Showing the '70s some love

And Party Every Day: The Inside Story of Casablanca Records by Larry Harris
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

I enjoyed this book far more than I probably should have. While it's not perfectly written, it is very entertaining, especially for me, someone who remembers well the rise and fall of Casablanca Records, the Kiss era, Donna Summer, disco, Parliament/Funkadelic, and everything else that Neil Bogart, Larry Harris, et al., begat and bequeathed.

Not all of it was good, but when it was good, it was great, as much for the music as for the fantasy, glamour, and excess it created.

The focus in this book is perhaps more on Kiss than on the others. As more of a disco dolly, I would have preferred more about Donna Summer and Giorgio Moroder. Nonetheless, Harris does a good job of conveying some of what was going on with them and their music at the time. He also touches upon the rise of gay culture in the disco era, not shying away from it, although again, I was left wanting more.

That's not really a criticism. I'm just greedy.

While not a Kiss fan and knowing only a little about George Clinton and Parliament, I was nonetheless enthralled to read about their personalities, work, and vision, and how Casablanca hustled to unleash them on a receptive, if unsuspecting, public.

I was a teenager during this era, a time in my mind's eye, when America was still on the move, when the angst and anger of the late '60s had somewhat subsided and the conservatism and consumerism of the '80s had not taken over. So there's a special place in my heart for the people, places, and events described within. People often say the '70s were about nothing, but I think they were about a number of things: harmony, unity, diversity, fun, working out our past social kinks and moving on to a better, more liberated culture. An idealized take on the decade? Perhaps, but I'd match it any day to the accomplishments of the '80s.

Having said that, from some of the events described in these pages, I'm not sure I would have survived if I'd been on that '70s scene. In fact, many didn't. Drugs, decadence, and disease took their toll.

Thus it's great to have Harris's stories about Paul Jabara, Marc Paul Simon, Jacques Morali, Henri Belolo, Casablanca FilmWorks, Donna Summer, George Clinton, the four Kiss solo albums, radio promotion, marketing music, and all the rest. It's a terrific chronicle of a lost time and place and a loving but honest look at the genius and the folly that was Neil Bogart.

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This weekend's read--And Party Every Day: The Inside Story of Casablanca Records

I'm going to try something new with this blog--start writing more about what I'm reading.

It's not that you've been missing much. Simply stated, I've lost that reading feeling over the last couple of years. My normal explanation is that it's an occupational hazard--for me, as a librarian, information, words, text, are just so much "product" and so much noise at the end of a long day. Books are a commodity. Information = work. I get tired of seeing text all day

No, I don't read books at work, despite the idealized stereotype of the librarian at work. (I have shushed a couple of people in my time--and been shushed myself by library patrons for being a little too loud and boisterous.) However, I do read screens, memos, articles, websites, reports, e-mails, what have you. The thought of doing this even more when I get home, especially on a device like a Kindle or a Nook, is rather horrifying--or maybe just depressing. Or possibly both.

Couple this with the vague concept of ownership surrounding e-books (do you really own that book or are you just renting and borrowing it for a period of time?), preservation issues (will you be able to read that book in the same e-format 20 years from now? 10 years from now? Probably not), and not having a lot of room for books/wanting to travel light on any future moves, and I just find myself feeling indifferent to the printed word. Shocking, I know.

Nevertheless, I'm trying to get the feeling again. Last month I devoured Half of a Yellow Sun by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, with 600 pages flying by during a week away from work. I will try to write up my thoughts on that book soon; while it probably is not perfect, I really enjoyed it, more than anything I've read in a long while--which may not be saying much as I really haven't read anything substantial in a long while. The novel Triomf by Marlene Van Niekerk was the last hefty tome I took on--a book I bought at The Strand in New York in 2005 and finally finished in . . . 2011? And I still haven't written up my thoughts about that one, which has left a heavy impression on me.

I may even do something radical and finally move past page 25 in Le Libraire by Gérard Bessette, my first (short) novel in French or at least try to finish A Spy in the House of Love by Anaïs Nin, another short novel and one that is testing my new-found interest in and patience for reading.

In the meantime, I'm turning my eye to my first love and the original intent of this blog, pop culture, by reading And Party Every Day: The Inside Story of Casablanca Records by Larry Harris, an executive at Casablanca during the mid- to late 1970s (co-written with Curt Gooch and Jeff Suhs). So far, so good--it's been an enjoyable read, although not one that I've read sequentially. Instead, I've skipped around to find and savor the parts of most interest--how Casablanca founder Neil Bogart started the label, the arrival of Giorgio Moroder and Donna Summer on the scene, and bits and pieces about Alec R. Constandinos, Jacques Morali, and Henri Belolo, the latter two of Village People fame.

Along the way, I've been reminded that Casablanca Records was also the home of KISS and Parliament/Funkadelic, something I've mostly forgotten, and two groups that have had amazing staying power over the decades, KISS for its image and Parliament/Funkadelic for its wild, innovative, influential, and highly sampled sound.

Casablanca, too, had a "filmworks," having produced not just the lamentable (or maybe just lame) Thank God Its Friday, but also the summer of '77 blockbuster, The Deep, among others.

What I've enjoyed most, of course, is gaining some insights into the personality and work ethic of Donna Summer. Harris writes that, based on her early recordings with Giorgio Moroder, Neil and he weren't that impressed with Summer on initial listen. Later, once that realized how talented (and invaluable) both were, Harris describes Summer as having a certain amount of drama surrounding her. Later, he notes that her marriage to Bruce Sudano settled things down and made her very happy. The author also seems to bear no ill will toward her for jumping to Geffen Records, which, along with the (alleged) death of disco, was the beginning of the end for the label. Rather, he seems to have facilitated her leaving for (according to him) altruistic reasons.

I also like his positive takes on Paul Jabara and Jacques Morali and his not-unexpected takedown of Village bully Victor Willis, the one straight member of the group (other than producer Belolo) who by numerous accounts, here and elsewhere, seems like an asshole of the first order.

There are some surprises along the way--Harris noting that despite seeming and mostly being a gay-friendly record label (pretty much unknown heretofore), there were those in Casablanca management and staff that were indeed homophobic (not Neil Bogart, however). And there were those who didn't initially get that the Village People were a very gay act.

Interesting, too, is to read how often the music was viewed as "product" by executives, promoters, staff, and others (although seemingly not the artists themselves). Disco wasn't taken seriously at first (if ever), but it became a huge money-maker for the label, at least for a time. However, even KISS, a "serious" rock-and-roll act (OK, not really) was viewed in terms of money, product, risk, liability, promotion--the mechanics of the record industry.

Of course this shouldn't be such a surprise; it's just me being quite naive about how business works. It also shows my naivete about pop culture--it is often commerce that we attach deeper meaning to. Is that justified? Or does the meaning exist upon inception and creation of the work and the response to the creation is commercial? I can't really say; it's probably something of both. I'm unlikely to know unless I finally get that master's degree in popular culture from Bowling Green State University I've promised I would for years now.

Then again, in my profession, am I any different than a record company exec or flunky? I surround myself with literature, scholarship, and information, but they are really just product, commodities, costing money, requiring promotion, incurring liabilities and risks? Etc., etc., etc.

I don't mean this to sound negative about my profession or even the record industry. It just is what it is. Nevertheless, in my case, it's not too late to remember to appreciate books and information for the treasures that they truly are.

Which probably means a career change at some point, or retirement, or that master's degree from Bowling Green. I think it's plenty obvious that I'm not close to either of those events at this phase of my life. Alas and alack.

So in the meantime, I'll keep reading And Party Every Day and then hopefully quickly move on to Turn the Beat Around and The Disco Files (for which I am not paying the going rate), finally making it onto my suddenly rejuvenated reading list.

Get up and boogie, y'all.

I remember Donna

How did I miss this back in the day that was 1998? Oh yes, I was in Texas.



Or this? Oh yes, I was living in Pennsylvania.



Well, I'm still here (for how much longer, who can say?), but I least found this. A few months late, but nevertheless . . . .

Into the groove

Some over-the-weekend record-shopping with my friend The Music Lover at Jerry's Records in Squirrel Hill resulted in this inexpensive discofied and soul-fired gems.

1. A special edition Donna Summer 12-inch disco single featuring the full-length version of "Love to Love You Baby" on side A and "Try Me I Know We Can Make It" on side B.

I vaguely remember seeing this years ago when I was but a mere ovum. An odd little item but Casablanca Records was nothing if not excellent at marketing new versions and offshoots of their highly successful catalog. Remember when On the Radio: Donna Summer's Greatest Hits, Parts I and II, were repackaged so you could buy each volume separately rather than together?

Neil Bogart was a music, marketing, and merchandising genius, I tell you what. Legend has it that he was the one who came up with the idea to change "Love to Love You Baby" from a 3:30 single into a full 16-minute plus symphonic, orgasmic opus. And thus a galaxy of stars were born--Donna Summer, Giorgio Moroder, Pete Bellotte, Neil Bogart, Munich's Musicland Studios, Casablanca Records, and disco as a cultural phenomenon.

One funny thing about this record--it's a gatefold, so when you open it, you'll find in very creamy, romantic script the lyrics to "Love to Love You Baby." Which begs the question--people used to sing along to this in the '70s? It boggles.

2. A "Spécial Instrumental" edition of French disco band Voyage's first two albums, featuring instrumental versions of various tracks--including hits such as "Souvenirs" and "From East to West"--some of them greatly shortened from their original takes.


I have to admit I don't get the purpose of this record--the originals were fantastic with superlative vocal work chiefly by Sylvia Mason-James. These perfect little gossamer-winged angels of pop, Balearic in style long before Balearic was cool (in the mid-'90s, if I recall correctly). Oh la la. Probably some DJ concept that I don't understand--or the French label Sirocco was picking up ideas as it blew past Casablanca.

3. An early Bohannon album, Keep on Dancin', appearing on the Dakar label in 1972 (according to the record itself) or 1974 (according to Wikipedia). Regardless of the exact year, that album cover so clearly tags the release from the early 1970s: A lovely young woman in the fugliest sort of "Cherokee People" corduroy-chic ensemble you could ever imagine. With a tambourine and one maraca!

I never listened much to Bohannon at the time (covers like this might explain that). I knew about him, saw his discs in the stores, but didn't have enough curiosity to explore further. Even after hearing him name-checked in Tom Tom Club's "Genius of Love" ("Bohannon, Bohannon, Bohannon, Bohannon . . ."), I smiled knowingly but ventured squat. Only recently when another good friend requested one of his albums (impossible to find his work on iTunes, please note) for Christmas did I start to check out his music.

Here's one not on the album, 1975's "Bohannon's Beat," which should give you an idea about his barebones, funk-dance style.

4. and/or 5. Alas, I did not buy--a choice between Donna Summer's Four Seasons of Love album (with poster!) and Biddu's Rain Forest, assuming I had both at home. What an unpleasant surprise to realize that I do not, in fact, own these records--although I still think Four Seasons of Love is tucked around here somewhere. Hopefully they will be there when I return after payday.