Without a doubt, SOMOS is one of the greatest big bands I’ve heard in years.”
Unfortunately, Larry got insecure, and rather than record my suite, he elected to do his mainstream salsa songs. I, and many members of the band were deeply upset. The second recording session, however, I did manage to have the band record an orchestrated version of “Indian,” I had done for them, with me singing the lead. Dino was not thrilled he didn’t sing it, but that was the quickest way to get it done with the remaining studio time that was allotted to me.
I remember waiting at the stage door of Carnegie Hall, for the band members to arrive, who were playing with HARLOW that night. Larry Harlow, himself a white Jew, was presenting his Latin spin of the WHO’S “Tommy” with his own, in Spanish, “Ommy.” As I saw Gua Gua driving his car towards me, I could hear him playing the tape of “Indian” and saw how in awe he and the other passengers were of the recording.
Unfortunately, this was as far as the group was to go. Larry was a junkie and succumb to the inevitable dementia that would destroy his career. He was a marvelous trumpet player with iron “chops,” who, out of nowhere, decided to change his technique. Within several months, he was unable to play. Nancy Sedino was his lover. Dalilah first suspected, and then knew, but it never stopped all three of their passions. I remember meeting Larry’s mother, Grace. At one point in the afternoon, I overheard her proudly say to her son, while looking at both of his sons playing together, “Did you ever think you would see this?” One was his wife’s son, the other was from a liaison with another woman.
Dick Herbert eventually disappeared from our view. I would have conversations with him, where he’d openly talk about his sex life and how he liked his partner and himself to simultaneously pee while having sex. Disgusted, I squirmed out my disapproval. “Oh, man,” he’d enthusiastically croon, “... such a warm gush.” “OK, I’ll go with your fantasy moment,” I replied. “But what happens after you come? You’re both laying there in cold pee.” He just looked at me and with a bemused facial expression, shrugged his shoulders.
One day he had come to rehearsal saying that his baritone sax had been stolen. More likely, he hocked it for a fix. He knew that I had been a baritone player myself and still had my horn. He asked if he could borrow it. I obviously declined.
Nancy Sedino was also a junkie, probably turned on by Larry. Both she and Larry were to later overdose and die. Her brother Dino was to get drafted and lose a leg in Vietnam. It so freaked him out, to be a “geek” in his own mind, that he became a reclusive shut-in until he died.
Tony Jimenes, naked, walked into his kitchen to scramble up some eggs and collapsed. He was dead, before he hit the floor, from a massive stroke. Eddy Calone, our notorious hot head, was a black belt in the martial arts. One day he walked into a bodega which was being robbed. Instead of disappearing into the woodwork, as it were, he went into his martial stance and the robber shot him dead.
LION AUTUMN, however, was still very much alive and the primary arena of my composing focus. We rehearsed virtually every night. John even managed to get Vinny Martel, the lead guitarist of THE VANILLA FUDGE to rehearse with us, on a pretty regular basis, for a month. It was the first time a guitar was brought into the sound of my music. It wasn’t necessarily going to be a permanent addition, but was interesting in the respect that specific material would demonstrate itself to be more guitar oriented than keyboard.
In the mean time, Sue brought me down to the recording of another artist. A friend of Troy, named David L. Byron, who would subsequently become his writing partner, was doing a demo of one of his own songs. On bass, was a strange tall and gaunt looking fellow, with two bumps sticking out from the bottom of his rib cage. Out of nowhere, he started to bow his Fender electric bass, much like the way that Jimmy Page had with his guitar. I was very impressed and approached him to get his telephone number. He was very easy-going and most willing to exchange numbers. Little did I know, he and I were about to become friends for the next thirty years.