DCS: eddie van halen

Posted by on

Eddie Van Halen received a phone call in 1982 from someone named “Quincy.” He didn’t know anyone named “Quincy.”

“Is this Eddie?,” the voice on the phone asked.

“Who the hell is this?,” a very suspicious Eddie replied.

“Quincy. Quincy Jones, man.”

Eddie Van Halen gulped and smiled to himself. “Oh! I’m sorry.”

The famed composer, songwriter and producer asked if Eddie would be interested in adding a bit of guitar to “punch up” a song that Michael Jackson was working on. “Michael Jackson?,” thought the guitarist, “The kid who sang ‘A-B-C. Easy as 1-2-3?'”

Eddie was game, although he had his doubts. What on earth could he do, as a white heavy metal guitarist, to help a guy who’s known for R & B pop songs? Regardless of how he felt, Eddie arrived at the studio and in just under an hour, cranked out an iconic 20 seconds of a fiery guitar solo that effortlessly fit into “Beat It,” Jackson’s early foray into the rock music genre. As Eddie was packing up his gear, the soft-spoken pop singer came into the studio. Eddie stood by silently as the technicians played the cut back for the two of them. Eddie thought that either he’d love it or Jackson would sic his bodyguards and have the guitarist tossed out. Happily, it was the former, as Jackson smiled from beneath his sunglasses and said, “Wow, thank you so much for having the passion to not just come in and blaze a solo, but to actually care about the song, and make it better.”

Eddie didn’t think much of this little piece of work or the song itself, for that matter. He didn’t want any compensation, nor did he accept any credit in the album’s liner notes. However, sometime later, Eddie was shopping at Tower Records in Hollywood when “Beat It” came over the store’s PA system. He overheard a group of teens giggling while pantomiming guitar actions. One of them blurted out dismissively, “Listen to this guy trying to sound like Eddie Van Halen!”

Eddie turned to them and said, “That is me!” He laughed and walked away.

Eddie Van Halen passed away in October 2020, after a battle with throat cancer. He was 65. He never made any money from “Beat It.”

Comments

comments

DCS: johnny crawford

Posted by on

I’ve met a lot of celebrities and I have a basement full of autographed photos to back up my claim. I have been attending nostalgia conventions and autographs shows for about twenty five years, collecting photos and getting a one-on-one, personal interaction with some folks that I have only seen flicker across a big screen in a movie theater or flash across a small screen in my living room. Even after many years, it was still a little thrill when I got to meet (and sometimes shake hands) with actors and actresses from some of my favorite films and TV series I watched growing up.

Some of my encounters were interesting. I discussed baseball — specifically the chances the Anaheim Angels had at winning the pennant — with Jerry Maren, the Munchkin who presented Dorothy with a giant lollipop in The Wizard of Oz. I reminisced with the lovely Adrienne Barbeau about her recent performance in the touring company of Pippin when it made a stop in Philadelphia. When I met Dee Wallace, best known for her portrayal of Henry’s mom in E.T. – The Extraterrestrial, I told her a rambling story about spotting her at the LA Farmers Market. My wife and I were warmly greeted by Patty Duke and she hung on our every word as we talked about our well-traveled teddy bear. She even obliged us by posing for a picture with the little guy snuggled up to her face. Betsy Palmer was a delight when she discreetly offered me her commentary on the attendees at a horror film convention.

Some of our experiences were — shall we say — less than comfortable. Ron Palillo, known for playing “Arnold Horshack” in the 70s sitcom Welcome Back, Kotter, was a total obnoxious jerk, behaving as though his participation in an autograph show was beneath his thespian qualifications. Both David Naughton (from An American Werewolf in London) and Anson Williams (Happy Days’ own “Potsie”) were rude and dismissive. My meeting with Paul Peterson — Donna Reed’s son on The Donna Reed Show — nearly came to blows when I (admittedly) made a smart-ass comment that Paul didn’t appreciate in the least.

In 2013, I was genuinely excited when I saw that Johnny Crawford was announced as a guest at the upcoming Mid-Atlantic Nostalgia Convention, an annual event held just outside of Baltimore, Maryland. My wife and I had attended this gathering in the past and the addition of Johnny Crawford just boosted my anticipation more. I was a big fan of The Rifleman and I have seen every episode in repeated showings on retro TV network MeTV.

When the day of the show arrived, I was already planning my questions for the former child star. We entered the big convention room and I spotted Johnny immediately. Though he was 67 years old (at the time), he was still recognizable as “Mark McCain,” loyal son and confidant to Chuck Connors. There were some gray strands mixed in with his brown hair, but he still sported that sparkly smile that made him a heartthrob among teenage girls in the early 1960s. And Johnny couldn’t have been nicer! He was friendly and personable as we talked about his career. I asked him if he ever got confused on the set of The Rifleman when character actor John Anderson showed up. “Did you have to ask if he was playing your grandfather or a guy who has a grudge against your dad?,” I pressed. Johnny laughed and nodded in agreement of how silly the casting was. He went on to ask what my wife and I did for a living and seemed genuinely interested in our answers. I presented Johnny with a drawing that I did, depicting a “frozen-in-time” moment between him and his TV dad. As we talked, I selected a photograph for Johnny to sign. (We actually picked two because Mrs. Pincus and I couldn’t agree on which pose we should get.) Johnny charged the standard $20 per picture and we saw that price would leave us a bit lighter in the wallet than we expected. Mrs. P noticed that a sign on his table announced that Johnny accepted PayPal as a method of payment. As a longtime seller on eBay, Mrs. Pincus was very familiar with how PayPal worked. We soon found out that Johnny wasn’t. He told us that he wasn’t really set up for PayPal payments, but he would install the app right then and there. My wife happily guided Johnny through the process, answering his questions and instructing him where to click and where to scroll. After a few uncertain minutes, Johnny smiled and proclaimed that his first PayPal transaction was a success! He thanked my wife with true heartfelt gratitude. A few hours later, when we decided to start heading back to Philadelphia, we stopped by Johnny’s table to say “goodbye.” Again, he thanked us for our purchase and especially for my wife’s assistance with his new payment method.

A week or so later, my wife was checking her voluminous eBay email and came across a message from PayPal. It explained that an outstanding payment was still waiting for acceptance from its recipient. She clicked the link to reveal the recipient in question. She was surprised to see that it was Johnny Crawford. At the autograph show, they both watched the progress on the screen of Johnny’s cellphone. Evidently, the payment has to be “accepted” in order to complete the transaction. Johnny never did the final step. Our payment for two autographed photos — forty dollars — was hanging in internet limbo. Mrs. P dashed off a quick email to Johnny’s contact, a business address that he associated with his newly-created PayPal account. A few days went by without a reply or acknowledgement. Finally, Johnny replied, thanking us for the note and for letting him know that he needed to accept the payment.

Except, he didn’t.

Mrs. Pincus sent a follow-up email, reminding Johnny of what he still needed to do. The days became weeks and they soon became months. No response. Nothing. The $40 payment sat for quite some time — unclaimed — until PayPal added it back into our account.

In 2019, it was reported that Johnny Crawford was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s Disease. On April 29, 2021 he passed away at the age of 75.

Thanks for everything Johnny — the memories, the autographs, the conversation and the great story.

Comments

comments

DCS: george mann

Posted by on

Tall, lanky George Mann played center on the Venice Union Polytechnic High High School basketball team. He also served as vice president of the school’s drama club… and that was his true calling. He starred in a production of the farce What Happened to Jones?, along with classmate, future actress (and future mother of singer Jack Jones) Irene Hervey.

After high school, he teamed up with another classmate to perform as a dance team in the Los Angeles area. He split with his partner and signed on with a talent agency, at first as a single. Soon he partnered with dancer Dewey Barto (future father of comedic actress Nancy Walker). The duo played their pronounced height difference to humorous effect. George stood at six feet six inches and Dewey was just under five feet. They were offered a ten-year contract with notable show business representatives Fanchon and Marco Enterprises.

The team of Barto and Mann took vaudeville stages by storm, appearing the rave reviews across the country. They played packed houses in huge theaters, including Earl Carroll‘s Hollywood showplace. They even toured Europe in the summers before World War II. In the waning days of vaudeville, the pair joined the popular Hellzapoppin‘ musical revue. George and Dewey finally parted ways in 1943 when George began working for Douglas Aircraft Company providing entertainment for employees.

After World War II, George took fewer entertainment jobs, deciding to devote his efforts to photography. During his time in vaudeville, he took thousands of photographs, developing his artful technique and his composition skills. He tinkered with photographic equipment, eventually developing a looping playback device that became the forerunner to the 8-track tape machine. He also invented a 3-D viewer that would display the 3-D photographs he was taking with his 35mm Stereo Realist cameras. He photographed various scenes around Southern California. George was able to lease viewers to assorted business where people would wait for services, like restaurants and doctors offices. Every few weeks, he would switch out the images for a new set, including 3-D shots of Catalina Island, Disneyland, Knott’s Berry Farm, Pacific Ocean Park, Watts Towers, Palm Springs and Las Vegas. Always enterprising, George supplied a regular rotation of nude photos to the viewers he placed in bars.

In the 1970s, George returned to an acting job of sorts. He signed with the Quaker Oats company to portray the mascot for their new cereal “King Vitaman.” For nearly a decade, George’s royal, though friendly, face appeared on cereal boxes, as well as in commercials for the product. After George’s death in 1977 at the age of 71, the company switched to a cartoon version of the mascot.

Comments

comments

DCS: jim steinman

Posted by on

By the time I was a junior in high school, I had amassed a pretty sizeable record collection. I began my collection way back in elementary school, when I purchased my first album with my own money. As an eleven year-old, I proudly selected a copy of Carole King’s “Tapestry” from the “Best Sellers” section of a local Sam Goody record store. I watched Carole’s efforts be rewarded when she was honored by a windfall of Grammy Awards and constant play on AM radio. From that point forward, I was buying albums at a fairly regular clip. At any spare moment, I could be found thumbing thought the offerings at any one of a number of record stores near my house.

In 1978, while perusing the racks at the same Sam Goody where my record collection was born, I spotted an album cover that held me transfixed. I instantly recognized the artwork of Richard Corben, the celebrated artist whose impossibly-muscular males and impossibly-endowed females graced the pages of one of my favorite publications – Heavy Metal magazine (the American counterpart to the popular French magazine Métal hurlant). I had been reading Heavy Metal for about a year and Corben’s work was a particular favorite and inspiration. The album was entitled “Bat Out of Hell” and was credited to “Meat Loaf.” I didn’t know if that was a singer or the name of a band. I had never heard of Meat Loaf before I held this angry red album — depicting a dark and demonic figure on a motorcycle blasting through a cemetery from the depths of Hades in a hail of white hot flame — in my hands. But, this illustration was awesome. The music contained within must be just as cool to warrant such packaging, I thought. As I carried the album up to the cashier, I noticed an unusual line of text in thin white letters at the bottom of the front cover. It read “Songs by Jim Steinman.” I had only seen this appear on some of my parents’ Broadway soundtrack albums, where credit was given to non-performing folks like Oscar Hammerstein or Lorenz Hart for composing the songs. The only songwriting acknowledgment on any of the albums I owned were in tiny letters under the song tiles on the record label — and who reads those?

When I got home, I played “Bat Out of Hell” relentlessly! For weeks… even months! It was like nothing I owned. My mom hated it, requesting that I lower the volume on “that greaser music.” But, I just couldn’t! The intricate, word-heavy lyrics were punctuated by bombastic, layered musical arrangements featuring multiple guitars and keyboards (and tons of other musical instruments) as well as the occasional rough motorcycle engine and rapid-fire baseball play-by-play. It was magical and theatric and sexy and heartbreaking and rebellious — and funny. Yep… it was funny. It was meant to be funny. Jim Steinman — the guy who pompously got his name on the front cover of an album on which he doesn’t even sing — set out to write mini Wagnerian-style operettas for the rock and roll era… with his tongue planted firmly in his cheek. And – BOY! – did he succeed. “Bat Out of Hell” went on to become one of the best selling albums of all time. It still sells well today.

While planning an appropriate follow-up to the wildly successful “Bat Out of Hell,” Meat Loaf was sidelined with vocal chord problems, silencing the singer indefinitely. Jim felt bad for his friend and collaborator, but he felt worse for himself. Now, he had no-one to sing his album’s worth of equally-epic compositions. He decided to attempt the vocals himself. However, Jim was decidedly not a singer. Despite his previous experience of only contributing a few background vocals to a couple of songs on the “Bat Out of Hell” album, Jim was ready to record as a solo. He didn’t posses the power or range of Meat Loaf. As a matter of fact, his voice can be described as “thin” and “strained.” But, Jim was determined. He assembled the same band from “Bat Out of Hell,” including members of Todd Rundgren’s Utopia and members of Bruce Springsteen’s famed E Street Band. He recruited some of the backup singers from “Bat Out of Hell,” including Rory Dodd, who was moved front and center on several songs that Jim couldn’t quite handle. He even tapped Karla DeVito, Meat Loaf’s touring featured vocalist, to tackle the female counter vocal of the duet “Dance in My Pants” — a not-so-veiled homage to the hit “Paradise By the Dashboard Light.” The result of Jim’s drive and persistence was the menacing yet plaintive “Bad for Good,” a 1981 release with every bit of the passion and bravado — and humor — that made “Bat Out of Hell” an instant classic. From its sprawling, nine-minute opening track to its gut-wrenching closer “Left in the Dark” (later covered by Barbra Streisand), “Bad for Good” is the Jim Steinman magnum opus that you never heard of.

Jim went on to a very successful career, writing and producing songs for a wide variety of artists from Sisters of Mercy and Bonnie Tyler to Barry Manilow and Celine Dion. He wrote a long running musical that played for years in Europe, but did not fare as well in the United States. And he worked on and off with Meat Loaf — even duplicating their initial success sixteen years after the release of “Bat Out of Hell.”

After some earlier health issues, Jim Steinman passed away on April 19, 2021 from sudden kidney failure. He was 73.

“Bad for Good” remains one of my favorite albums.

Comments

comments