A memorial concert for Doug Riley was held in October 2007 at the University of Toronto. I sang the song I had written for him, called “A Blues for Doc.” It was probably the easiest song I have ever written. The lyrics were written in one pass and I never changed a word. My love for the man just poured onto the page. But it was the most difficult song I have ever had to perform. With Doc’s wife, Jan, and his two sons, Ben and Jesse, seated in the front row, I sang my tribute to him with a huge lump in my throat. It was all I could do to hold it together and finish the song. Sixteen hundred people packed Convocation Hall that night, and we all cried together for the loss we felt. Musicians Doc had influenced and people he had touched came from all over Canada, the US and Europe to pay tribute to this enormously gifted and humble man. The world of music has lost a giant, and I miss him terribly. He was my confidant, my brother and my best friend. He left a vast body of work—jazz compositions, symphonies, ballets, film scores and recordings with everyone from Bob Seger and Plácido Domingo to Anne Murray and Ray Charles. He played on every solo album I’ve ever recorded, but he left me with more than his music. His integrity was absolute and his advice was always sound. There’s a big hole in my life, but I’m a better person for having known Doc.
The Evergreens is a lasting tribute to the genius of Doug Riley. The songs are real and honest and Doc’s influence is all over the record. He had a unique feel for my songwriting style. His R&B-influenced arrangements and his soulful keyboard work created a perfect setting for my down-home lyrics and bluesy melodies. I’ll never replace the musical rapport that I shared with Doc, and I won’t even try. That understanding was built on forty years of friendship and happens once in a lifetime. I’m just lucky to have had him in my life for as long as I did.
Doug Riley was a very patriotic Canadian. When he was awarded the Order of Canada, he was so proud I thought he would burst. When I lived in New York I would occasionally become frustrated that people south of the border weren’t aware of this musical giant. I’d urge him to travel more and share his talent with the world, but Doc would just smile and tell me that he didn’t need to be known in the States, he was completely happy with his life in Canada. It took many years for me to understand Doc’s point of view. I had something to prove, he didn’t. Now that I’m back in Canada, I understand why he didn’t want to travel. This is a wonderful place to live, and at this point in my life I don’t have anything left to prove either. Doc and I always shared a love for this country. Even after thirty-five years in the States I still kept my Canadian passport. I always knew that someday I’d come home, and now that I’m here I’ll never leave again. I love the ruggedly beautiful lake country, the booming multicultural cities, the absurdly polite and fiercely nationalistic people. I love their support for the arts and education, the laidback lifestyle and the peaceful world view of the Canadian. Canada is where I belong.
Spinning Wheel
What goes up, must come down
Spinnin’ wheel, got to go round
Talkin’ ’bout your troubles, it’s a cryin’ sin
Ride a painted pony, let the spinnin’ wheel spin
Got no money and ya got no home
Spinnin’ wheel, all alone
Talkin’ ’bout your troubles and you never learn
Ride a painted pony, let the spinnin’ wheel turn
Did you find a directing sign on the straight and narrow highway
Would you mind a reflecting sign, just let it shine within your mind
And show you the colors that are real
Someone’s waitin’ just for you
Spinnin’ wheel, spinnin’ true
Drop all your troubles by the riverside
Catch a painted pony on the spinnin’ wheel ride
Words and music by David Clayton-Thomas. © 1968 (renewed 1996) EMI Blackwood Music Inc. and Bay Music Ltd.
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SPINNING WHEEL
I feel good about life today, and I’m optimistic about the future. I’m taking on only top-quality concerts and we’re still being very selective about the venues. In 2008 we headlined the Grandstand Show at the Canadian National Exhibition in Toronto. “The Ex” is one of the largest and longest-running annual exhibitions in the world, a Toronto tradition since 1879. The biggest names in show business have graced the CNE stage over the years. I first saw Ray Charles at the Ex. For a local boy, playing the Grandstand Show was a childhood dream come true.
In February 2010 we played two nights at Toronto’s venerable old concert theatre Massey Hall with the Toronto Symphony Orchestra—another dream come true. When I was a young musician playing five shows a night in the bars and strip joints on Yonge Street, I would walk by Massey Hall and dare to dream that someday I’d grace that stage. It was the holy cathedral of music, the place where Ella and Oscar played. It was the concert theatre where in 1953 Bird and Diz, along with Max Roach, Bud Powell and Charlie Mingus, gave what is considered to be the greatest jazz concert of all time. The acoustics of the hall are phenomenal and the place is drenched in history and tradition. The 2,300-seat venue was completely sold out, the band was on fire and the orchestra was magnificent. People came from as far away as Montreal and New York for the Massey Hall concerts, two memorable shows with my ten-piece band and the sixty-piece TSO. Who would ever have believed that a reformatory graduate would someday take the stage at Massey Hall with the TSO!
Ashleigh has completed postgrad studies in writing for film and television at Humber College and is currently working on projects in Toronto and San Francisco. She has dual citizenship and can travel freely between the US and Canada, a huge advantage for someone in her field. She’ll never have to battle the immigration issues that plagued me. Ash convinced me that I should write this book. With her background in creative writing, her input was invaluable, but her guidance went far beyond that. Sometimes she had to get in my face, pushing me to open up and let my feelings show—“There’s been more to your life than just names, dates and places, Dad.” Opening up isn’t easy for a guy with my defence mechanisms, but Ashleigh’s not impressed by my tough-guy reputation. She was relentless. She has no problem speaking her mind to her dad. I like that.
It’s a daunting experience to write your life story and subject it to your daughter’s scrutiny. You want to be perfect in your child’s eyes, but Ashleigh would hear everything—the good, the bad and the ugly. She’s idealistic and opinionated, and she made sure I kept it real. After all, she was there for much of it, and she wouldn’t stand for any self-serving bullshit. It speaks volumes about my trust in her judgment and intelligence. She’s at an age now where she’s not only my daughter, she’s my friend. Ashleigh inherited her mother’s looks and her father’s drive to succeed. She’s a lovely independent young lady, and I’m so proud of her.
Now that I’m living in Canada again, I’ve rekindled my relationship with my eldest daughter, Christine. She lives in a small town a hundred miles north of Toronto and has children and grandchildren of her own. My God, that makes me a greatgrandfather! She was raised in a family I’ve never met and doesn’t carry my name, but now that we’re both grown up and I’m not on the road year-round anymore, there’s finally been time to get to know her. I haven’t been a part of her life for so long that it’s hard to just show up at this late date and expect to be a normal family, but we get together from time to time and I know she’s happy to be at last acknowledged by a father who’s just been a voice on the radio for most of her life. Christine has paid a heavy price for being fathered by a man who left her when she was just a baby, and I carry an enormous burden of guilt for having abandoned her. I tell myself that she was probably better off being raised in a stable family environment rather than being dragged through the craziness that has been my life. Maybe the guilt I carry about not being there for Christine has contributed to my dedication to Ashleigh. The fact that I was never there for Chris has made me even more determined to be there for Ash. In any event, I’ve been a good father to
Ashleigh and no father at all to Christine. Christine has been amazingly forgiving and loving, considering my shortcomings. There are no do-overs in this life, and I can’t undo the damage I’ve inflicted on her, but I’m trying to make up for lost time.
I love dropping in to little clubs to catch the up-and-coming musicians on the Toronto scene. I’m knocked out by the talent of some of the young artists around town. I always give them my number and tell them to call me if they want to talk. My fiftyplus years in the music industry have given me some insights that may help them negotiate their way through the rocks and shoals of this crazy business. I tell them that it’s a wonderful way of life, but I also warn them about some of the pitfalls they will be facing. I believe that artists are special people blessed with a unique ability to make a difference in this world. But they are dreamers and all too willing to believe the best of people. The vulnerability that makes them great artists can make them targets for exploitation. It can be a tremendously rewarding business, but it’s also a highly delusional one, and it takes a strong spirit to survive.
It’s a confusing new world the young artist is facing today. The music business has moved to Hollywood and there’s no putting that genie back in the bottle. Personally, I liked the music a lot more when it lived in New York. It was gritty and real and it had its own identity. Hollywood turned popular music into a soundtrack for dance videos. It’s a repetitious parade of menacing gangbangers posing with their Lamborghinis. It’s drum machines and processed vocals and sequenced music tracks. It’s video directors creating fake energy with jittery fast-cut editing. It’s scantily clad divas bumping and grinding their way through overproduced songs with the bored sexuality of a nightclub stripper. Even the down-home folks of Nashville have gone Hollywood, turning country music into a glitzy spectacle of red-carpet awards shows and impossibly beautiful people. The music video, which originally was intended to be a promotional tool for the music, became an art form in itself and the music became incidental. The old record business is dying and the new systems for delivering music are still a chaotic and unregulated free-for-all. It’s a bewildering, constantly shifting scenario, and the guys in the boardrooms of Hollywood just can’t keep up. They’re too busy trying to catch a ride on the latest trend, clinging to formulas and narrowly defined formats. Most of all they’re concerned with keeping their jobs in the rapidly changing business of music. The record executives are scared and they’re playing it safe. They don’t have a clue where the music is headed, but it’s safe to say the new direction won’t come from Hollywood. The music industry today is soft and conservative and it’s ripe for something outrageous. It’s primed for the next Elvis. It’s ready for another Beatles, another Dylan. Someone will come out of nowhere and blow the lid off this business. Personally, I can’t wait to see it.
I think the most satisfying part of my life today is that Blood Sweat & Tears is finally over for me. Never was a rock band so aptly named. The organization I joined in 1968 was already racked by political infighting. It was a twisted mess of massive egos that somehow managed to turn out some really memorable music but took a toll on everyone who became involved with it.
The music of BS&T is timeless. The songs and performances stand up today. Those hits from 1969 are still being played all around the world, but only a few of the early members ever made any significant money. Bobby Colomby did well for himself in the corporate world of Hollywood. It’s a perfect place for someone with his charm and political talents. Lew Soloff remains one of the world’s great jazz trumpeters, performing with everybody from Barbra Streisand to Tony Bennett. Jim Fielder played bass for thirty years with Neil Sedaka. Most of the other guys returned to lives as working musicians or simply disappeared into obscurity after their tenure with the band. Some were never meant to be rock stars; they were embarrassed by the hype. Musical geniuses like Dick Halligan and Fred Lipsius never again sought the limelight. Dick went on to become a serious composer of film scores, and Freddie retreated into the academic world, becoming a professor of music at Berklee.
Steve Katz has rejoined Blood Sweat & Tears. Now he’s the key to the use of the name, so he’s Larry Dorr’s best friend. It’s all come full circle. All it needs is Al Kooper to make the circle complete, and if there’s any money in it, that might well happen too. Nothing surprises me anymore. It’s sad to see these people still vying for control of a name after all these years. That’s how it all began, and that’s how it’s ending. I tried to advise Larry Dorr to walk away from it while he still could. It might have been tough for a while, but in the long run he’d be better off and today he’d be his own man. Now it’s too late. He traded our friendship for a name, and that name owns him.
As for me, now that I’m no longer financially dependent on the music business I have the luxury of taking on projects for the pure joy of it. I’m currently working on an album called Soul Ballads, to be released at the same time as this book. As the title suggests, it’s a collection of soul ballads by Ray Charles, Otis Redding, Sam Cooke—songs that I sang on Yonge Street forty years ago, the great soul tunes that shaped my life and I’m finally able to record. The album is being produced by my old friend Lou Pomanti, from the Nuclear Blues days. We didn’t go looking for obscure tunes that no one has previously recorded; rather, we selected those great iconic soul ballads that everyone knows and loves. This is an album I have long wanted to make—a collection of the songs that inspired me to be a singer, songs that hit me in the heart when I was a struggling young artist and inspired me to keep on trying. Meanwhile, I’m still writing new songs, and an album of original material is in the works for 2011.
I’ve spent the last two years putting my life story down on paper and I’ve found it to be incredibly rewarding. I’ve always loved writing. Even as a songwriter the lyrics were my favourite part of the process. Maybe some youngster will read this book and benefit from my half-century in the music business. The joy of my life today is mentoring young artists. Perhaps one of these kids I’m advising will be the one to turn the music business upside down.
In these uncertain times the struggling young artist is willing to sign anything to get exposure. I tell them to forget about exposure and concentrate on performance. The only thing that matters is the music. Make it honest and completely your own and the world will come to you. Fame is overrated. It’s just a puff of smoke, gone in an instant. It’s your music that will change the world and make geniuses out of record-company presidents. Fame won’t purge your inner demons, it won’t solve your problems, and never forget, my young friends, being famous won’t make you a better person, no matter how many times you reinvent yourself.
Like every other hungry young artist, I allowed myself to get sucked into the hype-driven world of rock & roll, where your worth is measured by your chart position. It was a great ride. I loved every minute of it and got out before it killed me. Some people think that rock stars who die young are the lucky ones. We’ll always remember them as they were. There’s nothing sadder than an aging rocker trying to recapture his past glories. I’d like to go out with some measure of dignity. I know I’ll never again reach the heights I hit in the sixties, and I’m not sure I want to. A young record executive, after hearing The Evergreens, said to me, “This stuff is really good, David. I see a whole new career for you.” I’d heard that line before. I laughed and replied, “Oh no … You mean I have to do it all again?”
Acknowledgments
To the people who made this story possible …
Freda May Thomsett
Fredrick Sydney Thomsett
Ashleigh Clayton-Thomas
Jennifer Clayton-Thomas
Christine Graham
Nancy Hewitt
Bill Pugliese and the entire Pugliese family
Deering and Barbara Howe
Ronnie Hawkins
Duff Roman
Sylvia Tyson
Scott Richards
Tony Collacott
Bobby Colomby
&
nbsp; Larry Goldblatt
Fred Heller
Bobby Economou
Larry Willis
Mike Stern
Terry Nusyna
Lew Soloff
Fred Lipsius
Jim Fielder
Larry Dorr
B. Harold Smick III
Frank DeGennaro
Steve Guttman
Bruce Cassidy
William “Smitty” Smith
Ken Marco
Jadro Subic
Index
ABC Records, 182
Adderley, Cannonball, 108, 109, 110, 111
Adderley, Nat, 109
Agency Group, 278
Alias, Don, 178, 181, 245
Allman Brothers, 75
American Blues Festival, 68
Andy Williams Show, 157
Anka, Andy, 49
Anka, Paul, 49
Anti-Semitism, 127, 128
Anti-war movement, 117–20, 131–32
Blood, Sweat and Tears Page 26