In the May 24 New York Times, Albert Innaurato describes a VHI 'diva' festival in which Aretha Franklin  proceeded to "eat" Mariah Carey, Gloria Estefan, Shania Twain, and Celine Dion "as if they were Cream of Wheat."
He said they all kept mum when Aretha was singing, not daring to get in a vocal battle with her "except for Celine Dion, who, with a bravado that can only be described as Canadian, fought Ms. Franklin. She lost."
 Pretty funny stuff. I don't have anything to say about contemporary gal singers, Whitney Houston included, because they don't sound good to me. Their voices are muscular, but not involving. To me. 
But a hundred million or so people've bought their records so maybe, as a great philosopher said, "I just wasn't made for these times."
 But I did attend the Celine Dion/Phil Spector sessions. It was July of 1995 at Oceanway Studio in Hollywood. The aggregation was impressive; four sax players seated (Hey! -- there's Nino Tempo!), four guitarists, a  standup bass and an electric, two drum sets (David Kemper and Jim Keltner), a gal on congas -- twenty two in all, including a string section on a keyboard. I was one of twenty people milling around and watching Phil (and his engineer Larry Levine) as he called for fresh starts two or three dozen times.  The intro to the song was slow, like the start of "Paradise" -- no Leon Russell rolling pianos like "Da Doo Ron Ron" (which is one of the great song titles that isn't a song title -- the writers said "Call it do doo ron ron til we think of some words to go there"), no Hal Blaine drum crashes like "Be My Baby" (Hal's houseguests have recently been Tom Cruise and Cameron Crowe, who've been "going deep" on their forthcoming Phil Spector biopic).
It was intoxicating, though, and so slow that I didn't recognize the tune: only when I glimpsed at some sheet music did I realize it was "Is This What I Get For  Loving You Baby," a post-Philles (A&M) Ronettes flop/ masterpiece. I was there four hours (6:00 - 10:00) and only at one point did Celine ascend to the vocal booth, just for a level check. Mostly she and her husband sat at the back of the studio watching Phil and wondering who all of us were.
The second night was the real thing. Now there were fifty 'intimate friends,' including tv stars and musicians who happened to be recording in nearby studios.  (Rodney Bingenheimer, inexplicably hanging around both nights with Kato Kaelin, said "This is just like the 'River Deep Mountain High' sessions at Goldstar!") With the crowding and the presence of movie and flash cameras (and a small conference with recent Poker Party guest and musical director Jimmy Haskell) record-producing lagged behind the last session's pace, which caused a musical moment I will never forget.
I suppose because it was taking so long to get details right AND the fact that he wasn't, as in the old days, booked in for as long as it would take to get it perfect, midway through the session Phil called for a complete take, with vocals. Some of us who had been lollygagging around not wishing to get in Phil's way were out of the room when the first sounds hit, but I ran in faster than Rafer Johnson to a situation unparallelled in music fandom.
 I was in the center of the production booth at a Phil Spector session with everyone playing live while Celine Dion wailed her ass off (she rose to the occasion -- wow!) WITH ECHO (he doesn't listen "dry") at full volume.
It was like the Wall of Sound had fallen on me. It was like I was one of the bricks. It was the culmination of a lifetime of listening, thousands and thousands of times, to Spector records at home and in my head.
IT WAS MUSICAL MAJESTY AT ITS PINNACLE.
I knew what was going on. My nerve endings were on fire. My brain was going a million miles an hour. My legs were wobbling. Yet I looked around and saw people chatting, chewing gum, joking. Was I the only one lost in a miracle? Maybe, but I'll never know because then I shut my eyes and the intensity quintupled. It was unbelievable.
When it was over, people cheered. I wiped my eyes and stumbled out of the room, heading to my car. I didn't want to hear any more takes, I didn't want to hear anything ever again. I was dizzy and exhausted, like I'd just had a thousand simultaneous sexual experiences.  As I pushed open the big glass doors at the front of the studio, Brian Wilson held it open: he and an entourage of ten were coming in. I heard he hugged Phil, here in the building where Wilson crafted so many of his triumphs. (This studio formerly was United/Western, where most Beach Boys stuff was recorded.)
I didn't care. If I hadn't had a family I might have just walked out that door onto Sunset and let myself get run over.
THAT's how good it was.
 Speaking of Hal Blaine, last summer I asked photographer Robert Leslie to take a shot of Hal for my book re-do (have I mentioned yet that the new  edition of The LA Musical History Tour is coming out in July from 21361 Publications?) and he struck gold, fan-wise, as Hal's had him take more pics -- recently with Stan Ross, Dave  Gold, Larry Levine, and Earl Palmer. Hal's excellent book, Hal Blaine & The Wrecking Crew, is available at 1-800-637-2852. And he's just recorded a comedy album!
Finally, about girl singers, Last Friday (May 29) I saw  Cherie Currie and her sister along with drummer Sandy West blast out some Runaways tunes at the Golden Apple Bookstore on Melrose in Hollywood. They were surprisingly great: it sounded good in the makeshift storefront, and Cherie's become a powerful singer. I shot some decent videotape of it.
I had Cherie on my tv show the previous week and she said that the Runaways (four, minus Jackie Fox) had sued Kim Fowley for their name and master-recordings and had won! I asked if it had actually passed through the appeals process, since sympathetic juries sometimes give people things that higher courts take back (like a jury awarding Darlene Love millions from Phil Spector but with the final ruling in no sense settled), and she said the group has the recordings in their possession and are scheduling them for release. She also seemed to indicate that a reunion was on the horizon.
And you stage-door Johnnies get your hair slicked back and your shoes shined; she's getting a divorce from actor Robert Hayes (Airplane)! |
