I Wrote That One, Too . . .

by Steve Dorff

  As of this writing, we are aiming to go up in New York in 2018.

  Fun fact: Colony Records was located in the same historic Brill Building where Carole King and Gerry Goffin, Mike Leiber and Jerry Stoller, and Barry Mann and Cynthia Weil wrote some of the undying hits of the sixties. And before Herb Bernstein, Bill Lowery, and Snuff Garrett came into my life, it was the same building where I had first started knocking on doors. Unfortunately for me, I was a decade behind the glory of the Brill Building.

  35

  Evenings with Steve Dorff

  Although I am a pretty good piano player, I have never considered myself a singer, nor did I ever want to “perform” in public.

  That changed when Bobby Tomberlin convinced me to be “the face” of my songs.

  Paul Williams had actually encouraged me first, but I wasn’t ready at the time. Now, in my sixties, I do the occasional Evening with Steve Dorff, where I sit behind the piano, sing and play my hits, and tell the stories behind them. These began after Bobby Tomberlin first encouraged me to play a few shows with him, and I discovered that audiences love to hear the behind-the-scenes stories almost better than hearing the familiar hit songs done by a random pianist singing George Strait’s hit song.

  I now love doing it, but in the beginning, I had to be pulled kicking and screaming to do it.

  Yes, I could sit down at a dinner party with friends or family and play a few of my hits without causing myself too much anxiety, but I never really had the desire to actually play in front of hundreds of people I didn’t know. Then Bobby and I started doing some Writers in the Round in Nashville and at a few songwriter festivals that were sponsored by BMI.

  To be honest, I was never a fan of playing “rounds” with more than one other writer. In the first place, being a keyboard player, it has often been awkward to be squeezed between several guitar players. Secondly, the kinds of songs I write don’t really fit musically with a lot of the situations I’ve been put in, which are organized by people that either don’t care about that sort of thing or can’t really tell the difference. Lastly, if the chemistry isn’t right between the respective writers, it can prove to be a train wreck of an evening.

  That has happened one time too many for me. I’ve noticed that some writers tend to make these performances a sort of one-upmanship fest—a contest or competition to see “who has written the biggest hits,” replete with sarcasm and the occasional verbal snark toward the other participating writers.

  This didn’t go over too well for me when I experienced a rather cocky songwriter, who had had a few hits, trying too hard to make himself shine over Bobby and me. He was a fool to think he could get away with that with me, because for every hit he played, I played a bigger one. He ran out of recognizable songs long before I did, and he came across like a redneck ass-clown with his total lack of class and humility.

  It was embarrassing not only for Bobby and me but for everyone else at the venue.

  When I perform, the one thing I have definitively learned is that unless the audience is a “listening audience,” the show doesn’t work. Perhaps the worst experience I’ve had, that taught me that lesson in spades, was a show I agreed to do with Bobby at a place called Puckett’s in downtown Nashville. We might as well have been a hired garage band playing covers. The rowdy, obnoxious audience totally ignored us and just kept eating, drinking, and talking.

  I looked at Bobby and simply said, “Never again.” After that I told him I would only consider doing shows that included guest performances by close friends, where our music had at least something in common with their music.

  There is a little place in North Hollywood called Kulak’s Woodshed. The best way to describe the room would be a surreal bedroom on an acid trip: books, birdcages, wall-to-wall posters and pop art, a queen-sized bed in the middle of the room, and clutter everywhere. A beautiful baby grand Yamaha piano is squeezed between all of this, with film camera operators and a full-view TV screen that receives emails from viewers watching you play live. On a busy night it might hold fifty people maximum.

  Bobby and I decided to book an evening there, and we had a blast. The place was packed, and as Bobby and I traded stories and songs, everyone had a really great time. Paul Kulak, who owns the venue, makes these incredible DVDs of the performances, and the sound in there was surprisingly stellar.

  The best thing about these shows, for me personally, was discovering that I could get out and play in front of people who really appreciated the experience of hearing songs they knew and loved performed by the people that wrote them. I also realized that I could be somewhat funny and entertaining when telling the crazy stories of how the hits happened, and that fine line between glorious success and dismal failures. For the first time ever in my career, I was actually having fun playing. My confidence in these situations had been greatly restored. Maybe Bobby and Paul were right? I figured it might be a good time to branch out a bit and make people more aware of the person behind the music.

  I eventually started to play a few BMI events solo for my friend Dan Spears, who coordinates events with corporate sponsors and radio executives, with the goal of educating these people about what performing rights societies actually do for the writers and publishers that they represent. After doing a few of these shows by myself, and feeling like I had a good handle on what was becoming fun and easier for me, I was ready to attempt a full-on two-hour Evening with Steve Dorff.

  What could I lose? Except my sanity, self-respect, and newly found confidence.

  Ideally, I wanted to play somewhere other than Los Angeles or Nashville. A friend who books these types of shows in Florida suggested a venue in Fort Lauderdale called the Bonnet House. This place was a historic home and museum, built on several acres of a botanical wonderland. The setting for my show was outdoors on a beautiful November evening, with a full moon over the ocean. They sold three hundred tickets to the show. Some of the guests included friends I had gone to school within New York City, now transplants who had moved to Florida for the winters. I hadn’t seen some of these people in over forty years. I also had friends from my college days at Georgia who lived in Florida. It was a great reunion of sorts, and the show itself was well received.

  I have since done about twenty shows as I try to keep as normal a “home schedule” as possible, since my daughters both live with me full-time. Some of my more memorable Evenings were at the Cutting Room in New York City and Bogie’s in Westlake, California, where I had lots of friends and songwriting fans in the audiences.

  To this point, my favorite show was one I did recently in Danbury, Connecticut, at the Palace Theater. It was just one of those seamless performances where everything I said and played seemed to flow naturally and without any hiccups. As I hopefully get the opportunity to do more of these, I realize that there is a certain intimacy between myself and the audience that comes with what I do, and that is necessary to make the performance enjoyable for everyone by being as open and authentic as possible.

  I have grown to love performing, and these evenings give me a great platform from which to do so. It’s become both a challenge and great fun to help educate the average listener to the fact that there are just plain old songwriters in the world whom nobody has heard of, who write the hit songs heard on the radio for big-name recording artists to sing and perform. Not being the face of my songs has its advantages and disadvantages: being told “I’m one of the greatest songwriters that no one has ever heard of” gets under your skin after a while.

  It’s not really an ego thing, either. It’s more the frustration that most people simply do not recognize the fact that there are people like me who, while we are not in the spotlight, contribute greatly to the world of music by writing the soundtrack to people’s lives.

  When I began playing in a few clubs, at the urging of friends and associates, I was amazed at how many audience members had absolutely no clue that I wrote “that Ba
rbra Streisand song” or “that Kenny Rogers hit.” Yes, Barbra, Kenny, and all the rest are the “faces” of my songs, but I like to think of myself as the heart and soul behind them.

  I discovered that when people finally “get it,” they are fascinated by the stories and situations behind the creation of these creations.

  The usual three questions I get are:

  1.What comes first, the words or the music?

  2.How long did it take to write that one?

  3.Did you have the artist who made it a hit in mind when you wrote it?

  These are all excellent questions that are pretty easy to answer.

  1.Depends on who I am writing with, and it varies from song to song.

  2.Anywhere from twenty minutes to a year.

  3.Ninety-nine percent of the time . . . No.

  The toughest question that I get is, “What’s your favorite song that you’ve ever written?”

  That is an impossible question to answer. Yes, I have some that I think are maybe my best work in terms of craft, but a lot of those have never been heard, aren’t the most commercial, or might not ever get recorded. Some of my most successful songs are ones I don’t consider to be even close to my best.

  Much to my surprise, I’ve been asked after a show or performance, “Do you have a CD I can buy?” I got to seriously thinking, “What are my best songs?” Isn’t that a purely subjective thing, depending on who the listener is, and what their individual tastes are in music?

  A few years ago, I was in the process of re-demoing a few older songs that I felt could use a facelift, in terms of their presentation. I was happy with the way some of these songs were coming out, with little production value, and a simpler and more straightforward approach to the demos. I started to think about making a CD for myself, including the twelve songs that I consider to be, not my favorites per se, but my “completely subjective choices of what I think constitute my best work.”

  Okay, shoot me, I said it . . . I guess they might be some of my favorites.

  I wanted the project to reflect who I am personally to anyone who might listen to it. I chose songs that were emotionally tied together in one piece, and that told a somewhat autobiographical story about the guy who, along with his talented cowriters, wrote these songs.

  I called the CD It’s Personal.

  The fact that I was going through a tough breakup at the time that cut awfully deep most definitely influenced the types of songs I included. I even wrote two new songs that were totally inspired by my search for understanding why “love does what it does,” one of my favorite lines from a song I wrote with Susan Ruth. Completing this project took me six months, and it was the best therapy I could have ever asked for. I also finally had a CD I could sell at my performances the next time anyone asked me if I had one.

  And, now, I’ll have a book as well.

  It was actually at one of my shows that I met my literary agent, Michelle Zeitlin, who introduced herself to me after seeing the show and encouraged me to put these great stories and memories down on paper. I remember thinking, “Wait, I’m not old enough to write a book. I’m not nearly done yet . . . I hope.”

  After all, the time to write a book is after you’ve experienced most of the journey, hopefully getting that emotionally taxing Ph.D. in life, when you can recognize the distinction between those dreaded three-word phrases “paying your dues” and just plain “getting screwed over.” I’ve certainly experienced both. The passage of time certainly has a way of tempering the perception of how things really happened, and it has put things in their proper perspective.

  Funny how that works.

  Afterword

  My guess IS that I saved tens of thousands of dollars in time and therapy when I made the conscious decision early on in my life that performing in front of people, trying to be a Billy Joel or an Elton John, was just not in the cards for me.

  Yes, I put out a few records that were god-awful, and I played in a few bands in high school, but I was able to identify the fact that I was NOT a great singer, and I really wanted to stick to what I thought I did best . . . writing songs. I truly have loved being that “behind the scenes” guy, maintaining my anonymity, and being able to walk past the obnoxious paparazzi at great restaurants without them giving me a second glance.

  In my opinion, being a songwriter who has had a successful career doing what he is passionate about is an award in itself. Most people assume that having written a #1 song is the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Yes, having “hits” on the radio is obviously what we all hope to accomplish. The royalty income stream is also nice, as it is indicative of the amount of success derived from the songs and music we’ve written.

  But there is more. There is so much more.

  Maybe it’s because I never really considered myself to be a “musician,” per se, that I have the highest regard and admiration for the amazing musicians I’ve gotten to experience my musical journey with, both in and out of the studio. It is truly an honor to get to work with and call my friends these musical magicians who have added so much of their talents to making my music sound so good.

  I can honestly say that being in the studio with these extraordinary musical geniuses, helping me to create and expand what started in my heart and my head, has been the single most gratifying and fun part of the entire process of making music for me. I hate to leave anyone out, as I’ve been so blessed to work with so many great players. The list of the greats I’ve watched play my music over the years is staggering. I do wish, though, to single out some of the people who influenced early on and continue to influence today how I approach my arrangements, production, and even sometimes the writing.

  Not being a guitar player yet relying so much on guitars in so many of my scores and arrangements, I needed to find players with great musical instincts, which is that intangible quality that is so rare and hard to find. Both George Doering and Dean Parks have contributed so much to the world of recorded music, and I am so grateful for and honored by the amazing work they have done with me on so many projects.

  The foundation of any rhythm section is the bass and drums, and, ironically, almost every session I’ve ever done starts with my determining who is playing those instruments before any of the others. I have been so blessed to experience the best of the best, but John “J.R.” Robinson, Jeff Porcaro, and Paul Leim lay it down as well as anyone who has ever played the drums. Any combination of one of these guys with either Leland Sklar, Neil Stubenhaus, or Joe Chemay on bass is about as deadly solid as it gets.

  I used to think I was pretty good myself on piano and keys until I got to work with virtuosos like Randy Kerber, Randy Waldman, Michael Omartian, and more recently Matt Rollings and Jimmy Nichols. These guys can play anything from classical to jazz to rock, country, blues, and funk.

  It’s been this writer’s dream come true to have had these amazing talents perform my music.

  I also honor the memory of Jimmy Getzoff, who was my first concertmaster when I started doing sessions in L.A. Jimmy was a consummate violinist; he always put beautiful string sections together for me, and he cared about the music as much as I did. He was a sweet man and a dear friend.

  Maybe the greatest ears of any musician I have ever worked with belong to Gayle Levant, harpist extraordinaire. Gayle has been a dear friend, a regular on any orchestra date I have ever done or will ever do, and always the most trusted musical ears in any room. I can’t tell you how many times, on various sessions, Gayle would come over to me on a break and whisper something like, “Check bar 65 in the second trombone part. He should be playing a G natural instead of a G-sharp.” And she would be right. Her ability to take a simple chord chart and make it sound like Stravinsky has always made me smile. There’s something very special about a glissando when it’s played by Gayle.

  A couple of truly great and meaningful experiences for me were when
I got to work with two of my boyhood idols, Peter Matz and Don Sebesky. I actually hired Peter to orchestrate a musical piece that I wrote with John Bettis for Warner Bros. Studios’ seventy-fifth anniversary. It was sung beautifully by Michael Crawford, and Peter’s textbook arrangement was classic Peter Matz at his best.

  Years later, I would ask Don Sebesky to orchestrate big-band renditions of two Christmas classics for a Rodney Carrington Christmas album I was producing. It was certainly one of the most fun sessions I have ever experienced. Both of these musical giants inspired me so much throughout my life, and it was a kind of a full circle moment in both instances to have a chance to work with them.

  I can’t forget the engineers—the guys who make everything sound so good. Again, I’ve gotten to work with some of the very best, but John Guess and Rick Riccio were always there when I needed them. They solved any problem and contributed greatly to each and every project they worked on with me.

  Recently, I have been working with a number of talented new artists and writers that I am quite sure will, in the near future, break through to become tomorrow’s hit-makers. Sam Bailey, who won The X Factor in the UK, is one of the most powerful vocalists I have ever worked with. Dylan Chambers is a young, brilliant artist/writer from L.A.; Robyn and Tiago are a unique duo from London; and Brent Loper is a bright new country artist from Mobile, Alabama. All of these artists and others have thankfully given me the opportunity to create new music with them, and to give me more reasons to keep doing what I love to do most.

  Thank you to everyone mentioned and everyone unmentioned. I could not have done it without you, and I plan to continue to celebrate and share and utilize your skills until I stop writing, which will probably be when I stop breathing. Which brings me to the question I have been asked repeatedly in the last decade: “What else is there for you to accomplish and when are you going to retire?”