Music

Review: The Beatles

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The Beatles: The Biography, Bob Spitz. New York: Little, Brown, 2005.

Summary: A biography of the band from its beginnings, rise, Beatlemania, studio work, and demise, with mini-biographies of each of the Beatles, their manager, Brian Epstein.

One of those “where were you?” moments for those of us of a certain age is “where were you when The Beatles appeared on the Ed Sullivan show for the first time?” I was a fourth grader, watching them on my grandparents television while the adults tut-tutted about the “long hairs” and their music. Inside, I was fascinated, as were all my classmates, especially the girls, who talked endlessly about “my favorite Beatle.”

The 2005 “biography” of the Fab Four brings back all those memories and so much more–much that was fascinating and some that I’d rather not have known. Spitz traces the history of the band from its beginnings with John Lennon and The Quarrymen, the meeting with Paul McCartney, the Liverpool years and the various combinations of musicians including the fan favorite drummer Pete Best whose home was a favorite hangout until he was unceremoniously ditched and Ringo brought on board on the eve of their fame. Spitz writes abbreviated biographies of each of the Beatles and their manager, Brian Epstein.

We learn how formative their time in Hamburg was and the significant advance they made under Brian Epstein’s management. Spitz takes us through all the things he did to polish their image, how they became “The Beatles,” his efforts to get them recorded and promoted, and the mistakes he made in setting up recording contracts. As their records hit the charts and they toured Great Britain, we see them reach the “toppermost of the poppermost.” Then Ed Sullivan. America. Beatlemania with its surging crowds, shrieking and swooning girls, and ever-increasing danger to the Beatles leading to their end of touring in 1966.

Spitz takes us behind the scenes and we see the genius of the songwriting duo of Lennon-McCartney as well as the eventual strains in their relationship, the guitarwork and growing skill of George and how Ringo not only provided the musical foundation for the band but also a certain emotional glue. We learn what it was like to record at Abbey Road. We observe the self-effacing genius of George Martin, who never profited beyond his modest salary, helping with the innovative work on albums like “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band.”

Spitz reminds us of the trip to India to learn meditation as the band sought both to grow spiritually and mend the growing artistic and personal rifts that would ultimately lead to their demise, particularly after Yoko Ono entered the scene, helping further alienate John from the others. We read accounts of the final recording sessions and the release of “Abbey Road” and their last live concert on a London rooftop, where amid all the tensions, they momentarily recaptured the joy of making music together.

Then there is the seamier side. The drug use beginning with amphetamines, marijuana, and eventually LSD, and in John’s case heroin, from which he was often strung out and increasingly erratic. The women. So many “birds” to have sex with, as was the case with many rockers. At one point, all were being treated for gonorrhea. There is the brilliant and sad Brian Epstein and his closeted gay life, including rough sex leaving him beaten and robbed, and his growing despair as he felt he was losing control of the Beatles, leading to his death, whether accidental or suicide, from an overdose of drugs. While they were rich, through Epstein’s mistakes and their own debacle with Apple, they foolishly lost millions.

There is the tragic. Going back to Hamburg days, the death of onetime bandmate Stu Sutcliffe, the firing of Pete Best and the way it was done. The betrayal of Lennon’s wife, Cynthia, and Paul’s girlfriend, Jane Asher. The end of the band itself, chronicled in agonizing detail. And later deaths: John, George, Linda Eastman McCartney.

This is a huge biography, coming in at 983 pages, including photos and notes. Yet it is a fascinating read that gives one a sense of the hard work it took to become “The Beatles” the genius of Lennon and McCartney, the trauma of Beatlemania, the behind-the-scenes accounts of the making of each album and so much more. At the same time, we see them as all-too-human, flawed and forming young men thrust into the fame and fortune they’d dreamed of but were not prepared to handle. What is astounding is to consider that most of the output of The Beatles took place over just seven fraught years, from 1963 to 1969. Yet they changed rock ‘n roll forever. Spitz gives us the “crowded hours” of that epic journey.

Review: Songs I Love To Sing

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Songs I Love to Sing, Edith L. Blumhofer (foreword by Fernando Ortega). Grand Rapids: Wm. B. Eerdmans Publishing Co.: 2023.

Summary: A history of the ministry of Billy Graham, focused on the music, the key roles of Cliff Barrows and George Beverly Shea, and the wider influence of the musical practices of the Crusades.

On Sunday evenings as a youth, I remember listening to The Hour of Decision with my father on an old Bakelite radio. We would gather around the television when his Crusades began to be broadcast on TV. I attended crusades in Cleveland in 1972 and Columbus in 1993. At least twice, I remember associate evangelists Lane Adams and Leighton Ford conducting Crusades in Youngstown and I was a counselor for the latter event. While Graham or his associate was the “main event,” I remember how much music was a part of those crusades. My father loved listening to George Beverly Shea singing “How Great Thou Art.” And when the choir began singing “Just As I Am” we felt the impulse to come to Jesus and watched as droves of people did.

The late Edith L. Blumhofer left this work in manuscript form at the time of her death, edited for publication by Larry Eskridge. She studied Graham’s Crusades through the lens of the music surrounding Graham’s messages, the team of people who worked together for sixty years, the thought that went into every aspect of Crusade music and the impact of that music on evangelical worship more widely.

Blumhofer begins by tracing the steps that brought the trio of Graham, Shea, and Barrows together, offering mini-biographies of each, especially valuable in the case of Shea and Barrows. Graham understood the power of spirit-filled singing to complement his preaching, and the two others set aside independent careers to work together to develop the music and musical philosophy that became a notable feature of every crusade. And Graham desperately needed them, suffering as Shea quipped, “the malady of no melody.”

What was fascinating was how deliberate the choice of music was, whether hymns like those of Fanny Crosby, or the gospel songs. They drew on the history of Moody’s partnership with Ira Sankey as well as living models like Homer Rodeheaver. Blumhofer also goes into the history of a number of songs including Shea’s signature “I’d Rather Have Jesus” and his tussles with the composer as he changed the melody and several words. She also recounts the circuitous history of “How Great Thou Art” from Sweden to Estonia to Russia, and to this country and the pen of Stuart Hine. Again, the Crusades tweaked a few words, and the impact of Crusades was evident in that wording becoming the way most people remember the song, much to Hine’s displeasure. We also learn of Charlotte Elliott, who wrote the words of “Just As I Am” and how it enjoyed the favor of Moody long before it became the song that invariably accompanied invitations at the Crusades.

Blumhofer discusses the increasing inclusion of celebrities beginning with Stuart Hamblen, the “Singing Cowboy,” Roy Rogers and Dale Evans, and Johnny Cash, and Ethel Waters. Celebrities both needed to have a genuine Christian testimony and were selected for their ability to be a draw in particular venues. Later on, the early Seventies brought the Jesus Movement and the first Contemporary Christian artists. Graham’s appearance with them at Explo ’72 and his incorporation of artists from Michael W. Smith to dc Talk both broadened the appeal of Crusades for younger audiences and put Graham’s imprimateur on the CCM movement that transformed worship in evangelical Protestant churches.

The book concludes withe a coda, the last Crusade, in New York in 2005 that combined the mainstays of mass choir, Barrow, Shea, and Graham, as well as a host of contemporary musicians. It reflected all the ways the Crusades had influenced evangelical worship, from hymns like “Blessed Assurance” and “Great is Thy Faithfulness” to gospel songs to Contemporary Christian Music. The power of this music, coupled with gospel preaching, to move people to response was one drawn upon widely.

Blumhofer alludes only in passing to accusations that the music could be emotionally manipulative. Since this is more a history than a social psychological study, this is worth more careful study. There have been a number of discussions about the disparities between “decisions” and the number who go on as disciples incorporated in churches. Might the evocative elements of the music have played a role in this? How ought music be used in both evangelism and Christian worship and what are the boundaries between God-honoring musical witness and worship and emotional manipulation? What does seem clear from this account is that Barrows, and Shea and their team, with Graham’s blessing, modelled a deliberateness in the musical aspects of Crusades that was a key factor in their impact, both on attendees and on the wider Christian culture. Blumhofer’s work might well serve as the basis for others to explore these matters in greater depth. But it also is a gift to many of us who grew up in these years to recall, perhaps with great gratitude and affection, the music we loved to sing and its impact on our lives.

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Disclosure of Material Connection: I received a complimentary review copy of this book from the publisher.

Growing Up in Working Class Youngstown — The Elms Ballroom

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When I was a student at Youngstown State in the 1970’s, I spent a lot of time at the Kilcawley Student Center. And like many college students, I liked music and went to concerts both on campus and at other venues. Little did I realize that where Kilcawley stood was the site of one of Youngstown’s and northeast Ohio’s most storied concert and dance venues, the (Nu) Elms Ballroom.

It all began in 1921 when a dance instructor, Raymond Bott built an 8,000 square foot dance ballroom on Elm Street between Spring and Arlington. It originally was built to showcase the Bott Academy, a dance academy that his family had operated since 1894. They held classes for men, women and children and hosted Tuesday and Saturday assembly dances. Bott developed a national reputation as president of the Dancing Masters of America in New York City and sold off the school in 1929 to Frank Stadler.

Stadler had built the Yankee Lake Ballroom as well as the Southern Park dance pavilion, near present-day Southern Park Mall. He reopened the building as the Elms Ballroom at the end of 1929. Ballroom dancing had caught on big time, and even in the Depression, ballroom dancing was big in Youngstown with dances at nearby Yankee Lake and Craig’s Beach, as well as Idora Ballroom, Krakusy Hall, Stambaugh Auditorium, the Cascade Room at the Pick-Ohio among the many. In 1932, Stadler turned the Elms over to L.A. “Tony” Cavalier, who also ran the Idora Ballroom and the old H.K. Wick Mansion on Logan. Under his management, it became the Nu-Elms. Working with promoter Clarence King, they hosted such famous bands as the Harlem Play Girls, Count Basie, Louis Armstrong, the Ink Spots and Ella Fitzgerald, and Nat King Cole.

The 1940’s brought Frank Sinatra, Lena Horne, Billy Eckstine, the Andrews Sisters and Vaughn Monroe, who 3,000 people came to see. The ballroom was remodeled and had a grand re-opening in 1949, once again as the Elms Ballroom. Parking was expanded. But Big Band music was fading, although there is a great recording of Stan Kenton in one of his many performances at the Elms Ballroom on December 2, 1952.

The 1950’s brought “rock ‘n roll,” a term coined by Alan Freed, a Cleveland disc jockey who had worked for a time at WKBN. Clarence King turned to recruiting these acts, bringing in Chuck Berry, Bill Doggett, Bo Diddley, Ike and Tina Turner, the Drifters, Fats Domino, and James Brown and his Famous Flames, who appeared numerous times in the late 1950’s and early 1960’s. During one of these appearances, Jerry Poindexter, a ten year old from Youngstown sneaked into the back door at the Elms, as Brown practiced. He remembers:

“I saw three tour buses pull into town and I followed them on my bicycle to Elms Ballroom,” said Poindexter, as he reminisced about his childhood in the 1960s. “I missed my curfew that night and got my butt whupped. I didn’t care, because I got to see James Brown.”

Years later, in 1978, as a keyboard player he joined James Brown’s band, playing for them for another 26 years–and it began at a practice at the Elms!

Between the national acts, The Elms hosted local “sock hops” with disk jockeys like Dick Biondi, Johnny Kay, and Boots Bell from WHOT. Local bands were also popular, including Mike Roncone, the Del-Rays, and the Human Beingz, whose big national hit was “Nobody But Me.” The Del-Rays were the big thing on the local scene in the early 1960’s, consisting of Danny Carbon, keyboards, Nick Timcisko, bass player, Johnny Stanko, lead vocals and guitar; Joe “Mouse” Kalaman, saxophone; and Bruce Dill, drums. They were from Campbell and Struthers. They were regulars at the Elms.

But the Elms Ballroom’s days were numbered. What was then Youngstown University was growing and the area around the Elms was acquired for expansion plans. The building was razed in 1965, making way for that Kilcawley Center where I spent so much time. I only knew of the Elms from friends of my parents. It sounds like it was an incredible music and dance venue.

Sean T. Posey has written extensively about the Elms Ballroom in his Lost Youngstown, one of my sources for this article. He produced a great video capturing the history of the place with images and an interview with Mike Roncone.

I’d love to hear from you if you have memories of the Elms Ballroom! What was it like and who did you hear there?

To read other posts in the Growing Up in Working Class Youngstown series, just click “On Youngstown.” Enjoy!

Review: A Supreme Love

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A Supreme Love: The Music of Jazz and the Hope of the Gospel, William Edgar. Downers Grove: IVP Academic, 2022.

Summary: A study of the roots and contributing streams of jazz music, proposing that the reason jazz moves from miserable lament to inextinguishable joy is the Christian hope found in the gospel.

This book had me from the title. I recognized the allusion to one of the great jazz albums of all times, John Coltrane’s A Love Supreme. And I found myself intrigued by the idea of the connection between jazz and the Christian gospel. That connection did not seem readily apparent for many years, my associations being of performances in speakeasys and clubs. Then I had the chance to perform some of Duke Ellington’s Sacred Songs with a local choral group, learned about the spirituality of Coltrane in his later life, and listened to some of the sacred works of Dave Brubeck.

William Edgar’s book shows the connection going far deeper, and further back. Most know that jazz is one of the gifts that has come out of the Black community. Edgar, who is both a theologian and an accomplished jazz pianist, traces it all the way back to the Middle Passage experience and the centuries of slavery. He writes:

How could the music that grew out of the realities of the enslavement of Black people, forced migration, rape, husbands and wives being separated, and children being ripped from their families not reflect this suffering and pain? If, as I will argue, jazz is the story of deep misery that leads to inextinguishable joy, then we cannot ignore the sources of sorrow that are found at the root of this music, from spirituals to blues
to jazz. (Edgar, p. 27)

As noted, a theme running through the book is the idea of deep misery and lament that leads to inextinguishable joy. Edgar traces that misery to the deplorable conditions of slavery, but also notes the strange and miraculous reception of the Christian gospel despite the iniquities of Christian slave owners. The biblical narratives of physical and spiritual bondage and emancipation resonated deeply as did the movements from lament to praise in the Psalms.

All of this found expression in distinctive forms of music and dance drawing upon both African culture and the musical forms found in various parts of the South. Edgar traces several different streams arising, beginning with spirituals, then gospel, and finally the blues, all of which contribute to jazz. Edgar connects the “lining out” used to teach words with the “call and response” character of the spirituals, the use of spirituals as code on the Underground Railroad and the popularizing of spirituals by the Fisk Jubilee singers. Gospel is more complicated with roots both in nineteenth century revivalism in the white Southern church and a parallel movement of Black gospel music beginning in the 1920’s, one of the most significant figures of which was Thomas Andrew Dorsey, known for the song “Take My Hand, Precious Lord.” Meanwhile the blues arose around the work songs and “sorrow songs” of the plantation experience. While the connection with biblical faith may not be immediately evident, Edgar notes the connections with the laments of scripture, even noting the similar uses of parallelism.

The third part of the book focuses on jazz itself. Edgar traces its immediate origins to ragtime, stride piano and the music of New Orleans, introducing us to some of the greats of early jazz from Art Tatum, Buddy Bolden and James Reese, Louis Armstrong, “Jelly Roll” Morton, and Duke Ellington. He discusses their music and their spirituality. From “Jelly Roll” Morton, we get the dictum, “Rejoice at the death and cry at the birth: New Orleans sticks close to the scriptures,” another example of the sorrow to joy theme. He goes on to discuss the “midlife of jazz” in bebop and cool, focusing on “Dizzy” Gillespie, Charlie Parker and the great Miles Davis. The two following chapters then draw more specific connections of jazz and the gospel or spirituality in the life of jazz musicians offering examples from the work of Sister Rosetta Tharpe, Duke Ellington, jazz pianist Billy Taylor, Oscar Peterson, Dave Brubeck, John Coltrane, Keith Jarrett, and others. Not all would be considered orthodox Christians by any means, but evidence of the hope of the gospel may be found in their work, according to Edgar.

The book concludes with Edgar’s seven joys of jazz: its bluesy ambiance, its strength to climb, the element of invention, the concept of “swing,” the solidarity of jazz musicians in which performances are conversations in music, the great art that arises from earthy roots, and finally the joy out of deep pain that Edgar attributes to the influence of the Christian message. I suspect some will want to contend this last, but Edgar’s cumulative case of history, contributing streams, and examples from some of the signature jazz greats offer a good explanation for the element of joy that distinguishes this music. I also found it interesting that Edgar contrasts the joy of this music with the “happy” feel of much White evangelical music. Jazz is rooted in both a more profound experience of pain and a more profound hope.

Edgar makes this argument without being polemical. I felt like I was in a jazz appreciation course, being invited to understand and appreciate and truly love the music Edgar loves. And he helps us cultivate that love as well. He includes a nine-page appendix of links to YouTube videos of performances by various artists organized by sub-genres and time periods. What a great way to introduce oneself to jazz in its various expressions and to explore for oneself the “supreme love” that Edgar believes is the source of the great joy in jazz.

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Disclosure of Material Connection: I received a complimentary review copy of this book from the publisher.

Growing Up in Working Class Youngstown — The Music of Christmas

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Some of the Christmas albums from my youth

As I write, I’m listening to the “Instrumental Christmas” station on Amazon. Christmas music is one of my favorite aspects of the season–listening to it, singing it, you name it. I remember our house being filled with Christmas music, mostly from the radio. When I was young and my parents controlled the radio, this would likely be on WFMJ or WKBN. We not only heard Christmas music from Thanksgiving until Christmas, but on the twelve days of Christmas to Epiphany (there are some church traditions that think Christmas Day is when you start singing Christmas carols.)

We still have some of those old LP’s of Christmas music, I think all of them are from the 1960’s. Listening to them take me back. Ray Conniff, Percy Faith, Perry Como (we used to call him Perry Coma because his voice was so smooth and soothing!). Then there were compilations like the one in the upper left of my photo. I read the names and I remember the voices–Ed Ames, Harry Belafonte, Lana Cantrell, Vic Damone. Leroy Anderson’s Sleigh Ride from the Boston Pops is one you still here and we have several recordings of the Boston Pops around the house. The ultimate compilation was the Time-Life Treasury of Christmas. I think this one went with my sister–all 44 songs!

I always thought of O Holy Night as one of the most challenging of Christmas songs on the sing, particularly because of all those high notes. It is kind of the national anthem of Christmas songs. In our youth, Mario Lanza, the opera singer performed one of the most often played versions. All the tenors like Placido Domingo and Lucianno Pavarotti have taken it on as well as many male and female artists. But I think Lanza is still classic as I remember my dad playing this on our dining room hi-fi set or his old Bakelite radio. But it’s OK if someone else is your favorite!

Mario Lanza

Then there were the songs that became Christmas hits in our youth: Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer sung by Burl Ives a part of the Rankin-Bass TV special that debuted in 1964. A few years later came Frosty the Snow Man with the title song sung by Jimmy Durante. The one we still listen to came from A Charlie Brown Christmas, and the timeless jazz music of Vince Guaraldi. “Linus and Lucy,” “Skating,” and “Christmas Time is Here” are songs I still love, especially the latter with the children’s choir. The Little Drummer Boy was immortalized by the Harry Simeone Chorale. Here is a live performance on The Ed Sullivan Show from 1959. For all I know, I probably watched that when it was first aired.

There were live performances, from school Christmas programs to the Nutcracker performances at Powers Auditorium that I took my future wife to see. For several years in college, I sang in our church choir. A special thrill was singing Handel’s Hallelujah Chorus and watch the whole congregation, honoring an old tradition, stand as we sang. It was equally thrilling when we would go to sing to elderly shut-ins or those in nursing facilities and to see the smiles or even the tears as we sang enthusiastically, if not always well, the favorites of Christmas. But the high point, at least in my church tradition was singing Silent Night during Candlelight services on Christmas eve. With dimmed lights we began singing Silent Night as we passed the candle flame from one person to the next until the sanctuary was aglow with the pinpoints of candlelight throughout the congregation. When we finished singing, and extinguished the candles, we were ready for Christmas to come!

What was the music and musical traditions of Christmas that you remember from growing up in Youngstown? I’d love to hear your memories!

To read other posts in the Growing Up in Working Class Youngstown series, just click “On Youngstown.” Enjoy!

Growing Up in Working Class Youngstown — Songs of the Summer

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Rolling Stones in concert, Houtrusthallen The Hague (NL), 15 April 1967, Ben Merk (ANEFO), CC0, via Wikimedia Commons.

Do you remember where you were the first time you heard the Beatles sing “A Hard Day’s Night”? Was there a song you associated with your first love? Was there a song you loved to crank up to full volume on a hot summer evening cruising around in your car? Were you like me and always had you radio set to WHOT?

I took a walk down memory lane with the help of Billboard’s “Summer Songs 1958-2020: The Top 10 Tunes of Each Summer”. I looked back at the decade of 1963-1972, the last year being when I graduated from high school. I listened to some of those songs on a transistor with an earphone jack. Others I listened to cranked up on my stereo (“turn that awful music down!”). Some were the songs blaring from loudspeakers on midways at Idora Park or the Canfield Fair or the dances we went to. Here are some of the ones I remembered:

1963: “Blowing in the Wind” by Peter, Paul, and Mary. This was the last summer of John F. Kennedy’s “Camelot” and this reflected the idealism he inspired. We played my brother’s LP recording of their songs over and over. I still tear up when I watch one of our videos and they sing this song. And there was Mary’s voice and that long blonde hair!

1964: “House of the Rising Sun” by the Animals. Was it Eric Burdon’s low growl as he sang “There is a house in New Orleans…” or the subject matter–a house of ill-repute? We all thought of ourselves as “bad boys” when we heard him sing it.

1965: “(I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction” The Rolling Stones. Speaking of bad boys. It spoke what a lot of us testosterone- drunk boys were feeling.

1966: “Summer in the City” The Lovin’ Spoonful. John Sebastian sang about getting dirty and gritty in the city but how “at night it’s a different world./Go out and find a girl.” We knew dirty and gritty in Youngstown and I was starting to wake up to the idea of going out and finding a girl as an awkward junior high student. Here’s a video of Sebastian singing the song.

1967: This was the summer of The Doors’ “Light my Fire” and Scott McKenzie’s “San Francisco.” I remember waking up to deliver Sunday papers with “San Francisco” running through my head. Just don’t light my fire with flowers in my hair! It was always cool when they’d play the long version of “Light My Fire” on the radio. Nothing like it.

1968: OK, this is true confessions time. Herb Alpert’s “This Guy’s in Love with You” was the number one song and it was the theme of my crush on a girl in my neighborhood. She never knew! Heard the song recently and was struck with what a truly awful singer Alpert was. I think it was the only time he tried singing. It’s funny how there were the sweet love songs and then the bad boy songs. It was also the summer of Steppenwolf’s “Born to be Wild.”

1969: Not sure there was a standout that year, but “One” by Three Dog Night was a song I could identify with. I listened to a lot of Three Dog Night around that time.

1970: It wasn’t top 10 that summer but it spoke to the grief so many of us felt from the killings at nearby Kent State. Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young’s “Ohio’ captured the grief and anguish so many of us felt. I can’t help but think of a young girl from Boardman who died that day who is memorialized in the words, “What if you knew her and found her dead on the ground? How can you run when you know.” That girl was 400 feet away and walking to class. Here’s a live acoustic recording I had not seen before of Neil Young singing the song in 1971.

1971: It seemed that the songs got gentler after Kent State. My memory of this year was James Taylor’s “You’ve Got a Friend.” It was stuck in my head enough that when I had to give the valedictory address for my high school class in 1972, it was the basis of my talk.

1972: The song from this year’s list with the most staying power was “Lean on Me” by Bill Withers, but for me, the Hollies last gasp, “Long Cool Woman (In a Black Dress)” was the song I remember.

I’ll stop there. It’s pretty apparent that girls were a big thing on my mind at that time. In the fall of 1972, I went to Youngstown State. On the second day, I met a girl from the Southside who I started dating a few weeks later. Forty-nine years later she is sitting across the room as I write. I consider myself fortunate and blessed. Life didn’t turn out like the songs–rather far different and better.

What are some of the songs you remember from the summers of your youth and of what do they remind you?

To read other posts in the Growing Up in Working Class Youngstown series, just click “On Youngstown.” Enjoy!