I Wrote That One, Too . . .

by Steve Dorff

  I called him immediately.

  “Where did this come from?”

  “Out of your mouth, at lunch yesterday.”

  I never did get my closure with that person, but wow, did we ever come up with an amazing song. I can’t help but wonder if she knows it was written about her. Perhaps if she reads this book she will. Perhaps she won’t. It’s okay, because the music is in the world, and the experience made me a stronger writer.

  Love often does.

  As far as the rest of the women, I’m pretty sure they know who they are: the magnificent, complicated, and passionate women about whom I’ve written a lot of these songs. If and when they read this, I hope they smile and know that for that period of time that I was with them, I was loyal, and I truly cared about them more than they will ever know.

  28

  Elvis

  As thankful and grateful as I am for all of the wonderful artists who have graced my songs with their voices, there are a few who I would have loved to have heard sing one of my songs.

  My sister Sherry was definitely one of those crazed screaming teenage girls who cried every time she watched Elvis on TV. Because I was nine years younger than Sherry, I really wasn’t into the Elvis craze or fifties music in general. I was too busy listening to Al Jolson, Jimmy Durante, and theater songs.

  Coincidentally enough, about a year or two before Elvis passed away, Felton Jarvis, who was producing Elvis at the time, put a song of mine “on hold” for Elvis. He told me he loved the song and would be playing it for Elvis soon. That was about as close to an Elvis Presley cut that I would get. I did tell my sister about it, and she screamed over the phone as if I had brought Elvis over to her house for dinner.

  I’ve worked with many artists and producers over the course of my career who knew Elvis well and loved telling stories about him. B. J. Thomas, Bill Medley, Chips Moman, Mac Davis, and many of my studio musician friends had great stories about the King. Still, I felt as if I had somehow been out of sync personally with the Elvis era. Sure, I knew all of his hits, but I couldn’t recite all of his movies or discography like I could with the Beatles . . . or Burt Bacharach.

  In 2005, I received a call from my agent asking me to take a meeting with the director Jim Sadwith, who had done the successful Frank Sinatra miniseries for television. He was finishing up a four-hour miniseries for CBS called Elvis, and was looking to hire a composer to score the project.

  I gladly took the meeting in Santa Monica. As was the norm, there were several composers still being considered for this high-profile project, but I was told they had to make a choice quickly, as the network had moved up the delivery and airing dates.

  I had a nice thirty-minute morning meeting with Jim; answered all of his questions as they related to my musical approach, schedule, and so on; and left to head back to meet my friend for lunch at Art’s Deli in Studio City. My agent, Cheryl Tiano, called me in the car and asked me how the meeting went. I told her I felt good about it, but I had no idea whether or not I would get the gig.

  Later that afternoon, Cheryl called again.

  “I have good news and bad news.”

  “Okay, let’s have the good news.”

  “You got the job.”

  “Then what could be the bad news?”

  “You got the job.”

  She proceeded to tell me that the postproduction schedule had been moved up by a month to accommodate the network wanting to air the miniseries over two nights in early May. It was mid-April, which meant I had to write and record the entire score in about fourteen days—and I hadn’t even seen the first frame of picture yet. Now I understood what Cheryl meant by the “bad news” part of the equation.

  I got to look at the first two-hour assembly of the movie (“Part 1”) the following day. I was really blown away by Jonathan Rhys Meyers’s portrayal of Elvis, and I was not surprised at all when he eventually won a Golden Globe for his performance. Randy Quaid, who went on to win the Emmy for his portrayal of Colonel Tom Parker, was equally incredible. All of a sudden I was getting a crash course in Elvis the best way possible—by seeing his history unfold, as told beautifully by Jim Sadwith and Patrick Sheane Duncan.

  Jim and I were on the same page in terms of our musical approach to the miniseries: sparse, solo instrumentation that sounded realistic for the period. That would help a lot in terms of not having to spend days orchestrating. I would come up with the main character themes for Elvis, Priscilla, and the Colonel, and then fill in the dramatic sequences with period-sounding incidental music. We didn’t use any of the Elvis hits. This was focused more on his biographical rise, from his high-school years through his international superstardom.

  For expedience of time, I decided to record all of the love themes and sadder dramatic sequences in Los Angeles, with Jim Cox on acoustic piano and synths and George Doering playing acoustic and gut-string guitars. John Guess engineered. Jim Sadwith and I were loving the intimate feeling of the score. It was working well.

  The more rhythmic sections and rockabilly style sequences had to be authentic, and I felt that going to Nashville would be the best way to accomplish that. We had an awesome band: Paul Leim on drums, John Hobbs on keys, Joe Chemay on bass, and Brent Rowin and Biff Watson on guitars. Brent played that Jerry Reed–style rockabilly as well as anyone. I also had Jelly Roll Johnson play the harmonica, as that was the thematic sound I used for Colonel Tom Parker.

  Once again, we somehow beat the killer deadline, spending sixteen-hour days in the studio and finishing the project barely on time. It was an amazing project, and one that could only have been accomplished with the extraordinary talent of the outstanding musicians and John Guess’s great mixes.

  Now I had my Ph.D. in Elvis, and I had become a huge fan after all.

  29

  Michael Landon, Murphy Brown, and Dolly Parton

  If there was one TV show I never missed as a kid growing up, it was Bonanza. God, I loved everything about that show, right down to the Cartwrights’ Chinese cook, Hop Sing. Every Sunday night at 9 p.m., right after The Ed Sullivan Show, I would switch the channel from CBS to NBC and wait for that killer theme music by David Rose. Once, on a ski trip to Lake Tahoe, I dragged Nancy across the lake from where we were staying just so I could see the set where they filmed the exteriors for the Ponderosa Ranch.

  I was in the middle of lunch one day when Sam Schwartz called me and asked me to put together a CD of music for a two-hour movie/pilot being directed by and starring Michael Landon.

  “The Michael Landon? How fast do you need it?”

  Sam explained that they wanted to hear something right away, so I ran home and put together a sample CD of various scoring cues I had done, and messengered it over to Michael Landon’s people. The next morning, Sam called and said that Michael Landon wanted to meet me at his office on the Culver City lot at 2 p.m. I was beyond excited, if only just to get to meet Little Joe Cartwright after all the years of watching him on Bonanza.

  I arrived at Michael’s office, and his longtime secretary offered me a coffee and took me in to meet him. There he was, handsome as ever—great tan, long hair, and a youthful smile. He got up and shook my hand, smiled, and couldn’t have been nicer. He told me about the movie he was just finishing up for CBS, a drama called Us. I believe it was his first project for any network other than NBC, where he had done Little House on the Prairie, Highway to Heaven, and of course Bonanza. CBS had all but guaranteed him a slot on the fall schedule, but it wanted the two-hour movie as the kickoff.

  David Rose, the composer for every show Michael had ever done, had recently passed away, and Michael was looking and listening for someone who could take the reins and work as closely with him as David had done. Not an easy task. Michael then started to tell me about a family vacation to Hawaii that he had just returned from, and how he needed to get the postproduction rolling.

  “When are you
available to start?” he asked.

  I just looked at him. “What? Who? Me?” I was tongue-tied.

  “Yes. You. I loved your music. You’re the guy. I just wanted to meet you before we got going.”

  I was in shock . . . this was one of those “pinch-me” moments.

  “Um, I can start right now, sir.”

  He wanted to score the film in two to three weeks’ time, whenever I was ready, but he wanted to listen to my main theme as soon as I had it written. I was so excited, I think I started humming something to myself in the car on the way home that actually became the jumping off place to what would be the theme, which was called “Us.”

  Michael came over to my house in Studio City one day to hear me play it for him on the piano. He was wearing jeans and a tight cutoff black T-shirt, and I thought Nancy was going to pass out as he walked through our kitchen and kissed her hello. Michael loved the theme, made a few suggestions, and then said, “Let me know when and where you want to record.”

  Two weeks later, we were at Evergreen Studio in North Hollywood with a forty-five-piece orchestra, recording all day. Michael was in the control room, giving me the thumbs-up on every cue. It was maybe the most enjoyable, stress-free day in the studio I have ever had.

  Michael had a screening for cast, crew, and CBS and Sony execs in a packed room on the lot. The movie was fabulous, and everyone, including me, thought we were in for another classic long-running Michael Landon series.

  Michael was leaving the next day for a ski trip to Sun Valley, Idaho.

  That was the last time I would ever see him.

  It was reported that, while skiing, Michael was experiencing terrible stomach pains and had to be hospitalized. A few days later, it was announced that he had been diagnosed with terminal pancreatic cancer.

  It just took the wind out of me when I heard that. I was devastated. It was much more than just music. In just a few months I had become friends with one of my boyhood heroes.

  I called Michael a few weeks later just to leave a quick message that I was thinking about him. To my surprise, his wife Cindy answered the phone. I asked her to send my best wishes and prayers along to Michael for me, and she said, “Hold on, he’s right here and would like to say hello.”

  Michael got on the phone and sounded terribly weak. He wanted to apologize for it looking like the series wasn’t going to go because of his illness. Can you imagine? I told him to get well, rest up, and we’ll do another one. I could tell he had been crying, and he said he had to go.

  We were on the phone maybe all of forty-five seconds. Cindy took the phone back and thanked me for calling.

  Michael Landon died four days later. It was an absolute honor to get to know him and work for him. He was a good man, and one of the most loyal people I have ever met.

  There’s something to be said about loyalty in this business.

  Hopefully, when you do a good job on a movie or television show, you get asked back by the studio or production team for their next project. I had enjoyed that kind of relationship with Gary Lemel and Doug Frank at Warners for years.

  In 1988, I had the theme songs to four hit network shows, all running simultaneously. Growing Pains was rockin’ along on ABC, Just the 10 of Us was debuting, and Spenser: For Hire and My Sister Sam were both ending their respective successful runs. I was also doing a few pilots and several TV movies in my spare time.

  With all of the various meetings, writing, and recording that needed to be done weekly on all of these shows, it left me little time to do much else, let alone get any sleep. But I loved it. It was a crazy schedule every composer dreams about.

  Diane English was wrapping up My Sister Sam after two seasons on CBS, and there was rumor of a new, exciting project she had been developing for the ’88 fall season. It was a show called Murphy Brown and would star Candice Bergen as a sarcastic, dedicated, and ambitious news reporter on a TV show set in Washington, D.C.

  The buzz on this show was incredible.

  Diane asked me to come in for a meeting to discuss the music. The overall musical tone of the show would be set in the world of Motown. Murphy would be an R&B fanatic, and most of the episodes would be written around the many great Motown-era standards. The challenge for me was to come up with something original that had the flavor of R&B yet still said something fairly specific about the show. John Bettis was once again my go-to guy for this one. After reading the pilot script, he naturally came up with the perfect title, “Like the Whole World’s Watching.”

  I didn’t want to do the traditional tracking/solo-vocal approach, and we ended up with a song that had this great groove under it. I was hearing more of a “group sound” to make this really stand out. Maybe even an a-cappella treatment?

  I had recently heard a vocal group out of Nashville who were signed to WB Records called Take 6. These six guys had the most incredible sound I had ever heard, with intricate and sophisticated harmonies and vocal arrangements that were totally fresh and unique. I was able to get their contact information, and they agreed to meet with me and listen to the song.

  We met in L.A., and I spent a few minutes showing them the song at the piano. They loved it, had a few ideas arrangement-wise, and within half an hour—within minutes of learning it—they completely made it their own. They had transformed what was basically a pretty simple tune into this incredible, mind-blowing ear-candy event.

  I was in awe of their collective true genius. Rather than demo it, I called over to Diane’s office and asked if I could come over and show her the song.

  “How are you going to show it to me?” she asked. “There is no piano here.”

  “I don’t need a piano, just sixty seconds of your time.”

  Somewhat intrigued, she told me to come over after lunch.

  Diane was mildly surprised when, a few hours later, what looked like a full basketball team walked into her office with me.

  “This is Take 6, and here’s what we’ve come up with for Murphy Brown.”

  This was a highly unusual presentation scenario, but it went over like gangbusters. Diane made the guys sing it several times for everyone in the office she could find. She kept pulling in members of her staff, as well as people from all over the building. She then called Harvey Sheppard, the chairman of Warner Bros. Television, and asked if we could drop by his office for sixty seconds.

  Fifteen minutes later, we were all crowded in his office, where Take 6 was performing the song for Harvey and his staff. The reaction we were getting was unbelievable. Granted, having these amazing guys singing something live, in such a unique song form, was the major selling point, but I think the song was great, too.

  Murphy Brown was a brilliant, groundbreaking television show that ran for ten years, becoming one of the longest-running sitcoms in history. Take 6 went on to record a full version of the theme song, which John and I expanded. It was one of the first recordings the band did with instrumental accompaniment. We used the sixty-second a-cappella version to begin the piece, and then the guys did an insanely brilliant arrangement with orchestra to finish it.

  It is one of the best records I have ever been a part of, and am so proud to have gotten to work with the brilliant guys in Take 6.

  Other than the work that I’ve done with my longtime collaborators, I have enjoyed writing a song or two with a variety of great songwriters. One of my favorite people I have gotten to work with is Allan Rich. Allan is one of the sweetest, most down-to-earth men I know, as well as being an unbelievably talented guy with words.

  Most of his success as a songwriter has come from his longtime collaboration with my friend Jud Friedman. The two of them have written many big hits together. Allan and I first met while he was out visiting L.A. from New York. He attended some BMI-sponsored songwriting expo panel that I was speaking on. We briefly talked afterward, and he told me he was thinking about moving to Los Angel
es. I just had this feeling about Allan, so I told him to call me when he was settled, that I’d love to hear what he was doing.

  Our first session together was pretty much classic Allan Rich.

  He came out to the house and seemed a bit nervous. By his own admission, Allan has this quirky, change-your-mind-every-ten-seconds nervous energy about him. It’s part of what makes him great. Looking a bit anxious, he started to read me a few lyric ideas, and nothing was really hitting me. He then apologized, and said, “I have this other one, but you’re going to hate it. I wasn’t even going to bring it to you. I’m embarrassed.”

  “Don’t be silly, let me hear it.”

  He began to read a lyric called “Dump the Dude.”

  I fucking LOVED IT!

  I think we wrote the song in thirty minutes. We also wrote a really cool song that day called “Black Mercedes.” I demoed both songs the following week. Somehow Dolly Parton heard “Dump the Dude” and recorded it for a pop album she was making in Los Angeles. It was quite an honor to have an amazing songwriter in her own right, like Dolly, do our song.

  There’s something uniquely commercial about Allan’s lyrics that I love. We’ve gone on to write several other fantastic songs together, one of which, “Make It Christmas,” is a personal favorite of mine, and “I’d Know How to Love You Now,” which I know is a big hit just waiting to happen.

  Allan and I have yet to have a big hit single together, but I have no doubt we will.

  I have had the great fortune of getting to work with Dolly Parton on several occasions. She is one of the sweetest, most genuine superstars I have ever met. I was asked to arrange and conduct a few really great records for her. Steve Buckingham was producing an album with Dolly that included a fabulous version of Cat Stevens’s classic “Peace Train.” Dolly’s vocal, along with the backup vocals from the singers from Ladysmith Black Mambazo, was simply incredible.