What do you do with a 362-page anthology of music biographies?
You look up your favorite musicians and study the sections on the music that has always moved you. You may skip the jazz chapter but concentrate on the classical section while devoting extra time to the pages on rock and roll. It’s all relative. One person’s champagne is another’s poison.
The book, entitled The Philadelphia Music Book, was edited by Larry Magid, who opened Philadelphia’s legendary Electric Factory in 1962, and who co-produced Live-Aid, the world’s largest music event, in 1985. Magid, no doubt, selected the artists written about by the eleven or so writers listed as contributors. Some writers, like Larry Platt and Clark DeLeon, are well-known journalists who don’t often write about music, while others are music critics or music producers.
It occurred to me: what musicians didn’t make the cut? But I’ll get to that later.
The majority of the artists profiled might be said to be true Philadelphians, while many spent some time here but cannot be said to be full-time residents. Some of the entries might surprise you since they are known primarily for their acting, but because they engaged in a musical stint or two, they wound up in this book, such as actor Bradley Cooper. As with any anthology, the bios and profiles are somewhat abbreviated and in some cases “sanitized,” but that doesn’t mean that hard truths are avoided, such as reasons associated with a cause of death.
The scope of the book is immense: string bands, classical music, opera, gospel, jazz, blues, crooners, hip hop, rap and American DJ’s to short histories of musical organizations like the Philadelphia Orchestra and the Vocal Arts Academy.
The section on Dick Clark and American Bandstand got me thinking about my interview with Frank Brancaccio in 2014 (Legendary Locals of Center City Philadelphia) when he told me, “Dick Clark had three rules for dancers: no camera hogs, no close dancing, and no dancing with someone of a different color.” To filter out the show’s gays, Clarks sent spies to Rittenhouse Square to see if any of the male regulars were conjuring lavender spirits. Brancaccio also told me that most of the good-looking male American Bandstand regulars were not heterosexual.
The Chubby Checker entry reminded me of the times I passed his house in Chester County while riding in the car with my family as a boy. “The Twist” was an international dance craze in the 1960s that predated Twiggy and New York’s Peppermint Lounge. Not only was my entire eighth grade class doing the Twist, but it was a dance that got your grandparents into the swing of things.
Before Chubby there was South Philly’s famous trio: Fabian, Bobby Rydell and Frankie Avalon. Fabian and Rydell both had great pompadours, the hairstyle of note for males at the time. This was also the age of the transistor radio, a teen-boy “must have,” along with 45 records of hit popular songs like Ed Burns’s Cookie, Cookie Lend Me your Comb. (Burns had no connection to Philly, so he’s not in the book.)
In the classical music world, I recall meeting Leopold Stokowski as a high school student, his shock of white tasseled hair reminiscent of Einstein’s as he walked through a crowd of admirers and photographers. My paternal grandmother introduced me to classical music. She was a lover from way back; her brother was a member of the Philadelphia Orchestra.
The section on Eugene Ormandy called to mind the time I worked as a busboy at the Barclay Hotel on Rittenhouse Square. Ormandy lived in the hotel at that time but I never saw him in the dining room.
In West Chester, Pennsylvania, composer Samuel Barber worked on his classical compositions, while in Center City in a club called the Mystique on Spruce Street, jazz pianist and sometime vocalist Beryl Booker, who accompanied Billie Holiday in Paris, played the piano for patrons when not hanging out with her nephew and me in Chinatown. For years after Booker’s death I tried to get her a plaque on Broad Street’s Music Hall of Fame, but the bureaucracy proved to be too complicated. I was very happy to see her included in the book.
Who can forget the abrupt, tragic ending of singer Jim Croce who died a small plane crash at age 30 in 1973? He was buried in Haym Salomon Memorial Park in Frazer, where I grew up.
Both Ann Crumb, who won a Tony-nomination in 1992 for her portrayal in the title role of the Broadway musical Anna Karenina, and her father, avant-garde composer George Crumb, lived in Media, Pennsylvania. I interviewed both father and daughter in 2010.
Some of that interview:
“These days Crumb divides her time between Media and New York City. Crumb chatted about subletting her beautiful New York apartment, and shared her memories of living in Boulder, Colorado. Having lived in Boulder myself, getting the Diva to open up about her life there was easy. She told me where to find wild horses in the foothills of Boulder’s Rocky Mountains, as well as her impressions of the infamous JonBenet Ramsey house: ‘It’s a beautiful mini-mansion, really quite spectacular with big fences and gardens, but it keeps getting sold. It’s like the people get in there and something chases them out.’”
So many musicians, so little space to mention them all, from John Coltrane, Stan Getz (and his white jazz), Bessie Smith, Ethel Waters, Peggy King, John Legend, and Marian Anderson. There’s also Jaco Pastorius (1951-1987), a composer who also played electric bass. Joni Mitchell said of him: “In a way, I feel like I dreamed Jaco. I mean, he was exactly what I was waiting for, sonically.” Jaco died from head injuries inflicted by a bouncer at a night club.
Listed DJ’s include Pierre Robert, WMMR’s chief DJ for over 40 years. In the 1980s he was a DJ in the Bay Area working under the nom de plume Will Robertson. Raised Catholic, he told Philly Magazine he was “spiritual,” but he liked Buddhas and had them all over his house in Gladwyne. Robert’s cause of death is still officially unknown.
Musicians who didn’t make the cut include Kenn Kweder, noted by many as a Philadelphia musical legend and rock star. Since the late 1970s, I’ve spotted Kweder concert notices on billboards and telephone poles. Such tenacity is to be admired, even if he didn’t make it into the big music book.
Another talent who didn’t make it was Steinway artist Duncan Stearns, who studied under pianist Susan Starr and recorded for the Musical Heritage Society. Stearns, a friend of mine, died in May 2012.
