This is the Preface to a series of stories I plan on writing in the weeks and months ahead. I want to write my recollections of as many of the folks I have worked with over the years as I can remember. Beginning with Frankie Laine and finishing with Liza Minnelli. There's a lot of names in between those two and it will be a kick to part the curtains of my memory and revisit people and places. I will be telling the truth as I saw it, no punches will be pulled. (Sorry Liza). I will only write about things I actually witnessed or was a part of...no third or fourth party gossip.
So...
I play drums. I've never liked it when people say they play THE drums. I play DRUMS. I started banging on things as a baby and in Kindergarten I played in the Rhythm Band (maracas-I have a picture) and the teacher told my Mother she had never had a student with so much rhythm.
My parents brought back a small Ludwig set from Lyon and Healy in Chicago when I was in the third grade. Small Bass drum, 3 x 13 snare, (which I wish I still had today) small spun brass cymbal and Bass drum pedal. No Hi Hat, no toms, no seat. Also no instructions and for weeks I tried to figure out how to set these things up correctly. Somehow, I had managed to attach the Bass Drum pedal in such a way that I had to take my foot OFF the pedal in order for it to strike the drum. I can't imagine how I managed that trick but after a while I was able to get the pedal on correctly and the drums tuned up so they sounded nice to my ear.
Our record collection was entirely made up of Broadway Show Cast albums, Big Band records, Symphonic and Opera recordings, and possibly every record ever made by Al Jolson.
Back in the Dark Ages of the late 50's, there was Music on Television. One could actually see musicians, even Jazz musicians quite frequently on TV. Ed Sullivan, Steve Allen, Jack Paar, Jackie Gleason and others all featured real players. The Dorsey Brothers even had a Summer replacement Show with Their band, singers and guests like Elvis Presley.
I learned how to play drums by watching those musicians on TV and also by playing along with the records in our house. But I'm getting ahead of myself.
Thursday, February 4, 2021
ANOTHER ONE BITES THE DUST...
Reflections on Marvin Hamlisch's passing and other things to ponder...
Woke up yesterday morning (Tuesday) and had the uneasy feeling that someone I knew had died. It wasn't Marvin Hamlisch I was thinking about but another Show Biz personality. So, when the phone began to ring around 8 AM, I picked it up with not a little apprehension. (My extrasensory powers are well known among my friends and family. I won't go into specifics at this time but I'm One With The Force on matters ranging from who's about to call on the phone to whether Lavoris is on sale at the local Walgreens.)
Hearing the news that Marvin had died was like a swift punch to the solar plexus. I've endured many losses in the past few years (haven't we all) and with the exception of Gary LaBriola, I was pretty much "Stiff Upper Lip, Old Man" and gotten on with it. I knew that Marvin had canceled some concerts of late and that he looked extremely fragile at a Pasadena Pops concert just a few weeks back. Marvin himself had called me prior to going into the Hospital a number of months ago and while he didn't say what he was having done, he was his usual, "Hi Babe, It's Marvin" when I picked up the phone.
So, it was really a shock to me that I was so shaken by the news. Marvin and I had met in Los Angeles in 1979 when I was doing Evita at the Shubert Theater. Introduced by Larry Blank, conductor for both Marvin and Evita, it seemed that Marvin liked what I was doing in the pit on the drums and was favorably impressed. Moving to New York in 1980, I followed Larry to Broadway, where we both served in the galleys of the Good Ship "Onward Victoria" a Broadway flop that previewed for 4 weeks and closed on Opening night in December of 1980.
Somewhat adrift until my next Broadway show was about to begin rehearsals, I received a call from Mr. Blank asking if I wanted to play drums for Marvin Hamlisch on the road. Of course I said yes and thus began the saga of Berkowitz and Hamlisch, Attorneys at Law, an on again, off again relationship that lasted 33 years.
It was Marvin who made me a Conductor, first with the 28 piece Orchestra we used on smaller concerts and then, when he thought it was time, I became the Symphony show Conductor. We played all over the World. I conducted the London Symphony twice
Woke up yesterday morning (Tuesday) and had the uneasy feeling that someone I knew had died. It wasn't Marvin Hamlisch I was thinking about but another Show Biz personality. So, when the phone began to ring around 8 AM, I picked it up with not a little apprehension. (My extrasensory powers are well known among my friends and family. I won't go into specifics at this time but I'm One With The Force on matters ranging from who's about to call on the phone to whether Lavoris is on sale at the local Walgreens.)
Hearing the news that Marvin had died was like a swift punch to the solar plexus. I've endured many losses in the past few years (haven't we all) and with the exception of Gary LaBriola, I was pretty much "Stiff Upper Lip, Old Man" and gotten on with it. I knew that Marvin had canceled some concerts of late and that he looked extremely fragile at a Pasadena Pops concert just a few weeks back. Marvin himself had called me prior to going into the Hospital a number of months ago and while he didn't say what he was having done, he was his usual, "Hi Babe, It's Marvin" when I picked up the phone.
So, it was really a shock to me that I was so shaken by the news. Marvin and I had met in Los Angeles in 1979 when I was doing Evita at the Shubert Theater. Introduced by Larry Blank, conductor for both Marvin and Evita, it seemed that Marvin liked what I was doing in the pit on the drums and was favorably impressed. Moving to New York in 1980, I followed Larry to Broadway, where we both served in the galleys of the Good Ship "Onward Victoria" a Broadway flop that previewed for 4 weeks and closed on Opening night in December of 1980.
Somewhat adrift until my next Broadway show was about to begin rehearsals, I received a call from Mr. Blank asking if I wanted to play drums for Marvin Hamlisch on the road. Of course I said yes and thus began the saga of Berkowitz and Hamlisch, Attorneys at Law, an on again, off again relationship that lasted 33 years.
It was Marvin who made me a Conductor, first with the 28 piece Orchestra we used on smaller concerts and then, when he thought it was time, I became the Symphony show Conductor. We played all over the World. I conducted the London Symphony twice
From the Pandemic...
After realizing that this Blog still existed, I invite you to read of an incident with Helen Reddy in 1973.
I was asked recently about the private plane that Helen Reddy and her band and husband Jeff were on from Philadelphia, on its way to Los Angeles, that almost didn't make it. Here's the story as I can recall it after all these years.
I was introduced to Helen the first night I moved to Los Angeles by my friend and her pianist, Tom Hensley. A few months after that introduction I became Helen's drummer, following Larry Brown, who was and still is a wonderful drummer/engineer/Producer.
At the beginning of those touring days, Helen had a hit with "I Don't Know How To Love Him" and we were booked in Utah for many college dates. The bookers thought that Helen was a quasi religious singer and perfect for their squeaky clean audiences in the many Mormon based colleges that required three airplanes to reach from LA. When we arrived on site for these gigs, the college promoters were met with a rag tag group of hippy musicians and a lead singer who didn't shave her underarms. Needless to say, hilarity ensued. The months went on, the gigs got better. Helen shaved. We flew to Europe for the Midem Festival and a small date at Ronnie Scott's in London. I left to join the Association for a while and then returned to The Helen Reddy Summer Show on NBC with Nelson Riddle, Carnegie Hall and a long list of live concerts.
Jeff knew George Carlin well, and as a result, we traveled a bit in George's private plane, a Jet Commander with call letters WW0069 or Whiskey Whiskey 69 on the radio. Following a gig in Phiadelphia, the band of myself, Dick Horn, Dave Parlato, Mike Warren, Paul Cowsill and Helen and Jeff boarded the plane for Los Angeles. We always wanted to get home as soon as possible. Occasionally Jeff and or Helen would get the opening act on a concert to let us open for them, so we could leave earlier. Anyway, we take off from Philly and settle in for the flight home. We knew there would be a fuel stop between along the way. Dave Parlato, Helen and myself began a game of Scrabble on the small table. Helen and Jeff were facing us, their backs to the front of the plane. Dave Parlato, myself and Mike Warren were in the rear row bench seats Dick Horn was on the the window and in from of him was Paul Cowsill. An ice chest of soft drinks was in front of Mr. Cowsill, on the floor. We were told there was a line of thunderstorms over the Midwest and that we were diverting to another airport for our refueling stop.
Our Scrabble game was fast and furious and Dave Parlato was winning, for the first time ever in all our matches. Suddenly over Illinois a hard bump shook the plane. We looked at each other and timidly continued our game. Jim Croce had died in a plane accident a few weeks earlier and was on our minds. Seconds later, the plane began to descend...very fast and at a very steep angle. Mike Warren, who hated to fly, was in a fetal position in his seat. The plane's descent was so rapid that we were actually weightless. I had neglected to put on my seat belt and was now on the ceiling, which was quickly coming apart, losing tiles as we descended. The ice chest began to float in the cabin. Jeff was moaning and Helen was saying it would be all right as she knew it was not her destiny to die in an airplane. 14, 000 feet straight down and the veteran pilots somehow found some clear air and got us level, and not a moment too soon. We landed at Moline Illinois' Quad City Airport. We came to a stop on the tarmac. Quickly exiting the plane, we took our belongings and thanked any and all deities that we had been spared. The inside of the plane was a wreck. There would be no flight the rest of the way that night in the Jet Commander.
We checked into the local Holiday Inn at the Airport and Jeff arranged flights home the next day on a commercial airliner. Preparing for bed, I took off my trousers and two Scrabble tiles fell to the floor. They spelled HA.
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