A Brief History Of The Great "Buckshot La Funke"

In February of 1957, 25-year-old trumpeter Louie Smith recorded a session for the short-lived Transition Records label.  Transition was founded in 1955 in Boston by (soon to be) legendary producer Tom Wilson (Dylan, Zappa, Simon & Garfunkel, etc.)  In its short two-year existence, jazz-centric Transition Records released 20 or so titles, including albums by Donald Byrd and Lucky Thompson, and the debut albums of both Sun Ra and Cecil Taylor.

Unfortunately for Louis Smith, Transition Records folded before his album was released.  But all was not lost:  Wilson sold the master tape to Alfred Lion at Blue Note Records.  In 1958, Blue Note released it as Here Comes Louis Smith (BLP 1584).  Smith released one more album for Blue Note later that same year (Smithville, BLP 1594) before returning to his day job teaching music at Booker T. Washington High School in Atlanta, GA.  He didn't release another record for nearly 40 years.

Which is a shame, because Smith was a fine trumpet player with a warm tone, very much in the mold of his hero, the great Clifford Brown.  Both of Smith's Blue Note LPs are well worth seeking out, although they are not easy to find.  

Mr. La Funke

But I didn't really come here to talk about Louis Smith per se.  I came to talk about the mysterious session man who plays alto sax on Smith's first album.  If you look closely at the players at the bottom left of the album cover (above), you will see that the first name listed is "Buckshot La Funke."  (I'm assuming that 'Funke' is pronounced like 'funk,' although it also works as the two-syllable "funky."  And either way it's hilarious.)  

Jazz fans who picked up Here Comes Louis Smith in 1958 were no doubt as puzzled as I was about the identity of Mr. La Funke.  However, all is (sort of) revealed in the liner notes by noted jazz critic Leonard Feather.  With his tongue firmly in his cheek, Feather notes that "Buckshot La Funke (of the Florida La Funkes) is one of the modern alto giants and has been described by Nat Adderley as 'my favorite soloist and main influence'."  That was more than enough info for most jazz fans to identify La Funke as Nat Adderley's big brother Julian, better known as Cannonball.  However, just in case anyone was still uncertain, Feather adds elsewhere that as a music teacher "Smith shares the profession (with) such distinguished teachers as Cannonball Adderley . . .  who was employed at a school in Ft. Lauderdale, Fla."  So, the mysterious Buckshot La Funke is clearly the great Cannonball Adderley.  (Feather's comments on Here Comes Louis Smith are some of the wittiest liner notes I've ever seen on a jazz album.  Feather keeps the yuks coming when he refers to pianist Tommy Flanagan as being one "of the Detroit Flanagans.")

Cannonball wasn't credited on Smith's Blue Note release because he was under contract with a different record company at the time.  (To be honest, I'm not sure which company that was since Cannonball put out records on at least three different labels in 1958.)  So, as has been done for many other musicians over the years, he is listed with a pseudonym on Here Comes Louis Smith.  It's important to note that pseudonyms aren't the same as nicknames.  Nicknames were very common among jazz musicians, and nicknames like Prez, Bird, Dizzy, Duke, Jug, Satchmo, Cannonball, and Rabbit were often better known than the players' real names.  Pseudonyms, on the other hand, were meant to disguise the identity of the player who sat in on the session, although it usually wasn't long before word got out; aficionados and critics could quickly identify the mystery players by their tone or style of playing.

Other jazz greats who have used pseudonyms include Charlie Parker, who is billed as Charlie Chan on the famous 1958 album Jazz At Massey Hall.  Jackie McLean shows up as Ferris Benda on Art Blakey's 1957 classic Night In Tunisia (right).  Dizzy Gillespie used a lot of fake names, including B. Bopstein, Izzy Goldberg, John Kildare, and several versions of his real given names, John Berks.  Even Leonard Feather (who in addition to being one of the most influential jazz writers/critics ever, was also a fine musician and record producer) gets in on the act.  He turns up as Jelly Roll Lipschitz when he played piano on a 1951 jazz compilation recording on the Folkways label.  Now that's funny.

You have to admire the cleverness of fake names like Buckshot La Funke, in which buckshot plays off Cannonball as a type of ammunition.  Other particularly witty pseudonyms include that of trumpeter Fats Navarro, who is listed as Slim Romero on a 1947 Illinois Jacquet single, and saxophonist Gato Barbieri, who is billed as "Unknown Cat" on an album by Carla Bley.  "Unknown Cat" gets extra credit since Gato is Spanish for cat and jazz musicians were/are often referred to as "cats."  Muddy Waters was credited as Dirty Rivers on a 1964 release by Otis Span.  Finally, special recognition goes to trombonist Jimmy Cleveland for his use of the name Jimmy O'Heigho on The Drum Suite, a 1956 release by Manny Albam and Ernie Wilkins. (Cleveland, O'Heigho. OK, you got it.)

Lots of rock stars have used pseudonyms to get around contractual obligations as well.  The Beatles all used fake names at some point or other so they could give songs to other performers, sit in on albums by friends, or release songs or performances as a lark.  Paul used the name Paul Ramon on several albums and singles (and when booking hotel rooms anonymously).  Paul and wife Linda created the character of a socialite musician named Percy Thrillington and put out an album and a single under his name (left).  (The album was an orchestrated cover version of McCartney's 1971 album Ram.)  Paul later revealed that he wrote the liner notes for the LP Percy Thrillington using the name Clint Harrigan.  John was particularly fond of silly pseudonyms.  Just a few of his many bogus credits are: Dr. Winston O'Boogie (which he used on a cover of "Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds" by Elton John, (left), Booker Table And The Maitre D's (very clever), the Hon. John St. John Johnson, and Johnny Silver.  George used the names George O'Hara and Hari Georgeson, the later no doubt as a nod to his devotion to Eastern religion. (Hari is the Sanskrit word for god, as in Hari Krishna).  Ringo is billed as Richie Snare on Harry Nilsson's 1972 album Son Of Schmilsson.  

Elsewhere in the rock world, Neil Young has famously used the name Bernard Shakey for years.  And Bob Dylan has used numerous pseudonyms, including Blind Boy Grunt, Bob Landy, Tedham Porterhouse, and, most notably, Jack Frost, who is credited on many Dylan albums.

Occasionally old pseudonyms resurface and get repurposed.  In the 1990s, Wynton Marsalis released two albums with a band he called Buckshot LeFunque, clearly an homage to Cannonball Adderley's earlier alter ego.  And in 1974, a group of budding young musicians in Forest Hills, NY started a band called The Ramones, named in honor of Paul McCartney's Paul Ramon character.  The four original members of the Ramones (who weren't related) all took fake names and billed themselves as the Ramone brothers -- Joey, Johnny, Dee Dee, and Tommy.  "Gimme Gimme Shock Treatment" indeed. 

Returning briefly to Louis Smith.  As I mentioned earlier, his two Blue Note albums are well worth seeking out.  Both feature excellent straight-ahead bop and first-rate sidemen, including (in addition to Mr. LaFunke), such notables as Charlie Rouse, Sonny Clark, Art Taylor, and Duke Jordan.

Unfortunately, since Smith was mostly unknown, neither of his records sold well.  As a result, finding copies today is a challenge.  The price of the original 1958 Blue Note release of either LP is in the $1,000-2,000 range.  Beyond that, there are re-pressings of both LPs from 1972 on the "Division of United Artists Records" Blue Note label, as well as three different Japanese reissues of each.  All these reissues are also fairly scarce, with VG+ copies in the $50-60 range.  Your best bet by far for Smithville is the superb 2010 two-disk 45-rpm reissue on the audiophile Music Matters label, which can be found in mint condition for around $50.  For Smith's debut album, Here Comes Louis Smith, your best bet is a 2016 reissue on the Spanish Elemental Music label, which is available for around $20.  It's worth noting that unlike a number of other Spain-based labels that deal in off-copyright, public domain reissues, Elemental's EU Blue Note reissue series is fully licensed.  I assume they are remastered from digital copies, but I have several titles and am pleased with the sound quality and the fit and finish for all of them.  Not taking any chances, the Elemental reissue of Here Comes Louis Smith has a sticker on the front of the shrink that says "Featuring Cannonball Adderley (as "Buckshot La Funke").

Enjoy the music!

Session Man Nicky Hopkins - The Mad Shirt Grinder

LA's famous Wrecking Crew

In a recent post I mentioned that Nashville studio musician Rob Moore has played bass on more than 17,000 sessions.  I'm still trying to wrap my head around that.  

Nashville, of course, is known for the number and quality of studio musicians who have worked with everybody from Elvis to Bob Dylan to Yo-Yo Ma.  The city's top session players were known as the "Nashville A-Team" and were immortalized in the lyrics to John Sebastian's 1966 hit song Nashville Cats:

"Nashville Cats, play clean as country water;  Nashville Cats, play wild as mountain dew;  Nashville Cats, been playin' since they's babies; Nashville Cats, get work before they're two."

Some former and current Nashville Cats include Chet Atkins, Floyd Cramer, Buddy Harman, Norbert Putnam, Vassar Clements, Tommy Jackson, Pete Drake, Owen Bradley, Charlie McCoy, Earl Scruggs, Hank Garland, and Boots Randolph.  My guess is you could put a random group of these guys in a recording studio at lunch time and have a fabulous album done before dinner.  

In addition to the Nashville A-Team, other notable groups of session players included Motown's "Funk Brothers" in Detroit, the "Rhythm Section" and "The Swampers" at Muscle Shoals Studios in Alabama, the "Memphis Group" at Stax Records (the "MG" from Booker T and the MGs), and perhaps the most famous of all, L.A.'s fabled "Wrecking Crew."  The dean of the Wrecking Crew was drummer Hal Blaine, but other notable members included Leon Russell and Glen Campbell.  [Fun fact: the only female session musician from all of these groups (that I'm aware of) was the Wrecking Crew's ace bass player Carol Kaye.]  If you have more than a handful of albums from the 60s and 70s, some of the cats from these session groups played on them.

Nicky Hopkins

The members of the session groups were geographically based, sometimes working for a particularly studio or label, other times hired as needed for studio work or live gigs.  Since session players were usually not credited on the albums they played on, many fans were not aware that their favorite band didn't always perform the music on their songs.  Just off the top of my head I can think of hits by The Beach Boys, Bob Dylan, The Byrds, and (of course) the Monkees that were actually played by session musicians.

In addition to the mostly anonymous players who made up the great studio groups, there were a number of well-known musicians who, in addition to having their own successful careers, were regularly asked by groups to sit in on their albums.  Duane Allman and Eric Clapton contributed unmistakable guitar licks to any number of hit records.  Keyboard player Billy Preston is featured on several Beatles recordings, and sax man Bobby Keys played so regularly with The Rolling Stones that he became a de facto member of the band.

One of the very best of the "star" session players was British pianist Nicky Hopkins, who played on hundreds of albums, including LPs by The Rolling Stones, The Beatles, Cat Stevens, Ella Fitzgerald, Frank Zappa, Jefferson Airplane, Jeff Beck, John Lennon, The Kinks, Quicksilver Messenger Service, and The Who, just to name a few.

Hopkins was born in 1944 in a suburb of London and started playing piano at the age of three.  In his teens he won a scholarship to study classical music at the Royal Academy of Music.  However, in the swinging 60s in the UK, the lure of rock 'n' roll proved to be too great for the 17-year-old Hopkins, who left the Royal Academy to take a job with the pioneering UK rock band "Screaming Lord Sutch and the Savages."  The band's namesake and nominal leader, David Sutch, was known more for his on-stage antics than his musicianship.  His schtick included wearing animal skins and horns on his heads while he raved around the stage.  The band specialized in covers of hits by early rockers like Chuck Berry and Little Richard.  Even though Lord Sutch never really made it big, the group (with an ever changing cast of members) had incredible staying power and lasted for nearly 30 years.  It also turned out to be a proving ground for a generation of UK rock stars.  Hopkins was one of the original members of the group, but other notables who spent some time with Lord Sutch include Jimmy Page, Richie Blackmore, Ian Hunter, Jeff Beck, as well as both other members of Jimi Hendrix's band, Mitch Mitchell and Noel Redding.  

After a stint with Lord Sutch, Hopkins was recruited to join a more established (and serious) group called Cliff Bennett and the Rebel Rousers.  The Rebel Rousers toured extensively, and, like the Beatles, spent several months in 1962 playing at the Star Club in Hamburg, Germany.  After a falling out with leader Bennett, Hopkins hooked up with one of the UK's first serious bluesmen, Cyril Davies.  It was in early 1963, as a member of Cyril Davies And His R&B All-Stars, that Hopkins first began to attract attention from his fellow musicians in London.  

In his excellent 2011 biography of Nicky Hopkins, And On Piano . . . Nicky Hopkins, noted musician/writer Julian Dawson says that blues fans like Mick Jagger, Keith Richards, and Jimmy Page often turned up to catch shows by Cyril Davies and the band.  And in fact, a brand-new group called the Rolling Stones eventually opened several times for the All-Stars.  Hopkins was quickly becoming known as one of the best keyboard players in London and seemed well on his way to fame and fortune.  But alas, not yet.  In May of 1963, the 19-year-old Hopkins was rushed to the hospital with severe abdominal pain.  He was diagnosed with Crohn's Disease and had most of his intestine removed.  The operation initially left him in a coma and then bed-ridden for the next nineteen months, during which he was near death several times.  If that weren't bad enough, while Hopkins was fighting for his life, his boss and bandmate Cyril Davies died in December, 1963 from complications of leukemia.

By the time Hopkins was finally back on his feet, he had been out of the music business for nearly two years.  It was now 1965, and what had been a nascent rock music scene in the UK had exploded with the Beatles, the Rolling Stones, the Kinks, and an ever-growing list of British bands topping the charts worldwide.  London's recording studios were now in overdrive trying to keep up with the soaring demand for new music.  Though Hopkins was not healthy enough to tour, his classical training and experience playing rock and blues with three different bands made him an extremely versatile session man.  What's more, his youth and unassuming manner allowed him to get along with even the most egotistical and volatile rock bands, while his ability to nail piano parts on the first take endeared him to producers and budget-conscious labels.  Hopkins was soon one of the most in-demand players in London.  

On the strength of his studio work, Hopkins was heavily courted by groups to join them on tour.  After three years working nearly non-stop in recording sessions, Hopkins was keen to get back on the road and finally felt physically up to it.  After turning down an offer to join a new group being put together by John Paul Jones and Jimmy Page (!), Hopkins joined the Jeff Beck Group on a tour of the US in the fall of 1968.  He returned with Beck for another leg in early 1969.  When the tour fell apart due to personnel issues in the band, Hopkins was left at loose ends.  The Jefferson Airplane heard he was available and asked him to come out to San Francisco to play on their new album, Volunteers.  Later that summer, after Hopkins had returned to England, the Airplane asked Hopkins if he would fly over and play with them at an outdoor music festival in upstate New York, which is how Hopkins ended up performing at Woodstock.

After spending time with the Airplane, Hopkins quickly became ensconced in the California music scene and became as in demand in the US as he had been in the UK.  Later in 1969 he hooked up with the Steve Miller Band to make an album and then joined the Quicksilver Messenger Service and stayed with them long enough to make three albums in 1969-70.  At the same time, he continued to record regularly in the UK with The Rolling Stones, The Who, Donovan, Rod Stewart, and others. 

In his biography of Hopkins, Dawson includes a 24-page list of albums and singles that Hopkins played on.  The list includes an astonishing number of LPs that would be on anyone's list of the 100 best rock albums of all time.  I hardily recommend Dawson's excellent book, where you can see the entire list.  If you just want to check out a "highlights" version, there is a good one on Nicky Hopkins' official web site here.  If you twisted my arm, my three all-time top Nicky Hopkins albums would be: Who's Next, by The Who; Exile On Main Street, by the Rolling Stones; and Shady Grove, by the Quicksilver Messenger Service.  I suspect you are familiar with the first two, but it's worth having another listen to focus on how Hopkins' piano work enhances the albums.  Check out the incredibly plaintive piano on Pete Townshend's "This Song Is Over" or the raucous barrelhouse piano on Jagger and Richards' "Rip This Joint" (with the added bonus of Bobby Key's extremely tasty sax.)  Shady Grove by Quicksilver may be less familiar, but it may also be Hopkins' best work.  If you don't have a copy, you should get one.  It's certainly a product of its time, recorded in the afterglow of Woodstock in the fall of 1969, but every song showcases Hopkins' prodigious talent.  In particular, the track called "Edward (The Mad Shirt Grinder)," which became Hopkins' signature piece, is a stone cold classic.  

In addition to his contributions to other bands, Hopkins had a modest solo career, releasing three albums.  The first, in 1966, was The Revolutionary Piano Of Nicky Hopkins.  It features slightly cheesy renditions of then-current pop and soundtrack hits done in an easy-listening style.  Do not seek it out.  His second album, 1973's The Tin Man Was A Dreamer, was written entirely by Hopkins and is by far his best solo effort (despite the slightly creepy cover illustration of Hopkins playing a piano with keys made of human fingers.)  As you might expect, Hopkins was able to call on a number of friends and top studio players for the gig, including Klaus Voorman, George Harrison, Ray Cooper, Mick Taylor, Bobby Keys, Jim Horn and Jim Price.  Harry Nilsson provided support in the control room.  The album received mostly positive reviews but sold poorly, perhaps because it lacked a solid single for radio play.  Which is a shame as the songs aren't bad, and the playing is first rate.  The highlight is a re-worked, tighter version of "Edward" (without "Mad Shirt Grinder" in the title this time) that may be better than the original.  Hopkins' final album, No More Changes, was released in 1975, and perhaps the less said about that the better.

It's worth mentioning one last Hopkins LP, a jam session with Mick Jagger, Ry Cooder, Charlie Watts, and Bill Wyman called Jamming With Edward, which was released in 1972.  The tracks were cut in May of 1969 at Olympic Studios in London when Ry Cooder and Hopkins were working with the Rolling Stones on their album Let It Bleed.  Apparently Keith Richards had to leave in the middle of a session because of a domestic issue, and everyone else decided that since they were there anyway, they would just roll tape and jam.  Most of the songs are credited to Hopkins (jointly with others in the group), and the cartoons on the front and back of the jacket were all drawn by Hopkins. 

In his book, Dawson explains the significance of the name Edward, which (you may have noticed) keeps cropping up in relation to Hopkins.  Dawson says it was an inside joke between Hopkins and the Stones that started at a session when Brian Jones yelled across the studio for Hopkins to play an "E" on the piano so he could tune his bass.  When Hopkins didn't hear him clearly, Jones yelled "Nicky, give me an E for Edward!"  Edward became the Stones' sobriquet for Nicky.  So Jamming With Edward was really Jamming With Nicky.  Which, I suppose, means that Nicky is also Edward the mad shirt grinder.  At any rate, while Jamming With Edward/Nicky is a bit shambolic, it's still a fun romp with some fine playing by all concerned.

Later in the 70s, though he continued to record and play regularly, Hopkins descended into years of drug and alcohol abuse.  In the 80s, he joined Scientology and managed to kick his addictions.  [Fun fact:  Hopkins recruited Van Morrison into Scientology, although it apparently didn't stick.]  Hopkins worked steadily throughout the 80s and early 90s, playing on numerous recording sessions and touring with performers such as Joe Cocker, Leo Sayer, Art Garfunkel, and Jerry Garcia.  He lived alternately in England and Los Angeles before moving to Nashville in January of 1994 with his second wife.  Beset with continuing health issues related to Crohn's Disease, he died there in September, 1994 at the age of 50.

Look what I got for Christmas!

Enjoy the music!

Criss Cross Records - The Best Jazz Label You've Never Heard Of

In the wake of World War II, America's political, economic and cultural influence loomed large over Europe.  Jazz music, which U.S. GIs had helped spread throughout the continent, was enormously popular.  After years of unimaginable suffering, death, and destruction, young people in particular were drawn to the spontaneity and freedom of jazz.

Gerry Teekins in 2005

One of the many European youths who became enamored with jazz was a 12-year-old Dutch boy by the name of Gerry Teekens.  In an interview published in 2005, Teekens recalled how in the late 1940s in The Netherlands "Jazz was very popular, even the girls in the street knew (big band leader Stan) Kenton and (saxophone player Lee) Konitz. We had jazz bands for all the school festivities, so I started getting interested in the music and started buying 78s by the Dutch Swing College Band, Bob Crosby, Harry James, Meade Lux Lewis, and then LPs by Erroll Garner, J.A.T.P., (Oscar) Peterson, Blakey, Miles, Trane, Ornette, and all those records on Savoy, Prestige, Blue Note, Impulse, and Riverside."

By the time he finished high school and college in the late 50s, Teekens had become a jazz drummer and spent much of the 1960s gigging around Europe.  However, he finally got married, settled down, and accepted a teaching position, giving up his music career.  But he never lost his love for jazz and remained connected to the jazz scene in his native Holland.  In the late 1970s, Teekens began doing some promotion work, booking jazz bands to play at his school and using his contacts to help organize concerts and tours for American musicians coming to the Netherlands and Europe.  He says: "I brought in guys like Jimmy Raney and his son Doug Raney, Warne Marsh, Lee Konitz, Lou Levy, Teddy Edwards, and Allan Eager.  I also organized concerts with Dexter Gordon and Johnny Griffin, Tete Montoliu with Albert Heath, Barney Wilen, and Peter Ind (Lee Tristano's bassist) plus his group."

Criss Cross Jazz 1001

Teekens organized tours for guitar great Jimmy Raney in 1976 and 1977, and the two developed a good relationship.  In early 1981, Teekens put together a five-week concert tour in the Netherlands.  Accompanying Raney were his son, Doug, (a fine guitarist in his own right), Dutch drummer Eric Ineke, and Danish bassist Jesper Lundgaard.  The band had great chemistry, and the tour was a big success, playing to sold-out audiences around the country.  

Hoping to capture the excellent vibe from the concert tour, Teekens and Raney decided to take the group into a studio to record an album before Raney headed back to the U.S.  The resulting album, Raney '81 (right), became the first ever release for Teekens' new label, Criss Cross Jazz.  Teekens says he chose the name Criss Cross because it described how jazz and jazz musicians traveled back and forth between the US and Europe - crisscrossing the Atlantic.  (And maybe a shout-out to the Thelonious Monk album of the same name?)  Over a period of nearly 40 years, until his death in 2019, Teekens would produce and release more than 400 albums on Criss Cross. 

In the early years of the label, Teekens focused on recording jazz musicians who were touring in Holland or Europe.  For example, in August of 1982, with the North Sea Jazz Festival taking place in the Dutch capital of The Hague, Teekens recruited tenor saxophonist Warne Marsh and the Hank Jones Trio to record a session together. 

Since Marsh's group and Jones's trio were appearing every night at different venues during the festival, Teekens had to find a studio near the city where he could record during the day and still get the musicians to their gigs in the evening.  As luck would have it, he had recently met an optometrist and part-time drummer named Max Bolleman, who had a small home recording studio just outside of the city who was looking for clients.  [Hang on.  An optometrist with a Dutch name who records jazz music in his home studio.  Sounds vaguely familiar, no? Rudy? Rudy Van something?]  

In his recently-published autobiography, called Sounds (photo below), Bolleman recalls that Teekens called him on Thursday and asked if he could do a recording session on Saturday at noon.  Bolleman says he agreed, but forgot to ask who would be coming.  He called back and was floored (and not a little nervous) to learn that one of his first real recording dates would be with an all-star group made up of Warne Marsh, Hank Jones, Mel Lewis, and George Mraz.  Despite the fact that Marsh had never played with any of the other musicians before, Bolleman says they laid down 10 tracks in about five hours before Teekens bundled everyone out the door.  The resulting album, Star Highs (the second release on Criss Cross Jazz, below), was picked by Downbeat magazine as one of the top jazz albums of the year. 

Criss Cross Jazz 1002

After a few years, Teekens got tired of trying to line up visiting musicians for recording sessions and began to make biannual trips to the US where it was much easier to book players for gigs.  For several years, he hired the other Dutch optometrist recording engineer, Rudy Van Gelder, to record his sessions at his New Jersey studio.  Working on a tight schedule, Teekens was able to churn out an album a day for six or eight days straight and generate enough material to provide a year's worth of releases for Criss Cross.  In the late 1980s, in order to save money, Teekens (who operated Criss Cross on a shoestring budget) began booking studio time in New York City and bringing along his buddy Bolleman to engineer the sessions. 

Saxophonist Sam Newsome recorded his first date with Teekens in 1989.  He recalls how "Teekens used to stroll into town during the Christmas holiday with a sack full of record contracts in tow.  He’d stay at a two-star hotel in Union Square, book a studio for two weeks and commence to make a record per day, along with his partner in crime, recording engineer and drummer Max Bolleman."  According to Newsome, Teekens paid the leaders on his dates $1,000, with $500 apiece for the sidemen.  (Which, Newsome adds, wasn't a bad rate for a day's work.)

While Teekens featured many top tier jazz players on his label, including the likes of Chet Baker, Clifford Jordon, Milt Jackson, and Johnny Coles, he also is credited with giving many young players their first break.  David Adler, in a 2003 article about Teekens in All About Jazz, notes that "Most of Criss Cross' artists are American and relatively young, and Teekens' approach to recruiting them couldn't be simpler: 'If I hear someone I like," he says, "I record them, regardless of whether they'll sell.' His track record is remarkable: Kenny Garrett, Steve Wilson, Benny Green, Bill Charlap, Chris Potter, Mark Turner, Kurt Rosenwinkel, Orrin Evans, and Seamus Blake are among those who made either their debuts or their earliest recordings for Criss Cross."

Perhaps because he grew up listening to the classic bebop of the 50s, Teekens liked straight-ahead jazz, nothing experimental or avant garde.  Beyond that, his only rule was that the music had to "swing."  As a result, most Criss Cross releases (especially the early ones) have a kind of house sound -- fluid, no-nonsense bebop with lots of standards.  If you like one title, chances are you'll like them all.  

Criss Cross Records

When I first began to collect Criss Cross LPs, I was struck not only by the fine playing by a lot of cats I had never heard of, but also by the fabulous sound quality.  Sam Newsome says that all of the early albums were recorded live direct to two-track, which accounts for the natural, spontaneous feel of the sessions.  Of course, having Rudy Van Gelder or Max Bolleman at the controls certainly didn't hurt either.  Unfortunately, only the first 39 titles in the Criss Cross catalog (the releases from 1981-1989) were issued on vinyl.  After 1989, Criss Cross releases are CD only.  The LPs, by the way, were all pressed in Holland or Germany, and the quality is outstanding.  Every disk I have is flat and quiet. [12/2022 update: Since I wrote this blog post, Criss Cross has teamed up with Elemental Music to release two more LPs: Brad Mehldau's 2000 album Consenting Adults (2021), and Melvin Rhyne's 1994 release Boss Organ (2022).]

Over the last year or so, I've been on a mission to collect all 39 Criss Cross LPs.  To date, I have 30.  I was lucky enough to score more than half of them from a dealer who had a stash of mint "new old stock."  Most of the LPs are available and not too expensive, though some of the ones I'm still missing are proving hard to find in good condition.  If all else fails (and once we're allowed to travel again), it would make a great excuse to plan a trip to Holland to see if I can track down the remaining titles.  In the meantime, if you run across any Criss Cross titles, don't hesitate to give them a try even if you've never heard of the musicians.  Teekens had excellent taste.

Max Bolleman (who recently retired), went on to become one of the most in-demand recording engineers in Europe and worked on lots of great albums -- in addition to the many sides he did with Teekens for Criss Cross Jazz.  His book (left) is filled with great stories of his years in the studio recording the famous and not so famous.  It includes a priceless tale about the time Rudy Van Gelder threw him out of his Englewood Cliffs, NJ studio because he thought Bolleman was trying to steal information about his recording techniques and mic placements (he was).

Finally, I'm happy to note that Criss Cross Jazz is alive and well and is now being run by Teekens' son, Gerry Jr.  Next year (2021) will mark their 40th anniversary as a label.  You can check out their excellent website and the more than 400 releases in the Criss Cross catalog here.

Enjoy the music!

Ramsey Lewis VS. The Jazz Police

How do we feel about Ramsey Lewis? 

I ask because a few weeks ago I picked up a nice used copy of the 1966 release Swingin' by the Ramsey Lewis Trio.  It's an intriguing combination of cool jazz, blues, and classical, played with panache and youthful exuberance.  It sounds more than a little like early stuff by The Modern Jazz Quartet or The Chico Hamilton Group.  The eclectic mix of tracks on the album includes "My Funny Valentine," the Habanero aria from the opera Carmen, the Yiddish classic "Bie Mir Bist Du Schoen," Gerry Mulligan's "Limelight," as well as three originals by Lewis and Young.  

But hold the phone.  By 1966, Ramsey Lewis was well into his contemporary jazz pop phase and was no longer playing straight ahead jazz.  So what the heck is going on?

I'm glad you asked.  I have about 30 albums by Ramsey Lewis.  When I found Swingin', I was pretty sure I didn't have a copy.   I certainly didn't recall the photo on the front of the jacket.  As it turns out (and I would have realized this if I had read the liner notes) Swingin' is a 1966 reissue of the trio's 1956 debut album called Gentle-Men Of Swing (right).  In addition to Ramsey on piano, the original trio featured Isaac "Red" Holt on drums and Eldee Young on bass.  It was an auspicious debut that announced to the jazz world that these three young guys from Chicago had a fresh sound and, more importantly, something worthwhile to say.

And they said it a lot, releasing 20 albums by the end of 1965, including three each in 1960, 1961, 1962, and 1963.  Many are noteworthy for the unusual, wide-ranging choice of songs.  The group liberally mixed together folk melodies, gospel songs, nursery rhymes, soundtracks, current Broadway and pop hits, Bossa Nova, soul, and even some country western.  

The trio's style was generally mainstream, with some cool poly-rhythmical bass and drums.  The majority of the tracks clock in at only three to four minutes; there isn't much stretching out on these early albums.  But even if nothing like a hot jam session ever threatened to break out, Lewis and his band mates were clearly talented jazz musicians who could swing.  They competed for record sales with piano trios like Oscar Peterson and (fellow Chicagoan and ARGO label-mate) Ahmad Jamal.  In short, their jazz bona fides were solid.

After a decade together, the group had a loyal fan base and steady albums sales.  They were a popular fixture at Chicago clubs and also toured and played at venues like Birdland and the Village Vanguard in New York.  But their big commercial break came with their 17nd (!) album, the 1965 release called The In Crowd.  The record was recorded live during a three-night stand at the Bohemian Cavern club in Washington, D.C.  The instrumental version of the title track (which had been a big hit for singer Dobie Gray earlier in 1965) made it to number five on the Hot 200 Chart, and all the way to number two on the R&B chart.  The album won a Grammy for Best Instrumental Jazz Performance.  And more importantly, the light jazz treatment of current pop hits that made The In Crowd such a hit proved to be the winning formula to propel Ramsey Lewis to a string of chart-topping albums and a massive new audience.  As Lewis noted in an interview years later: "All of a sudden this huge hit was on the chart, and we were up there in the Top Five with Elvis Presley, The Beatles, Barbra Streisand . . . So of course our money just sky-rocketed.  And suddenly we were making five to ten times more than we had been.  So I guess, while it did take time to get used to that, those are certainly days that I'll always remember." 

From bottom: Ramsey Lewis, Eldee Young, and Red Holt

Alas, as is often the case, the trio didn't survive their sudden celebrity and the huge infusion of cash that followed.  In an interview with Down Beat magazine, Lewis mentions growing artistic differences as a reason for the breakup and says: "We weren't relating to each other musically."  Which may very well be true.  But apparently another factor was that Young and Holt were unhappy that Lewis was getting most of the attention that accompanied the group's new-found fame.  As a result, the trio broke up before they could record a follow-up to their hit album.  Young and Holt left to form their own group, The Young-Holt Trio, which was renamed Young-Holt Limited after about a year.  They put out some 10 albums of R&B and soul jazz, and had one top five hit with the catchy "Soulful Strut."  Lewis, meanwhile, quickly rebuilt his trio with veteran musician Cleveland Eaton on bass and session man Maurice White on drums.  [Years later, White would go on to become a founding member of the group Earth, Wind, And Fire.]

Lewis and his label wasted no time getting the new trio into the studio to take advantage of the chart-topping success of The In Crowd.  The newly-formed group released five albums in the next two years, and a total of 10 albums before the end of the decade.  It is worth noting that following The In Crowd, Lewis no longer billed his group as the Ramsey Lewis Trio.  From now on, it was just Ramsey Lewis.  

In retrospect, I feel certain that Swingin' -- the album I picked up recently -- was reissued by the label in 1966 to cash in on the popularity of The In Crowd.  No doubt they were counting on the fact that lots of new fans wouldn't notice that Swingin' was a reissue of the group's first album.  However, I have to assume that most fans of The In Crowd were disappointed if they expected Swingin' to be a follow-up album.

1975's Sun Goddess

Back at the ranch, things were going great for Lewis.  He was now a huge popular success, selling more albums than ever, and, by his own admission, making lots more money than ever.  In the 70s, Lewis expanded his group to a septet and began to experiment with fusion, electronic, and soul jazz.  Many of his 70s releases, including the 1975 hit album, Sun Goddess, went gold.  (Not my favorite musically, but one of the all-time great album covers, at left.)  Lewis continued recording well into the 2000s and also devoted considerable time and energy into teaching and promoting jazz education.  In 2007, he was named a Jazz Master by the National Endowment for the Arts.  However, if you're thinking there must be a fly somewhere in the ointment, you'd be right.

Despite his growing popularity, after The In Crowd, Lewis lost nearly all of his street cred.  Fellow jazz musicians and critics viewed Lewis as a sellout with his shift to a watered-down jazz/pop style.  In a 1982 review, critic Brian Harrigan wrote that Lewis's once brilliant technique was "totally submerged by the presence of horn sections, additional keyboards, backing singers and - although I didn't actually hear it - probably someone taping on the side of a kitchen sink."  In a 1993 review, Down Beat magazine said "[His] acoustic piano breezes blandly through a set of diluted pop tunes and insipid originals, lightly scattering bluesy signature riffs upon the tepid waters."  Ouch. 

Lewis mostly shrugged off the negative press, saying that he had been mixing jazz and pop from the start.  In a 2013 interview, he says that after The In Crowd, "The jazz police disowned us.  But at the same time, people like Duke Ellington and Oscar Peterson would come by and put their arms around us and say you guys have something unique, stick with what you have."  Presumably the ever-increasing royalty checks helped assuage any remaining hurt feelings.  

Ramsey Lewis in 2020

While I understand the reaction by the "jazz police" when Lewis decided to follow the money starting in the mid 1960s, it's hard to blame him.  Except for a handful of marquee musicians like Dave Brubeck, Miles Davis, and Stan Getz, most jazz musicians in the 50s and 60s were just trying to make ends meet.  And when it comes right down to it, Lewis's jazz/pop albums like The In Crowd, Wade In The Water, and Dancing In The Streets, are great fun to listen to.

After playing my newly-acquired copy of Swingin' (which, by the way, wasn't a total loss since the reissue is a stereo version to go with my original mono copy of Gentle-Men Of Swing), I pulled out a few more of Lewis's early albums, including Down To Earth from 1959 (maybe my favorite album by Lewis) and Barefoot Sunday Blues from 1963.  I hadn't listened to these LPs in a while, and I was struck by how Lewis, Young, and Holt had carved out a really interesting niche with their jazz treatment of folk, blues, and gospel.  

To date, Ramsey Lewis has recorded more than 80 albums.  Most of them are readily available for no more than $10 in VG+ or NM condition.  I frequently see his albums in the dollar bins or priced at $3 to $5 at used record stores.  Nearly anything from the 1950s or 60s is worth picking up.  And while I'm not a big fan of 1975's Sun Goddess, it's worth a few bucks just to have the great cover.

Enjoy the music!

Flim & the BB's - The Case Of The Disappearing Debut Album

A couple of months ago I was reading the new issue of Record Collector magazine. It's by far the best magazine on the planet for vinyl collectors, with dozens of reviews of new and re-released vinyl, extensive notes about upcoming releases, regular columns about rare and unusual vinyl, features on vinyl collectors, as well as in-depth articles about music and musicians. Since the magazine is based in London and gets mailed from the UK, my copies tend to arrive about a month after publication.  That's usually not a problem. But from time to time, I'll open the magazine and find out about a new release -- maybe an obscure pressing or limited edition -- and break into a cold sweat that I may have missed my chance to grab a copy. At the very least I'm likely to yell, "Why wasn't I informed that this was coming out on vinyl?" and sprint to my computer to see if I can find a copy of the release before the Ebay resellers buy them all up and double the price.  

My most recent shriek came after seeing an ad announcing the release of a vinyl version of a 1983 CD-only album called Tricycle by the terrifically-talented group Flim & the BB's. Flim and the what? Exactly. In the 1970s in Minneapolis, bass player Jimmy "Flim" Johnson hooked up with a couple of other studio musicians named Billy Barber (piano) and Bill Berg (drums), and created a jazz group they whimsically called Flim & The BB's. (Billy Barber, Bill Berg = BB's, OK, you got it.) Woodwind/reed player Dick Oatts was an integral part of the group as well, but his name wasn't part of the group's name because (I'm guessing) Flim & the BB's and Oatts just didn't have the right ring to it.

Their music is best described as fusion or contemporary jazz, which would normally make me run for the hills. But these guys are different: They are inventive, technically superb, and seem to always inject a touch of whimsy into their playing. As one reviewer put it, "They're playing is the perfect combination of tight and loose." The whimsy shows up in the band's name of course, but also in their album titles and artwork.

Tricycle was the first release by Flim and the boys on the DMP (Digital Music Products) label, created in 1982 by Minneapolis-based engineer and digital music pioneer Tom Jung.  Jung was a veteran recording engineer and producer, who, along with partner Herb Pilhofer, founded Sound 80 Studios in the Twin Cities in 1969. [Fun fact: In 1978, Bob Dylan rejected the over-produced New York sessions for his new album Blood On The Tracks and decided to re-recorded the entire album at Sound 80 Studios in Minneapolis. Bill Berg was the cat called in to play the drums.] Between 1983 and 1988, Flim & the BB's released five studio albums (Tricycle, Tunnel, Big Notes, Neon, and The Further Adventures of) and one best-of collection on the DMP label. Their last two albums (New Pants and This Is A Recording) were released by Warner Brothers in 1990 and 1992. None of their catalog has ever appeared on vinyl before, which is why I was so excited to see that Tricycle was being released as a two-disk set cut at 45 RPM.  

Flim & the BB's seven studio albums in chronological order starting at top left.

I quickly went online to find a copy of the LP and discovered it was being reissued by the in-akustik (sic) label from Germany. Copies were scarce, and I couldn't find any offered by a dealer in the U.S. There were several copies available from Germany and the U.K., but with postage, the price was going to be upwards of $70-80. I sent off a couple of email enquiries to dealers in Germany about shipping times while I kept looking. After a couple of days I found a copy offered by a dealer in California and immediately ordered it. It arrived about a week later.  The sound is incredible. I already knew that the CD had stunning sound, including some of the lowest bass notes I've ever heard on record. (Flim Johnson plays a five-string bass, and the lowest string is tuned to low B at around 30 Hz. Combined with Berg's kick drum, the bass will give your subwoofers a great workout.) But as paradoxical as it sounds, converting the digital recording to vinyl somehow adds a layer of realism, warmth, and texture that makes the music even more wonderful and compelling. It's the kind of listening experience that leaves me shaking my head and muttering "Wow!" over and over.  

There is no indication of where the disk was pressed, but I suspect it may be MY45, a facility based in Tiefenbach, Germany that specializes in limited, high-quality releases. The Direct Metal Master was cut by Hendrik Pauler at Pauler Acoustics in Northeim, Germany. Pauler Acoustics is owned by Hendrik's brother, Gunther, who also owns Stockfisch Records.

Back to our mystery story. In the 80s and 90s I bought all of Flim & the BB's CDs and assumed I owned the entire catalog. So imagine my surprise when about 20 years ago I was at a used record store and came across an LP titled Flim and the BB's (note the 'and' instead of the '&'), which was released in 1978 on the Sound 80 Records label. What the heck?

The copy I found was in NM/NM condition, and though it was a little pricey, of course I had to have it. (I don't recall what I paid, but it was nothing like now, when NM copies are going for $150 or more.) The front of the jacket hypes the record as "A Special Direct-To-Digital Recording." It was one of the earliest digital recordings released in the Unites States, and the liner notes contain a lengthy explanation of the technology. All well and good, but my real question was how come I never heard of the album or knew that they had released a record before they signed with DMP? And why does Sound 80 Records sound vaguely familiar?

A little sleuthing turned up the answers. In the mid 1970s, a few years after Flim & the BB's got together, and just a few miles down the road, the Minnesota Mining and Manufacturing Company (better known as 3M) was hard at work trying to develop a digital recording system for use in music studios. According to the liner notes in Tricycle by Flim Johnson, "When 3M techs got tired of listening to oscillator test tones, they would ask us to come down and play some music into their latest box of integrated circuits. Early results were . . . well . . . interesting."

In the spring of 1978, 3M was ready to test their creation and installed a prototype digital recorder at Sound 80 Studios. (Aha!) The first recording they made was of the Saint Paul Chamber Orchestra playing Aaron Copeland's "Appalachian Spring" and Charles Ives' "Three Places In England." The LP was supposed to be a direct-to-disk recording, that is, a live recording cut directly to a lacquer. (The lacquer is what is used to create a metal master from which stampers are made to press records.) The direct-to-disk process cuts out the transfer from a tape recording to the lacquer. Skipping this step can create a more immediate and realistic-sounding recording. (I have a number of direct-to-disk records, and the sound is generally fantastic.) However, recording direct-to-disk means there is no way to remix or correct anything. What you hear is what you get. If the orchestra makes a mistake, they have to start all over again.

  

To test the new 3M digital recording console, it was set to run in parallel to the direct-to-disk recording so that 3M's technicians could compare the digital sound to a state-of-the art analogue pressing. Apparently everyone was blown away at how much better the digital copy sounded. No doubt it was the first time most of them had ever heard the startling effect of digital's wider dynamic range and vanishingly low signal-to-noise ratio, as well as the absence of any surface or background noise. So they decided to scrap the direct-to-disk record and release it as a digitally recorded LP. The result (above) was the first digital recording issued by Sound 80 Records (catalog number S80-DLR-101). It became the first digital LP ever to win a Grammy award.

Next up for the studio was a planned direct-to-disk recording with Flim and the BB's. Once again, 3M's techs ran the digital recorder in parallel with the analogue recording. And once again the digital copy was judged to sound better than the direct recording and was used to cut the lacquer for the record. The album Flim and the BB's was put out as a limited release and became the second ever digital LP from Sound 80 Records (catalog number S80-DLR-102). Flim Johnson explains why the album became so rare in the liner notes to Tricycle: "In '78 we actually did a 'direct-to-digital' recording using one of these prototype (digital) machines. That machine worked quite well, but was soon dismantled, making our master tape obsolete. No machine could decode that particular code. The record (Flim & The BB's) became a collectors item by default."  

Since the digital master tape could no longer be decoded, there was no way to reissue the album or convert it to CD. It would be interesting to know how many copies were pressed, but however many it was, there will never be any more. So, there you have it: The mystery of the disappearing debut album is solved.

Let's hope that in-akustik in Germany releases more of the original DMP catalog on vinyl in the future. I've sent an email asking them to please keep me posted so I won't have any more surprises. My heart can't take it.

Last fun facts: 

Bassist Jimmy "Flim" Johnson (below) has played on countless standout sessions with everyone from Stan Getz to Ray Charles. Since 1991, he has recorded and toured regularly with James Taylor.

Drummer Bill Berg (below), who was never credited for his work on Blood On The Tracks, is a native of Hibbing, Minnesota, birthplace of Bob Dylan. He now lives in western North Carolina where he plays gigs from time to time.

 

Pianist, composer, filmmaker, screenwriter (etc., etc.) Billy Barber (below) wrote the theme song for the long-running ABC soap opera All My Children, along with a whole bunch of other stuff you've probably heard of.

Enjoy the music!

I Owe Leo Sayer An Apology

I'd like to take this opportunity to say "I'm sorry" to Leo Sayer for ignoring him for the last 50 years.  Until very recently, I never owned any of his albums or really paid any attention to him whatsoever.  As a devotee of serious rock 'n' roll like the Beatles, Stones, CSNY, The Allman Brothers, The Who, etc., I lumped Sayer in with soft rock icons like The Captain & Tennille, Seals & Crofts, Gilbert O'Sullivan, and whoever did that godawful song called "Afternoon Delight."  Sure, back in the mid 70s I heard Sayer's hit singles "You Make Me Feel Like Dancing" and "When I Need You" on the radio about every five minutes, but I didn't rush out and buy them or the album they were featured on, Endless Flight.

But life is funny sometimes.  A few weeks ago I put on my mask and ventured out of the music cave quarantine to a nearby antiques mall which has a couple of used vinyl dealers.  It's one of my regular haunts, and I usually go by every couple of months to see what's new.  With the virus, I've been doing all my vinyl shopping online, so hadn't been there in about six months.

As luck would have it, one of the dealers had an amazing sale going on, offering any 20 albums for $15.  Seventy-five cent records?  Yes, please.  

Unfortunately for me, the sale had been going on for nearly a month, so the selection was a little picked over.  Nevertheless, I managed to find 60 albums in pretty short order.  I got some nice jazz titles, a couple of albums by French crooner Charles Aznavour, a handful of minty classical LPs, a bunch of R&B (that I enjoy but don't listen to all that much), and 10-12 rock albums that I already own but bought anyway because the copies looked cleaner than mine.  And I also found 12-15 albums by performers that (as I mentioned in a post from last year about the New Christy Minstrels) I'm normally sort of embarrassed to buy.  One of these was Leo Sayer's 1976 album Endless Flight.  To be honest, the main reason I bought it was because it looked absolutely pristine -- like it just came out of the rack at Tower Records in 1976.  I have an archaeological interest in just about any 45-year-old album that looks brand new.

With so many albums languishing in my intake pile, it normally would have been months before Endless Flight resurfaced.  However, I knocked over a pile of records that were stacked near my desk, and the cover (above, of Leo in midair) caught my eye.  So I thought "what the heck," cleaned it and gave it a spin.  

The first thing I noticed was that the musicians are tight.  The band is locked in like session pros from the The Wrecking Crew.  And then I noticed the sound; the production is excellent, with a natural sound stage and great dynamics.  So I grabbed the dust sleeve to check the credits.  Holy cow!  Everybody plays on this thing, including Lee Ritenour, Ray Parker, Nigel Olsson, Trevor Lawrence, Chuck Rainey, Steve fricking Gadd, Larry Carlton, Willie Weeks, Jeff Porcaro, Michael Omartian, Bill Payne, and Lee Sklar, just to name about half.  Well, hell, no wonder it sounds so good.  

Sayer and Producer Richard Perry

Next I checked the technical credits.  It was produced by Richard Perry, who has helmed more than 800 albums ranging from Ringo Starr to Carly Simon to Rod Stewart to Captain Beefheart.  The album was engineered by veterans Bill Schnee and Howard Steele, and mastered by Brian Gardner at Allen Zentz Mastering in San Clemente, CA.  It's on the Warner Brothers label.  With so many ace session guys, a first-rate production team, and a custom, full-color dust sleeve, this was a big-budget production that the label clearly supported.

At this point I started to pay a little more attention to the music.  By the end of the record it hit me that this is not only an exceptionally well-produced and well-played album, the songs are really good.  I don't mean Bob Dylan Blonde On Blonde good for Pete's sake, but well-crafted pop songs that Sayer really nails.  He wrote or co-wrote about half the songs, and others were penned by pros like Carol Bayer Sager, Andrew Gold, Barry Mann, and Motown's Holland-Dozier-Holland team.

I don't want to go overboard.  It's not my new favorite album, and I'm not planning to run out and buy Sayer's entire back catalog.  But listening to Endless Flight reminded me once again that some of the music that I am kind of embarrassed to admit I own, is actually really good stuff.  No question I will pull this out from time to time to enjoy.

Daltrey, from 1973

Since I knew next to nothing about Sayer, I did a little research.  He was born in Sussex, England in 1948, and like a lot of the UK's future rock stars (John Lennon, Keith Richards, Freddy Mercury, Jimmy Page, David Bowie, and Pete Townshend for starters), he went to an arts college where he studied art and design.  In the early 70s, he started co-writing songs with David Courtney (who later produced Sayer's first two albums), and the pair had their first top ten single in 1973 with a song called "Giving It All Away" off of Roger Daltrey's self-titled solo album, Daltrey (left).  In addition to the hit single, Sayer and Courtney co-wrote a total of 10 of the 12 songs on the album, while Courtney played guitar and piano and also produced the album.  That same year, Sayer released the first of his own singles (once again produced by Courtney).  The second one out of the gate, "The Show Must Go On," made it to number 2 on the UK pop charts.  In 1974, Sayer had several more top ten singles in the UK, and his first top ten single in the U.S.  His early albums also sold well, including Just A Boy, which made it to number 16 in the U.S. in 1974.

Sayer's breakout success came with the release of Endless Flight, which reached number 4 in the UK and number 10 in the U.S. album charts.  (Though released at the end of 1976, the album and the singles from it charted in 1977.)  Two singles from the album,"You Make Me Feel Like Dancing" and "When I Need Love," were both number one hits in the U.S.  "You Make Me Feel Like Dancing" ended up being the number 13 best-selling single of 1977.  By way of comparison, the number one Billboard hit that year was the cringe-worthy "Tonight's The Night" by Rod Stewart.  I know which one I'd rather hear on the radio every five minutes. 

Sayer's next few albums did well, but by the early to mid 80s he had mostly dropped from sight.  He had a series of financial and legal problems due a larcenous agent and corrupt financial advisers.  (In a 2019 article in The Times of London, Sayer says he lost five million pounds.)  However, he continued to record and had chart hits in the UK as recently as 2006.  In 2005 he moved to Australia, and became and Australian citizen in 2009.  He continues to write and record in his home studio.  His latest release from 2019 is called Selfie.

Sayer in a 2019 photo.

Once again, my apologies to Leo Sayer, but better late than never.

Enjoy the music!