I ALWAYS THOUGHT I would travel my musical road alone, like Bob
Dylan or Elvis (Presley and later Costello), but I was the boy with the four
sevens. After that, I knew I needed a band. After all, Bob had The Band, and
Bruce had the E Street Band, and who could forget those four Elvis's, John,
Paul, George, and Ringo. Sure, they would have done all right on their own, but
together they became the greatest band the world has or will ever see. That's
what I wanted, too.
The four sevens you ask? It's an
ancient Welsh form of fortune telling with a regular deck of fifty-two playing
cards. in 1976 or 1977, my girlfriend, Robin, sat me down with her mom, being a
Welsh descendant herself, and when she dealt me that rare and unusual hand on
my first deal, I saw the look of shock and amazement on her jolly, round face.
That hand, even though it could have been nothing more than a parlor game, a
cheap form of entertainment, gave me the confidence and reconfirmed the notion
that I was meant to do something great. I hoped it was in music since I didn't
want to set the world on fire as the world's greatest accountant or something,
although accountants are cool, but music was my thing.
The minute I got my
first instrument, a flute-o-phone in second grade I thought I was on to
something. My sister, Susan, you see, was an excellent student who spent all
her time studying or listening to Barbara Streisand. That was not my cup of
java (or Coca-Cola), so I never studied. Thank God I had a good memory. But my
folks knew I was intimidated by Susan's straight A’s, so my parents were
advised by the guidance counselor to encourage me to do something that I
excelled in. They thought music was a good way to go and before too long I was
whipping out scales and picking out melodies from the radio. They believed it
was my calling and they suggested I go for it. I did. Thanks Mom. Thanks Dad. I
think.
Anyway, the four sevens
was ten years later, and I should go back to where my real musical education
began - in Los Angeles.
Four days after my Bar Mitzvah on
June 25, 1965, we moved to California from Jericho, New York. It was like we
drove in the Lincoln Tunnel and came out on the Hollywood freeway with nothing
in between. It's ironic that almost thirty years later I would move to Middle
Tennessee.
Once we arrived in La La
Land, Carl Reiner told my father that whatever he did, he had to get his kids
into the Beverly Hills School System. My Dad's mother and my Grandma Betty
lived on Arnaz Street near Olympic not far from La Cienega Park, so my sister,
brother, and myself stayed in her one-bedroom apartment while my parents
scoured the hills of Beverly for a three-bedroom apartment. In August of '65 we
moved to 454 S. Oakhurst, fifty yards inside Baja Beverly Hills.
The first two music
people I met in LA were Jeff and Joey Hamilton. They had recently moved from
Scarsdale, New York because their father, Joe Hamilton Sr. (Joey the oldest son
of seven children at the time) married Carol Burnett. One day I invited them
over after school and waited outside on my front lawn for them to arrive. These
were the days before cell phones, so either you sat inside by the phone or you
just waited. I think people had a little more patience in those days before the
instant gratification of the twenty-first century.
I saw two bony figures meandering
down the street smoking cigarettes. As they got closer, I could see they both
had beards (although Joey's beard was more pronounced). Joey was 14 and Jeff
was 13. What a couple of little criminals they were, or at least they tried to
come off that way, however, it was good to commune with a couple of fellow New
Yorkers in this strange and wondrous land. Inside the confines of the Back
Room, we played and sang Beatles and Buffalo Springfield songs with a little
Lovin' Spoonful to boot.
This association led to my first band in LA
with Peter Grossbard on rhythm guitar), Mark Mandel on drums), the afore
mentioned Joey Hamilton on lead vocals, and myself on lead guitar. We covered
songs such as Believe in Magic by the Spoonful and I'll
Cry Instead by the Beatles. I loved playing those solos that were in
essence country licks turned upside down or inside out. My mom or dad would
drive me up Coldwater Canyon to Mark's house to rehearse on Saturdays (I
wouldn't have a driver's license for another two years). I was eternally
grateful to them since it was too far to ride my bike with a 1964 candy-apple
red Harmony Rocket electric guitar strapped across my back. Man, I loved that
guitar.
:)
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