OUTLAW BLUES

I'm writing this week's column on April Fool's Day. I played with the idea of making up a totally bogus tale of me playing drums with Nirvana when they needed a quick fill-in one night, or a story about me ending up cuddling on a couch with Scarlett Johansson at a party, just to see if I could make it believable. But I told my (totally true) April Fool's stories in the last column, so it seemed a little too late to address that subject again this week.

Besides, I tried fabricating a bogus 'sex' story about a rock star a few months ago and most of you saw right through that one (see earlier blog: "It's Time to Play To Tell The Truth".)

So I'll just say 'Happy April Fool's Day' to everybody and we'll move on.

Actually, I'm just stalling here. This will probably be the hardest blog I've had to write, for the simple reason that I have no idea how it will turn out. And after you've read it, how it will be received. I had planned on using it multiple times in the past, but kept tossing it out as not really having a 'payoff' at the end. Nothing special happened, it's not an overall positive memory for me, and I don't even recall a lot of the details. The story makes me look kind of foolish actually, but as I teased it last week, it's more of a profile of what can happen when someone becomes too much of a "groupie."

In this case, the 'someone' involved was me.

Southern Rock was a term that came about just around the time I was working radio in Buffalo. The Allman Brothers were probably the first (or at least the most popular) of the bands that came out of the south playing guitar-oriented rock with a country twang, but MANY others followed: Lynyrd Skynyrd, The Charlie Daniels Band, Molly Hatchet, The Marshall Tucker Band.

As an aside,I just noticed something interesting: many of these groups used 'singular' names, though no person of that name was in the band (i.e., there was no one named Marshall Tucker or Molly Hatchet in those groups and Lynyrd Skynyrd was just a play on the name of that group's high school gym teacher.)

Anyway, for some odd reason, this Southern Rock phenomenon was highly popular in the least expected places, Western New York state being one of them. The Allman Brothers were still pretty much A-listers and toured the area on a regular basis, as did Skynyrd, especially following the success of their live album in 1976.

The Outlaws were kind of a 'second-tier' Southern Rock band, not as well-known as the aforementioned, but still fairly popular, thanks to two songs that got a lot of airplay. (And still do, as you may know if you're an XM junkie like myself:) "There Goes Another Love Song" and the southern rock anthem "Green Grass and High Tides."

'High Tides' was kind of the Outlaws' answer to Skynyrd's classic "Freebird", one of the top three or four requested songs during my entire radio career, and personally I always preferred it.

So here I was, young radio DJ/ music director, with easy access to any concert at any time and if there was a show scheduled somewhere in town, and I had nothing special to do and no big games to watch, I'd more often than not find myself somewhere in that theatre or auditorium, checking out the show with a friend or hanging out backstage grabbing free munchies.

Having enjoyed the Outlaws' handful of hits, and with obviously no other plans one pleasant May evening, I dragged someone or other with me to see their show at the ever-popular Century Theatre on Buffalo's Main Street, the building owned and operated by Harvey Weinstein (and again we can refer to my 'To Tell the Truth' blog for details of my one-time meeting with the future felon!)

Probably due to the altruism of the local record rep, I was given front row seats...

Still another Southern Rock group, .38 Special, was the opening act. I recall nothing about their set at all. (Tell you the truth, I didn't even remember them being on the bill until I looked up the show today!)

Sea Level was the second band on the bill. This was a kind of Southern Rock/ Jazz/ Instrumental fusion group that included a few members of the Allman Brothers Band, and was fronted by their keyboard player, Chuck Leavell, hence the band's name: Sea Level. (C. Leavell--see what they did there?) Well, you know what happens when you try to be everything to everyone--it usually doesn't work. Their melodic, yet droning sound had me asleep in that front row by their second song. I will always recall waking up suddenly and seeing their bass player glaring down at me. Or at least it seemed like he was. Either way, the sight of a huge, angry musician staring at me from up on stage was enough to keep me awake for the remainder of their uninspiring set.

Then came the headline act: The Outlaws. Maybe it was the fact that they exuded so much energy after the previous act was so dull; maybe being in the front row made it easy for me to quickly absorb that energy. Or maybe they were just that good.

In any case, by the second or third song I was rockin' where I sat, and by the time they started playing their hits I was hooked.

But something bothered me: one of their guitarists (I believe they had three!) stood at center stage, proudly performing his electrifying solos--wearing a Philadelphia Flyers hockey jersey!

This greatly disturbed me. Always a connoisseur of sports jerseys, I felt it a grave error for this guy to be wearing a jersey depicting the wrong city! I was not a Buffalo native, nor a fan of the Sabres but had I been either, I would have been highly insulted. So I felt it was my duty as a representative of the city's top rock station, and a major hockey fan, to let this guitarist know he had made a major fashion faux pas.

I don't recall going backstage that night (I may have been afraid of running into Sea Level's bass player!) But the Outlaws were scheduled to play the Niagara Falls Convention Center, another area venue, about six months later; in the interim, I read up on the band and discovered that the guitarist with the fashion issues was named Billy Jones and he hailed from Tampa, Florida, as did most of the band. I made it my business to acquire tickets and backstage passes for this show in order to scold Billy Jones about proper hockey jersey etiquette.

My brother and his friend were visiting that weekend so I brought them along, figuring a backstage visit would be kind of exciting for them. It was, and after the show (in which I don't believe any hockey jerseys were worn,) we waited for the band to come out of their dressing room, enjoying the free backstage buffet in the meantime.

The Outlaws finally emerged to meet their guests and it didn't take long for me to introduce myself to Billy Jones. After shaking hands and chatting about the show, I decided to bring up the concert in Buffalo earlier in the year.

"You know, you were wearing the wrong jersey."

"How's that?"

"Well you were in Buffalo, and the team there is the Sabres. But you were wearing a Philadelphia Flyers jersey. Wrong city, wrong team!"

Being from the south, Billy wasn't what you'd call a hockey purist. I believe he even thought that Philadelphia and Buffalo were close to each other. They are not, of course.

On the whole, Billy seemed like a nice, polite kid, maybe a few years older than me. I just didn't think he was very bright.

I finished my visit and told him I'd see him soon. I was able to catch up to the Outlaws a few more times, once even being invited to dinner with them at a local restaurant. Billy introduced me to the rest of the band, including their frontman, Hughie Thomasson, who greeted me politely but cooly, probably not sure who I was exactly, and why I was invited to their private dinner.

There's a picture, probably somewhere in my museum of a home, of Billy Jones with his hands around my neck, making believe he's strangling me over a long dinner table while the rest of the Outlaws look on with interest. If I knew where that pic was, trust me, I'd post it.

The pinnacle of my relationship with the band came at a show in Rochester a month later. Finding out that they were scheduled to play there, I once again got my hands on two tickets plus the all-important backstage passes; I then went to a local sporting goods store and purchased a white Buffalo Sabres hockey jersey.

(Yes, I realized that Rochester was not Buffalo, but much like in Connecticut, one is either a Mets, Yankees, or Red Sox fan; so in Western New York, everybody loves the Sabres and the Buffalo Bills!)

I don't remember how much it was but you have to remember that back then, team jerseys were not something many fans could buy. Nowadays, it's almost rare to see a patron at any sporting event not wearing a jersey, t-shirt or hoodie with the team name or logo on it, especially at hockey games, where jerseys seem to be adorned by more than half the crowd. But back in the day, you had to search out stores that would actually sell them. As a matter of fact, the jersey had no logo; I had to purchase that separately!

I got tickets and passes to the show and headed to Rochester. And yes, it marked the return of Paula and me to the site of our previous adventure with Bruce Springsteen (see "Me and the Underbite", the first installment of this blog!) Believe it or not, on the drive down, Paula bless her heart, using a needle and thread, sewed the big blue Sabres logo on to the jersey. By the time we got to the venue, it was ready. We got to Rochester's War Memorial, found our seats and enjoyed the Outlaws for the third time in a year.

You are all probably aware of the format for most big concerts: 90-120 minute show, with the band saving two or three of their most popular tunes in their back pocket; then they leave the stage, the crowd claps, cheers, and holds up lighters until the band returns to satisfy us with those last couple of hits (although now i think kids use those phosphorescent arm bands to call for the encore instead of BIC lighters...)

When the Outlaws left the stage to enjoy the crowd's demand for an encore, I grabbed the hockey jersey, jumped out of my seat and headed to the backstage area. I got there pretty quickly and found the band standing in the wings, waiting to go back on and satiate the crowd with their anthem, "Green Grass and HIgh Tides". I greeted everybody quickly, then came face-to-face with Billy Jones--and I had to get right in his face, since the racket the crowd was making made it hard to converse.

"Billy, here, I brought you a Buffalo Sabres jersey. Put it on."

He took it and looked at it, then shook his head. "No, man, I'm okay."

"C'mon, Billy, the crowd will go nuts. You wore the wrong jersey in Buffalo, wear the right one now..."

I could tell he was really under pressure, not wanting to wear the shirt, but at the same time wanting me to leave so he could get back on stage. I could see the rest of the band watching us with mild amusement. I sucked up all my courage and gave it one last try: "OK, Billy," I shouted over the din. "Either put the jersey on, or go out there and dedicate "Green Grass and High Tides to me!"

I'm not sure what gave me the cajones to give this nationally-known rock guitarist an ultimatum, but it worked. He looked at me with exasperation and grabbed the jersey.

"Gimme it," he shouted back, and with that, he pulled it over his head and joined his bandmates for the encore. I usually don't like giving orders or putting people under pressure, but once again my sense for what works on stage took over. I just knew that wearing that jersey, especially donning it just in time for the high-intensity encore, would be a hit with the Rochester crowd. And it was confirmed when I heard the roar go up as the Outlaws took the stage for their finale.

Now maybe the crowd would have been just as amped had Billy not worn the jersey...but I knew I was right the next day. Paula and I had stayed overnight, and the next morning I bought a paper in the hotel lobby, quickly turning to the entertainment section of the Rochester Democrat and Chronicle.

And there it was: a glowing review of last night's Outlaws show and an appreciative mention of the fact that lead guitarist Billy Jones had worn a Buffalo Sabre jersey for the encore....

Zelig strikes again!

All of a sudden, much as I felt about the Madcats the year before, (see earlier blog: "Mad About the Cats"--geez, I just love referencing my earlier works! :0 ) I suddenly thought that maybe this band, popular as they were, needed newer and fresher management. And maybe I could find a way to boost these guys to a more visible role in the rock world.

I thought a found that way when their next album came out.

**************************************

"Playin' To Win" was the next Outlaws release and as soon as it came out, we started playing a couple of cuts on the station. But we could tell immediately there were no real hits here. I had the chance to see the band again at some point soon after and when I did, I brought a copy of the album with me, probably for Billy to autograph.

He grabbed the album and turned it over to the back. "Here's the song you want to play," he said excitedly, pointing to a cut called "If Dreams Came True." I quickly read the credits. Billy had co-written it. I nodded and promised I would check it out as soon as I got home, honestly not having sat down to listen to the whole album yet.

When I did, I was pleasantly surprised. Billy's song was unlike any other Outlaws tune, unlike any Southern Rock tune I had ever heard. It was a ballad. A slow, heartfelt, spiritually-grounded love song and I thought it had a chance.

One thing I learned early on in rock radio: every band, no matter how hard their music, always has to have one slow, soulful ballad if they want to ensure a Top 40 hit. Think about your favorite bands and I guarantee that 90% of them have at least one popular tune that is slower and calmer than anything else they do. From "Enter Sandman" by Metallica to "Behind Blue Eyes" by the Who, to the Stones' "Ruby Tuesday", it's almost a rule that every band needs one of those kind of songs to be a hit. The thinking goes that the 'hard' stuff is for the guys. The 'love songs' are for the girls. And if they're both buying your product, you've made it!

I had fully bought into that philosophy and was sure that this was the Outlaws' hit ballad. I ran to the station the next day and somehow convinced Program Director Johnny to play it. He agreed to air the song, but not too often, of course. Then the hard push began:

I had been sharing my basement office with the music director of our AM station. AM radio airplay, especially back then, would be much more valuable in creating a hit than FM would have been. I played the song for him. He liked it.

"Yeah, that fits our format," he said. "We'll give it a try."

My next stop was WKBW. KB was the longest-established radio station in Buffalo and they still owned the AM market in the region, with a 50,0000 watt signal that I was told covered a third of the country. I got word to their program director, a Buffalo radio legend known as Sandy Beach. I don't remember if I called him directly or just left a message for him to listen to the song. All I do remember is being at a radio and record dinner at some fancy restaurant in downtown Buffalo soon after, and seeing Sandy standing and waving me over.

I had never met the man before; he was probably ten to fifteen years older than I was. When I came over to him, he greeted me warmly and shook my hand. "I love 'If Dreams Came True' he declared. "But I can't play it until the record company backs it." I nodded and told him I'd see what I could do.

The acceptance of me by this king of Buffalo radio programmers was ego-boosting in its own right, but now I had a real mission: obviously from what he told me, WKBW was too big a station to just throw a record on the air because they liked it. The song needed to be offered to them by the record company and told that 'this was the tune they were getting behind'.

In my mind, the dominoes began to fall neatly: I contact the record label and tell them I have commitments that the top two AM stations in Buffalo will play this song. The company immediately sends their rep out to back the idea, WKBW plays it in high rotation, it becomes a hit, Irv gets another platinum record for his wall, and the Outlaws hire him to go on their next nationwide tour....it would be as easy as that!

Right.

The record label in question was Arista Records (pronounced like 'bannister'.) I called the rep the next day and told him that they needed to back "if Dreams Came True" as soon as they could and that WKBW would play it. He was not enthusiastic.

'Not really your job to pick our hits for us', was kind of his attitude.

OK, this guy was usually a prick anyway, so I went over his head and called one of the national representatives in LA whom I knew from previous record dealings. He pretty much had the same response, but said he would run it by his superiors.

I hung up and shook my head. These guys were constantly banging our doors down begging us to play their product, but here was a song that TWO big-time stations had promised to play, and they wouldn't commit to it because it wasn't their idea??

The illogic alone was maddening!

When I didn't hear from anyone, I made a couple of follow-up calls, but to no avail. The Outlaws were coming to town again soon (they played Buffalo a lot, huh?) and I wanted to have something exciting to tell them about their new album. Even the band members who I didn't know all that well might be impressed!

After waiting weeks, my patience gave out and I wrote a scathing letter (yes, letter--snail mail, typed, folded up, put into an envelope and stamped!) and sent it to the record company directly.

I found that letter recently when I was sifting through my Buffalo junk box. It was very lengthy (can you imagine me writing something lengthy?) It was also whiny and scolding, taking the company to task for ignoring me, even though I was offering them this golden opportunity to create a hit. Nowadays, that letter could be described as being written by a 'Karen'...

If I worked for the record company I probably wouldn't have answered it either, except with a more scathing response!

Hence, when the band returned, I still didn't have anything to tell them about the song. On this particular visit, the band's management had teamed up with the station for an in-store appearance to boost interest in the concert. I was assigned to be the station's representative, appearing at a record store to hand out t-shirts, promote the show, and give away tickets.

But they didn't send Billy Jones to work with me. Instead they sent their newest guitarist, Freddie Salem, who I had only met briefly the last time the band was in town. Freddie was as unlike the rest of the Outlaws as I was. Big and mustachioed, he was an urban guy, having been born in Akron, Ohio and he seemed a lot more refined than a lot of the band's members, especially Billy.

Freddie's limousine pulled up to the station, and I met him outside. He needed to use the restroom, so I ushered him into the building-- ironically, just as "If Dreams Came True" was playing on the AM station! I wasn't honestly sure how much the band knew about my crusade to break this song, but I was thrilled that the station had agreed to give the tune so much exposure. I smiled.

"See?" I pointed out. "I got these guys to play it. I'm trying to make the song a hit..."

We returned to the limo and headed to the record store, where we spent the next couple of hours talking about the new album and swapping industry gossip. Freddy seemed like a pretty cool guy. We split up afterwards and I headed to the concert venue, this time a smaller theatre on the west side of town. When I got there, I immediately saw the Outlaws' tour bus parked around back, so I hopped up the stairs and into the luxury vehicle.

The first person I saw was Billy, sitting next to someone I didn't know; I assumed he was just a personal friend. They were giggling and whispering conspiratorially and I could tell they were both stoned. I slid up to the pair and said 'hi' to Billy. He barely responded, looked at me with a smirk, and immediately went back to giggling with his buddy.

I'm not used to being made to feel inferior. Call it ego, or narcissism, or misplaced self-confidence, but it has always taken a lot to make me feel out of place. And I don't think I have ever felt, before or since, as out of place and belittled as I did at that moment.

Had Billy found out that I was trying to get his record played without his knowledge? Why would that bother him? It was his song that I was trying to promote. Was he so high that he didn't recognize me, and maybe thought I was just some nerd fanboy that had found his way onto his tour bus?

And under normal circumstances, I would never think this way...but did he somehow find out that I was Jewish and this was the true Florida-born redneck coming out? I was totally flummoxed.

I stood there, trying to see if he was just punking me but nothing changed. He basically turned his back on me until I had to exit the bus in embarrassment.

Later that night, after the show, I ran into Freddie again. Having no one else to really talk to about it, I told him what had happened on the bus and asked if he had any idea as to what the issue was. Freddie just looked at me and shrugged.

"That's just Billy," he said. "There's a lot you don't know about him."

I guess.

I said good-bye to my new Outlaw friend and told him I'd see him again. I don't think I ever did.

I never got an answer from the record company, our AM outlet stopped playing the song, WKBW never added it, and the album flopped. "If Dreams Came True" never became a hit and I never got to tour with the band. I don't think I ever saw them perform again, though they still tour from time to time, with just one long-time members still in the band.

Freddie Salem died of cancer last year at the age of 71. Seeing his obituary brought the whole story rushing back to me and helped push me to write this installment of Zelig. He did seem like a very cool guy.

As for Billy Jones, I may have been wrong about his intelligence. Researching the band, I discovered this:

A talented musician, he played drums, keyboards, and guitar. He was offered a scholarship to Juilliard School of Music but turned it down, electing to attend the University of South Florida. He was a math major and graduated near the top of his class. He taught and tutored math for a while and contemplated teaching full-time, but music was Jones's calling.

I also discovered that he was asked to leave the band about a year after our last encounter, due to his mounting drug abuse.

And that he shot himself in 1995, a few months after his 45th birthday.

Talk Thursday

IG

The Outlaws in 1978. Billy Jones, bottom right, with the long hair and mustache. Freddie Salem, just above him, with the long hair and mustache.