PrayForSurf ~ Mark,
how did the idea of writing this book hatch in your mind?
Mark Moore ~ I got interested in music at a young age. I
began taking drum lessons in the sixth grade, and played in school all the way
through college, where I majored in history. I had been interested in Jan &
Dean since the first airing of Deadman’s
Curve in 1978. I was just a 12-year-old kid at the time but the music hit
me pretty hard. It got me listening to the Beach Boys and the Beatles, and lots
of other acts from the ‘60s, and as time went on the dramatic aspects of Jan
& Dean’s story had more of an impact on me. As the years went by, I could
never find much about them in published form. The best pieces were Dave Marsh’s
1971 Anthology liners and Paul
Morantz’s 1974 Rolling Stone article.
In 2009, I was in New York City for an appearance on Dave’s Sirius-XM radio
show called Kick Out the Jams. And I
joked with Dave about how young he was when he wrote for Anthology (and Creem magazine)—about
21 years old at the time. Yet I was still a kid when I first read that piece
and it was kind of over my head in places. I had to grow into it! In the ‘70s
and ‘80s, the few fanzines were good but largely one-sided, for obvious
reasons. Dean was the default spokesman after Jan’s 1966 car accident, and any
interviews with Jan were compromised by his condition. So there was a void
there, in terms of what I became most interested in learning about, which was
the music arrangement and production. In the 1990s, I decided I wanted to write
about Jan & Dean. I thought I would start by writing an article, and the
first person I interviewed was Hal Blaine. But I tend to think big in terms of
projects, and I quickly dropped the article idea. I also like topics that have
been largely ignored by others, so it was a good match. I went on a quest for
hardcore historical documentation, and the best place to start was to go
directly to the source—Jan Berry.
PrayForSurf ~ You
have succeeded at a Herculean task ... Describe how you went about tracking
down contractual agreements, rare photographs (Dead Man's Curve map and crash pics!), recording session
conversations, medical and military documents ... Any page I randomly turn to
has a backstory on a song, chart activity, an eyewitness interview ... Both quantity
and quality are impressive.
Mark Moore ~ Jan’s career archive provided much of the documentation. As a business man, Jan had kept impeccable records before his accident. Financial statements, legal correspondence, business contracts, studio invoices, original music scores—all were carefully filed and kept. This was a smart move, given what happened to him later. He held onto that stuff over the years, and even though it was rifled through and pilfered, enough remained to provide a solid underpinning for my efforts. Having this material was invaluable. It absolved me of being accused of basing my narrative on the memories of a post-accident, brain-damaged Jan. From there, I had to go looking for what I still needed. I researched the musicians’ union contracts with the help of archivists and staff at AFM Local 47 in Los Angeles. I conducted a vault/tape box inventory with the help of staff at EMI-Capitol/Universal. The crash pics were provided by the Berry family. I’ve created lots of maps for publication over the years, so it was natural to create a diagram for the book. I reconstructed the car accident and site using details from the official police report. I created the base and measured distances with modern mapping resources to present an accurate layout, as described by law enforcement. Jan had a number of original session tapes in his possession at the time of his death, and that’s where the studio dialog transcriptions came from. The military/Selective Service information came from the National Archives in Washington, D.C. The medical documentation was part of Jan’s personal archive. Gertie Berry (Jan’s widow) did some legwork whenever I needed a family connection to get material, such as Jan’s school transcripts from Westport Heights and Brentwood Elementary schools, Emerson Junior High, University High, UCLA, and the UC-Irvine School of Medicine. Bill Berry (Jan’s father) also provided me with documentation. For example, after the accident, Bill kept diary-like notes that were enlightening and helpful. So these are basic research methods, putting all of this stuff together. Documentary evidence is crucial for any in-depth historical research endeavor. And adding to it, of course (the crowning touch), is all the commentary from family, friends, colleagues, and business associates—the people who lived it.
PrayForSurf ~
The chapter titles are intriguing - What do they tell us about the unfolding
Jan & Dean story?
Mark Moore ~
·
1958 – Barons & Bomps:
A prologue sets the stage, describing the formative years. Jan’s
main musical influences were black R&B artists of the 1950s. He loved them,
and they shaped the kind of music he wrote for the Barons and Jan & Arnie—a
style that later became known as doo-wop. Jan and his friends were in a Hi-Y
school club called the Barons. As a partial offshoot of that, they formed a
singing group using the same name. Jan’s “bomps”
were a big part of the vocal experiments he did with the Barons (using full
multi-part harmonies) and the bass voicings on his early records.
·
1959 - Pratfalls & Pandemonium:
The year 1959 saw the transition from Jan & Arnie to Jan
& Dean. Their comedic shtick didn’t magically appear with “Schlock Rod” in
‘63. It was there from the beginning. You can hear it with Dean on the KJAN
tapes from the late ‘50s. It came naturally, and their physical comedy was
already fully honed. For example, at the Cocoanut Grove in Santa Cruz in
November ‘59, they really poured it on for a star-struck15-year-old girl who
was on assignment for her high school newspaper. They gave her bizarre answers,
cracked jokes, got into an extended fake fight, and purposely bumbled and
stumbled while going onstage. Jan & Dean made a big splash when they
debuted in ‘59. They played the Hollywood Bowl in August as part of a
multi-artist Dick Clark show. It was a sell-out crowd of 30,000, and 5,000
people were turned away. Loudspeakers were set up five blocks away to
accommodate the overflow. The Los Angeles
Times reported that “mass hysteria reigned” and that Jan & Dean, in
their Bermuda shorts, “brought about pandemonium.” And this was before their
first national television appearance the following month in September. They
were killing it at home, and this level of stardom—together with the national pre-Surf
Music teen rags tying Jan & Dean to surfing, hot rods, and the Southern
California beach culture between 1959 and 1961—did not go unnoticed by the
future members of the Beach Boys.
·
1960 - Skinny Legs and Ugly Kneecaps:
In 1966, Dean joked for Tiger
Beat: “When we started out we had the image with the bermuda shorts and
V-neck sweaters. . . . We wanted
to show everybody the coast was great! Then someone told us our legs were too
skinny and we had ugly knee caps. It really made an impression on me—I was
crushed! So we stopped wearing bermudas.” In ‘59 and ‘60, the raw R&B edge
gave way to some softer doo-wop and a few suit-and-tie crooner type
arrangements. From the outset, they did numerous concerts, live appearances,
and television shows.
·
1961 - Heart and Soul:
“Heart and Soul” was a Top-30 hit for the duo in ‘61, bringing
an R&B flavor to an old standard. They had moved from Doré to Challenge
Records. By the end of the year, they were on board at Liberty Records—which
was home base during their biggest hit-making years.
·
1962 - Still Talking Baby Talk:
Now that I think about it, this was a lazy choice for a chapter
title. Jan wrote a song with Don Altfeld called “She’s Still Talking Baby
Talk,” as kind of a tongue-in-cheek follow-up to their 1959 smash debut. It was
never considered for A-side release, but ended up as the flip for “Frosty (The
Snow Man).” They had several chart entries in ‘62. By August, they had begun
performing live with the Beach Boys.
·
1963 - Surf, Rods and Honeys:
This was the year’s titanic troika—waves, cars, and girls. And
the Honeys would soon sing harmonies on “The New Girl In School,” the track for
which was recorded in late ’63. Early in the year, Jan and Brian Wilson began
writing songs together. The track for “Surf City” was recorded in March and hit
#1 nationwide on July 20. It was followed by “Honolulu Lulu” and “Drag City.”
·
1964 - Crashes, Skateboards and One Last Ride
With Granny:
This was their biggest year, commercially. They ranked among Billboard’s Top10 artists of 1964, placing
at number 8. The chapter title features nods to “Dead Man’s Curve,” “The Little
Old Lady (from Pasadena),” Ride the Wild Surf,” and “Sidewalk Surfin’.”
·
1965 - Easy Come, Easy Go:
Easy Come, Easy Go was the title of Jan & Dean’s feature
film for Dunhill and Paramount Pictures in 1965. They had landed starring roles
in their own comedy feature. Unfortunately, a train accident during filming
severely injured several members of the movie crew—including Jan. The film was
cancelled, and the title came to reflect how easily a major opportunity came
and went for the duo.
·
1966 - Beginning From an End:
They had a song called “A Beginning from An End,” but Jan’s car accident
brought Jan & Dean’s career to an end, and Jan had to begin all over again
(from a personal standpoint). The year also marked the beginning of Dean’s solo
efforts.
·
1967 - Rainy Days in a Carnival of Sound:
This was a rocky transitional year, as both guys worked on
separate projects with a goal of keeping the music going—Save For A Rainy Day (Dean) and Carnival
of Sound (Jan). It was a time of personal achievement for both, but also a
time of conflict and major missed opportunities.
·
1968 - Blowing My Mind:
The Warner Bros. album Carnival
of Sound was shelved in ‘68. “Girl, You’re Blowing My Mind” was one of its best
tracks. The main theme among the album’s original compositions involved the inner
workings of the mind. Despite his cognitive impairment, Jan was smoking a lot
of marijuana at the time. It helped ease the generalized anxiety that was a
constant part of his life after the accident. Work on “Blowing My Mind” was
begun before the accident in March of ‘66, and the song is probably the best
indication of the direction in which Jan wanted to take the music.
·
1969 - Hitch a Ride to Hollywood:
In ‘69, Jan began writing and recording a song originally titled
“Hitch a Ride to Hollywood.” It was later released as “Tinsel Town,” a solo
single on the Ode label in ‘74. The title reflected Jan’s main mode of
transportation in ’69. He hitchhiked everywhere—from his rented home in Laurel
Canyon to the house he owned on Park Lane Circle, for example. He’d bum a ride
almost anywhere, and was often picked up by the police. A lengthy epilogue
summarizes the era from 1970 to 2004, with an accurate timeline for recordings
and the oldies touring operation.
PrayForSurf ~
"Jan & Dean" is in the book's title but at times it reads like
the Jan Berry Story. What is your perspective on Jan as a person, a producer, a
performer and what common misconceptions are you attempting to correct?
Mark Moore ~ The book is Jan centric by design. (Dean is writing his own memoirs, which is something we can all look forward to). I wanted to tell Jan’s story on a level that had never been done, and I especially wanted to focus on his pre-accident life and career. The format allowed me to present in-depth biographical information while also diving down into the weeds with minutiae. My perspective on Jan is that he was a brilliant, driven, and tormented individual. He was a rebel in school—an attention-getter not challenged much by his studies. His friend Brian Bruderlin called him an anarchist. Jan juggled his music career with college and medical school. He had a magnetic personality that attracted people to him. At the same time, his self-assured cockiness also bred resentment in some. But most of the people around Jan liked him, and he was close to Hal Blaine, Bones Howe, and other colleagues. The studio musicians really respected him. Jan was free-spirited and made his own rules. He labored under no one’s thumb but his own. And he was flawed, as we all are in some way. He never considered himself a great artist, but he was meticulous about arrangement and production. He was one of the pioneering record producers of his era. Self-produced artists were rare in Jan’s day. That phenomenon had just started coming into play. Few, if any, of Jan’s peers co-wrote their own music, arranged and produced their own hit records, wrote their own music scores, and were signed to a major music corporation as both a songwriter and a record producer. Jan did and had all of that by the age of 22. By virtue of his corporate contracts, he also co-wrote hits for other artists, and arranged and produced records for other artists.
One
common misconception is that Hollywood’s elite studio musicians were “Phil
Spector’s musicians,” and that’s just false. They were everyone’s musicians,
and Jan actually started working with them before Spector did. In fact, the
players and the union that represented them pre-dated the Rock era. Another
misconception is that Brian Wilson gave Jan & Dean hit songs to record. Let’s
examine that widely-held belief. By that logic, all of the material Brian wrote
or co-wrote for Bob & Sheri, the Honeys, Sharon Marie, the Survivors, the
Castells, Paul Petersen, and Glen Campbell would have been instant hit records.
On top of writing it, Brian arranged and produced that stuff—and most of it was
released on major labels (Capitol and Warner Bros.) between ‘62 and ‘65. Yet not
only were those releases not hits, they didn’t chart at all. Not one of them
(and this was when Brian was at the height of his powers). Let’s break it down
a little further. The only Jan & Dean songs that originated with Brian were
“Surf City” and “Gonna Hustle You.” Both of those were incomplete and finished
in collaboration with Jan Berry. Two other songs featured Brian as co-writer by
virtue of using the melody from songs he had already written or co-written:
“The New Girl In School” (“Gonna Hustle You”) and “Sidewalk Surfin’” (“Catch a
Wave”). On his other collaborations with Jan, Brian was brought in as a
co-writer (as part of Jan’s team). For example, the initial copyright filings
for “Drag City” and “Dead Man’s Curve” did not include Brian’s name. It was
added later. So why did Brian have songwriting hits with Jan & Dean and not
the others? He had success with Jan & Dean because (1) Jan and Brian made a
formidable team as collaborators; (2) because Jan brought considerable strengths
as an arranger and producer; and (3) because Jan & Dean were already
established hit-makers with a national profile when Brian began writing songs
with Jan. The collaborations with Jan proved to be the only lucrative outlet
for Brian’s outside creative goals. And it’s important to understand that Brian
actively sought opportunities beyond the Beach Boys.
PrayForSurf ~
Brian Wilson, in his Foreword to the book, wrote of how much he loved Jan's
sense of humor and misses him. What did you discover/uncover about Jan's
relationship to Brian and the significance of his influence on the leader of
the Beach Boys?
Mark Moore ~ I think Jan and
Brian influenced each other quite a bit. Brian has always been clear about
Jan’s influence, and has said that he learned to be ambitious from Jan. He
helped Brian with technical aspects of the studio, and Brian brought ideas in
melody and harmony that Jan absorbed. Brian was fascinated by the way Jan cut
tracks. Jan was already an experienced arranger and had been getting label
credit as an arranger since 1961, when he first signed with Nevins-Kirshner
Associates. In ’61 and ’62, Jan was writing intricate arrangements for other
artists. And Brian admired how Jan had everything “mapped out” before a
session. Brian was a documented, paid musician on a couple of Jan’s sessions in
late ’63 and early ‘64. If Jan didn’t add him to those sessions for any other
reason, then Brian potentially played keyboards on “Dead Man’s Curve” (original
LP version), “Hot Stocker,” “Surf Route 101,” “Drag Strip Girl,” “Rockin’
Little Roadster,” “Barons, West L.A.,” and “It’s As Easy As 1, 2, 3.” In the
original music score for “Barons, West L.A.,” Jan wrote “Brian” beside the
piano part. So evidence suggests that Brian played, rather than just getting a
payday through the union. On other charts, Jan would sometimes include the style
instruction “Brian Wilson Left Hand” for whoever played keyboards.
The “Surf City” sessions marked the
beginnings of Jan using two drummers and multiple guitars and basses,
establishing his signature sound (which got much better after “Surf City”). It
was Jan who played a prominent role in steering Brian toward using Wrecking
Crew musicians for Beach Boys sessions. Brian was influenced by Phil Spector,
but was never a member of Spector’s inner circle. Jan and Brian, on the other
hand, were personal friends. And Brian spent more time watching or working with
Jan than he did with Spector. Jan holds an interesting place in the string of
outside collaborators that Brian worked with—Gary Usher, Bob Norberg, Roger
Christian, Jan Berry, Tony Asher, and Van Dyke Parks. Most of those
collaborators worked on Beach Boys songs with Brian. Murry Wilson successfully
kicked Usher to the curb, but he couldn’t stop Brian from working with Jan.
Brian really wanted to maintain a creative outlet outside of the Beach Boys. He
was writing and producing for other artists. He enjoyed doing it, but he also
wanted those endeavors to be successful, to build his resume. Unlike Jan, Brian
wasn’t signed as a producer, and he had to fight Capitol Records for full
production authority over Beach Boys sessions, and to be able to record outside
the confines of Capitol Studios. And he won that fight. So again, Jan provided
Brian with a successful creative channel beyond his own band. Overall, it’s
clear that Jan and Brian enjoyed working together. In early ’64, when they were
doubling the lead vocals for “Ride the Wild Surf,” Brian’s unabashed admiration
for Jan’s arrangement of the song came through in their studio banter (a
transcription of which appears in the book).
PrayForSurf ~ On
stage (TAMI and other concerts)
and on film (TV appearances, their Surf
Scene TV pilot, Easy Come, Easy
Go photos) Jan and Dean looked like two college buddies simply having a
blast. How would you describe their relationship? (personal, business related
and in the studio) How did their relationship/roles change after Jan's
accident?
Mark Moore ~ I think “having a blast” is a good way
to describe it. They did, and it was evident all the way up until their final
television performance in Oklahoma City, taped on April 9, 1966, three days
before Jan’s car accident. In that performance, they destroyed “You Really Know
How To Hurt a Guy” with physical comedy, especially Dean. They were friends,
but there was also friction between them, which is not uncommon when friends
are in a business relationship together. Business-wise, the bulk of the
responsibility fell on Jan’s shoulders. He had separate songwriting and
producing contracts with Nevins-Kirshner/Screen Gems. Only the artist contract applied
to Dean, half of which was shared by Jan. So by ’63, the mother company looked
to Jan to make everything happen. It was his responsibility to make sure that
new material was written and recorded, that deadlines were met, and that they
met the quotas in a given period that were stipulated by contract. All of the
company memos and correspondence went directly to Jan (and not through Lou
Adler). If there was a problem, Screen Gems’ attorneys leaned on Jan, and vice
versa. Jan had an extraordinarily high intellect. Even as a teenager, he would
step into a situation and tell adults what to do. As an arranger and producer,
Jan wanted things done his way. And as Lou Adler confirmed, it wasn’t just
noise on Jan’s part. He could back it up and pull it off, and he made sure
things went the way he wanted them to go. Dean had to live with that. In the
studio, Dean was punctual. He loved stacking harmonies and enjoyed his lead
vocals. He was also a crucial part of their public image. Early on I think they
had friends in common, and they dated girls who were friends, most notably Jill
Gibson and Judy Lovejoy. But for the most part, Jan and Dean moved in different
circles, socially. They had their own scenes. Jan had a core group of friends
and collaborators around him, and a common theme among them was that they
rarely saw Dean. Hal Blaine, Brian Wilson, Don Altfeld, and others—they all
pretty much say the same thing. Some, like fellow medical student Vic Amira
(who served as road manager in the summer of ’64), initially questioned the
depth of the friendship between Jan and Dean. But they all came to understand
the dynamic. Jan ran the show and was pretty headstrong about it. Dean probably
knew Jan better than any of them, and was not as swayed by Jan’s
personality—the kind of commanding presence that made a number of people (especially
newcomers) want to fall in line behind Jan. I think they understood each other
pretty well, and Dean moved in his own circle of friends. It got contentious at
times, but the relationship worked well overall.
After Jan’s car accident, everything changed. Jan was not the
same person anymore. Certain aspects of his personality had changed due to the
brain damage, but his ego remained intact. There was a big conflict in 1967
between Jan, Dean, Screen Gems, and Columbia. The two companies then tried hard
to bring both sides together to keep the music going, but it didn’t work out.
In the ‘70s, Jan worked on solo recordings for the most part. After Deadman’s Curve aired in 1978, Dean was
initially not interested in touring with Jan. Dean was doing his own thing. He had
connected with Papa Doo Run Run and didn’t want to play small clubs with Jan. At
the same time, Jan had formed his own band. He played with Paul Downing, Peter
Tripp, and Joe Middler in ’76-’77, and Jan first formed the Aloha Band in ‘77. He
toured all over the country with Aloha in ‘78. Dean grudgingly joined them for
Murry the K’s Brooklyn Fox Reunion in July of that year. The concert was well
received, but Dean didn’t really enjoy the experience and at the time was
publicly negative about the performance, about Jan & Dean’s music in
general, and about Jan’s band. Dean did join Jan’s group for several other
critically acclaimed performances, but initially ruled out an official reunion.
They finally came together in late ‘78 when Jan joined Dean in signing with
Great Eagle International. In 1979 and 1980, they did four highly successful national
tours with Papa Doo Run Run. It was the reunion the public had been clamoring for
since the film aired, and Dean was now in charge of the touring operation. He
was responsible for everything on the business end. There are a lot of moving
parts in that kind of operation, and there was a learning curve, but he became
quite good at it. So their business relationship had been reversed, and
tensions often ran high. And Jan’s condition made him difficult to work with
under the best of circumstances, but he made it much worse by abusing drugs. He
got into cocaine and really made a mess of things for a while. Dean became
frustrated and their operation started going off the rails. Papa went their
separate way, and Jan & Dean toured with a new incarnation of their band
called the Bel-Air Bandits in 1981. But after a rough summer, there was an ugly
blow-up at the end of ’81, where everything came to a head, and the guys ended
their reunion for a couple of years. In ’82 and ’83, Dean stayed with the
Bandits and Jan went back out on the road with Aloha—and most importantly kicked
his drug habit. Dean also performed with Mike Love of the Beach Boys during
that period. They reunited again in ’84, in a limited way at first, and then pretty
much never looked back. But the road remained rocky. Dean would get to the end
of his rope at times, but they kept it together and entertained a lot of happy
concert goers. They both had proven that they could perform successfully with
their respective acts (and tour in Jan’s case), but in order to earn the bigger
paydays, they had to perform together. That was the bottom line. That’s what
the public wanted to see—the original two guys up onstage, overcoming the odds
and delivering.
PrayForSurf ~The Batman album may be the least
discussed in the entire Jan & Dean catalog, yet, in my humble opinion, it
was ground-breaking in synching humor with rock and roll music. They were the
Monkees before the Monkees were invented. Has their accomplishment of
incorporating humor (in Batman as well as in other songs/cuts from their
earlier albums onward) been overlooked? Under-appreciated as an art form?
Mark Moore ~ As Dave Marsh has
noted, the Batman concept was
descended from the comedy of Stan Freberg and Dickie Goodman, and a precursor of
the brilliant stuff that Firesign Theatre, Richard Pryor, and Lily Tomlin did
later. Dean was a natural comedian. Jan had a good sense of humor and had been
a Laurel & Hardy freak from the beginning. Everything they did was
calculated. Elevating “Schlock Rod” to B-side status in late ‘63—on what became
a major hit record with “Drag City”—spoke volumes. It was a bold move and put
the overt shtick front and center. In terms of the humor being overlooked or
underappreciated, I think you could argue that the comedic aspect has in some
ways caused many among the cognoscenti to dismiss them. But at the same time, many
knowledgeable music historians get it, and understand the dichotomy of complex
music arrangements and comedic content. But with Batman, the comedy skits weren’t radio friendly. It was the era’s
best send-up of the ’66 TV show, which was already a parody. Aside from the
album’s straightforward music cuts, the “Bat Cues” (backgrounds and connectors
written by Jan and George Tipton) were fantastic.
PrayForSurf ~ The first time I heard I Found A Girl jumping out of my Made-In-Japan transistor radio in 1965, I was amazed to hear the DJ identify it as a new Jan & Dean song. It sounded like a new direction in their sound.
Mark Moore ~ Jan first started producing “I Found A Girl”
in December of ‘64. Co-writer P. F. Sloan loved Jan’s arrangement of the song,
and Phil played lead guitar and sang on it. For the intro, Jan used a variation
of the guitar opening for “I Adore Him,” a song he had written with Artie
Kornfeld that was a Top 30 hit for the Angels in late ’63 (and #13 on the
R&B charts).
Jan was evolving as an
artist and trying different things, and the song acquired a Sunshine Pop vibe.
Aside from the basic rhythm components, the arrangement featured trumpet,
flugelhorn, trombone, tenor sax, two guitars (including electric 12-string),
and percussion (chimes and hand claps). It was the first single Jan delivered
to Liberty after the 1965 train accident that occurred during a location shoot
for Easy Come, Easy Go. Due to recovery
from the leg injury he received in the movie accident, Jan was late in
delivering the next single and album, and Liberty president Al Bennett leaned
on him over the tardiness. As an interesting side note, Bennett refused to
issue “I Found A Girl” with a picture sleeve. Bennett told Jan that if he could
deliver the next album by October 1, then Bennett would consider adding a picture
sleeve to subsequent pressings of the single. So “I Found A Girl” was the first
single of Jan & Dean’s Screen Gems era not to get a picture sleeve, and Jan
hit the ceiling over it. He felt that the sleeve imagery was important for
sales and to their public image. He wanted something other than a plain wrapper
to greet record buyers as they sifted through the 45 bins in their local shops.
Jan’s conflicts with Liberty and Screen Gems went much deeper than this, but it
illustrates one example. The song was released on September 8 and cracked the
national Top 30 on November 20, 1965. Sloan later released a slow, folk ballad
version on his Dunhill album Twelve More
Times in early ’66.
PrayForSurf ~ Pull the curtain back . . .
Mark Moore ~
Your biggest surprise?
One of the biggest surprises was how quickly Jan returned to the
studio after his automobile accident—one year to the month in April of ’67. How
about Jan driving again in April of ’67? Yeah, he got a temporary license. The
next day, he rented a ’67 Camaro in Van Nuys and promptly crashed it into a
truck. He wrecked two more cars in August of ’67. He veered off the road and
hit a parked vehicle west of the UCLA campus. Sound familiar? Then he hit a
parked ’66 Mustang at 11788 Bellagio Rd. The impact caused the Mustang to hit a
Pontiac Sunbeam that was parked in front of it. In March of ’68, Jan was
involved in a collision on the San Diego Freeway. He hit a ’68 Ford—crazy,
right? It happened! And of course, Jan had plenty of fender benders before his
big car accident in April of ’66. And he had more in the ‘70s.
A "What if?" or "If only" (and the implications of that circumstance or decision)
Sadly, there are too many big “what if’s” that had a negative
impact on Jan & Dean’s career. Their first TV pilot Surf Scene died due to Dean’s peripheral involvement in the
kidnapping of Frank Sinatra Jr. The same went for their planned big-screen
appearance in the film Ride the Wild Surf.
Their feature film for Paramount (Easy
Come, Easy Go) was cancelled after the train accident in August of ’65.
This was a big deal and a major lost opportunity. The screenwriter was Maurice
Richlin, okay? He had co-scripted the Blake Edwards films Operation Petticoat (’59) and
The Pink Panther (’63), both of which were hilarious hits at the box office.
The book includes a full and
detailed synopsis of Easy Come, Easy Go
based on one version of the script. It was a bizarre, over-the-top action
comedy—which is exactly what you’d expect from a Jan & Dean film. The
director was Barry Shear, but it reads like a Blake Edwards comedy. Song-wise,
the movie would have included a title track a few of the earlier hits, plus “I
Found A Girl,” “It’s A Shame To Say Goodbye,” and “Myron’s Lullaby.” And of
course their second TV pilot, On the Run,
was shelved due to Jan’s car crash in ’66. The comedy series was developed by
ABC-TV and Ashmont Productions, and was shot between November of ’65 and
February of ’66. There was plenty of room for improvement, but the show had
tremendous potential. They would have had a high profile platform for
introducing new music to the public. The Monkees debuted with a similar concept
in September of ’66. After Jan’s accident, he suffered from a severe impulse
disorder that would derail him time and again. Jan became his own worst enemy
in ’67 and ‘68. Every time label executives and collaborators lined everything
up to move forward in a positive way, the impulse disorder would get the best
of Jan, and he would blow everything up without meaning to. So yeah, it was one
thing after another. If everything had gone as it should have, Jan & Dean
would have been unstoppable, commercially.
If you could ask Jan one question . . .
Hmmm. I’d have a lot of questions for pre-accident Jan, but
here’s a good one. I’d get in my time machine and I’d visit him at Park Lane
Circle, or maybe over at the Playboy Club on Sunset, or I’d run into him at the
Plush Pup or Ships Coffee Shop. And I’d ask him why he didn’t write more songs
with Dean. Early on, they did some writing together. They co-wrote about half
of their first album together, but not much after that. Maybe Dean was not as
interested (as a part-time endeavor). Or maybe they ended up not being very
compatible, creatively. Jan’s close friend Don Altfeld was a stalwart co-writer,
from Jan & Arnie in 1958 all the way through some of the Carnival of Sound sessions in ’67. But
Dean was not. It’s an interesting dynamic.
Name the three most important people (other
than Jan and Dean)! to the Jan & Dean story?
I would say Joe Lubin, Lou Adler, and Bill Berry. Joe discovered
Jan & Arnie and really pushed Marty Melcher to help make them a success.
Joe was an energetic Englishman, and he pulled all the right strings to make it
happen, including going to Nate Duroff of the Monarch manufacturing company and
Randy Wood of Dot Records for distribution. And in hiring the best R&B
musicians, Joe set Jan on his path within the Hollywood studio system. Without
that foundation, the rest probably wouldn’t have happened. Jan and Joe remained
lifelong friends. Lou was involved in Jan & Dean’s entire career, from ’59
to ’66. He was their first producer (with Herb Alpert) and their manager. In
’61, Lou was signed to Aldon Music and Nevins-Kirshner based largely on the
success of Jan & Dean. And that opened the door for them to sign with the
company as artists. Lou became head of their West Coast office, and Jan signed with
Nevins-Kirshner as a songwriter and producer on September 25, 1961, which
really boosted him to the next level. Those contracts were absorbed and renewed
by Screen Gems in ’63. Lou went to Dunhill Productions and Trousdale Music in
’64, and from that point Jan & Dean were managed out of the Dunhill offices.
It was the Dunhill team (with Pierre Cossette and Bobby Roberts) that got Jan
& Dean their later film and television deals. And Lou was the one who
brought Jan and Brian Wilson together as songwriters. Without Lou pushing it,
that important connection may not have happened. Aldon had even tried to sign
Brian, but Murry Wilson wrecked that for Brian. After the car accident, Bill
Berry became Jan’s conservator and worked tirelessly to help his son continue his
music career. It was an exhausting effort, essentially a second full-time job
for Bill (who still worked for Hughes Aircraft). Bill constantly had to put out
fires and smooth the way for Jan, which led to his musical renaissance and
eventually to the reconnection with Dean and the “Phase II” touring operation.
In that sense, Jan & Dean had a second career, which actually lasted longer
than their original run. During that time, Bill handled all of Jan’s business
matters, often sparring with Dean.
The most underrated Jan & Dean song:
It’s hard to name just one. I would point listeners to the
better album cuts and B-sides, like “It’s As Easy As 1, 2, 3,” “Rockin’ Little
Roadster,” “My Mighty G.T. O,” “Horace, the Swingin’ School-Bus Driver,” and
others. In terms of arrangement and production, the best of them are as good as
or better than the hit singles. The instrumental backing track for “It’s A
Shame To Say Goodbye” is fantastic—as good as anything on Pet Sounds, instrumentally.
PrayForSurf ~
Mark, make the case for the long-overdue induction of Jan & Dean into the
Rock & Roll Hall of Fame
Mark Moore ~ Well, I think Jan & Dean made their own
case for inclusion between 1958 and 1966—26 chart records, including 16 Top 40,
with 7 Top 10 (and 5 Top 40 albums) on the Billboard
and Cash Box charts. The Hall is
highly politicized and has been inconsistent in its choices. Jan & Dean
meet any reasonable criteria for induction. The genre known as Rock ‘n Roll was
barely three years old when Jan Berry penned his first Top 10 hit in 1958. The
biggest acts of the era had more success, but by most standards, few bands had
more hit records than Jan & Dean between ’58 and ’66. In terms of pop
culture, they had everything lined up for success in film and television, but
fate thwarted those efforts. They made an impact outside of the studio as well.
Their antics on and off stage, non-conformity, and image helped pave the way
for such notables at the Mothers of Invention, Iggy Stooge (Iggy Pop), and the
Ramones.
PrayForSurf ~ What did I miss? Ask yourself one more
question . . .
Mark Moore ~ As Bones Howe said, “Jan really did steal the
tapes! He did all those things. The folklore is all true about him!”
[Special thanks to McFarland Publishing <mcfarlandpub.com> (800-253-2187) and David Beard, Endless Summer Quarterly]
• 200+ rare Beach Boys videos @ www.YouTube.com/BB45s • Visit www.PrayForSurf.net
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