Mark A. Moore, Dead Man's Curve Interview, Part 2
Dead Man's Curve: The Rock 'n' Roll Life of Jan Berry
Phil Miglioratti @ Pray For Surf: Have you been surprised by the reaction/replies/feedback to Dead Man's Curve?
Mark Moore: No, the reaction has been positive. The goal was to enlighten existing fans and others who are not fans, or not as familiar with the story, through a deeply researched and engrossing narrative about a compelling figure in rock history. I think Jan’s story is rich enough to interest people who are not necessarily fans of the music. It encompasses a formative time in American popular culture—early rock ‘n’ roll, the Mid-Century Modern aesthetic in Los Angeles, the Hollywood studio system, and the rise of the West Coast Sound. It’s also about tragedy, renaissance, and perseverance. It’s great when readers learn something new or get something positive out of it. When readers say it’s a page-turner that’s difficult to put down, I’m proud of that.
PM: You undertook to tell the life story of Jan Berry. You describe Jan as "brilliant, charismatic" yet "reckless, flawed." Mark, please explain how these adverbs and adjectives begin to reveal Jan's "rock and roll life?"
MM: Jan was brilliant in terms of his intellect. He was gifted with a high IQ (intelligence quotient), and it first became evident to his teachers when he was in grade school. They commented on it in his school records. By the time he was in junior high his teachers noted that he had leadership qualities (when he wasn’t causing trouble). Jan had a tremendous capacity for academic achievement. He got by in school with good grades without having to study much. He was not challenged much in grade school, junior high, or high school. He was an ace in math, which set him up to do well in the tougher sciences, like chemistry and physics, especially when he got to college and medical school. He also learned to read music easily through guitar and piano lessons as a kid, which laid the groundwork for him to begin studying music theory as a college student and on his own. Music follows a set of basic laws—like math. So, learning to read the notes and the concepts of music theory appealed to Jan, both scientifically and creatively.
Jan was charismatic in terms of his personality. His friend Michael Steinberg noted that people were drawn to Jan and wanted to be like him. He was a leader and strongly ambitious. He was loyal and generous with friends and demanded it back without having to be a “yes man” for him. He had a high profile in school and was kind of a larger-than-life figure from the outset. A troublemaker, but someone who was fun to be around. He was handsome, had a kind of maturity about him, and his prowess with women was legendary. He developed a strong work ethic at a young age, and a sense of self and identity that was unusual for an 18- or 19-year-old. He was focused, and by the age of 20 had signed separate artist and songwriting contracts with a major entertainment corporation.
Jan was reckless in several ways. One of the best illustrations was his driving. Jan was the very definition of a reckless driver. He bally-hacked every vehicle he ever owned and scared the hell out of passengers from Dean Torrence to Bones Howe, and many others besides. In Jan’s view the rules of the road were for other people, not him. Citations for fender benders, moving violations, and parking tickets did not faze him. He gladly paid the fines. When Jan’s business management firm researched his driving record while trying to obtain insurance for him, an increasingly difficult task, a staffer was taken aback: “His driving record is not to be believed.” That says it all.
But Jan was also reckless in his personal life. Ruining his relationship with Jill Gibson the way he did was just egregious. There’s no other way to put it. It was one of the worst mistakes he ever made. He carelessly threw away one of the most grounded and positive aspects of his hectic life, and he inflicted lasting emotional pain on Jill. He regretted it but the damage was done, and it illustrates how erratic he had become just prior to his automobile accident.
Jan was flawed in that Jan’s agenda was about Jan, and he brought a single-minded focus to achieving his goals. That was generally a good thing, overall. It served him well. He played things to his advantage and got away with every studio infraction in the book, partly due to his headstrong personality and partly due to the results he was achieving. And here again, he was unfazed by his royalties being docked for studio infractions. His three contracts (artist, songwriter, and record producer) were so lucrative he hardly missed the penalties. But he was a little heavy-handed at times in doing things his way, regarding Dean Torrence. He was also an expert at employing passive aggression when things were not going completely the way he wanted them to go, when they were out on the road, for example. As Lou Adler has said, Jan was juggling a lot at a high level and pulling it off. He had tremendous self-confidence. There was a sense of grandiosity about him, I think, that he needed to be careful with. He could be cocky and dismissive at times, but he was not out to hurt or abuse people. He was not able to give music his full-time attention. His time was limited, especially as his pre-accident hit-making career inched closer toward 1966, and he was trying to accomplish his musical goals, and fulfill his contractual obligations to Screen Gems, in the limited time available to him. And I’ve said it many times, but it bears repeating: Jan’s industry colleagues liked and admired him. They liked working with him and the Wrecking Crew musicians respected him. Their voices and recollections inform the pages of Dead Man’s Curve and cannot be ignored. Friend and Wrecking Crew guitarist Don Peake called Jan “a heavyweight musician.” And some of his close associates, like Lou Adler and Bones Howe, were bugged by how Jan was portrayed in the film Deadman’s Curve.
PM: Thrilling?
MM: What could be more thrilling than having your first self-penned Top-10 record at the age of 17, and becoming a rock ‘n’ roll star, before you even graduate high school? Jan & Arnie were on the charts and on national television with Dick Clark and Jack Benny when Buddy Holly was still alive. They were in on the tail end of the storied original era of rock ‘n’ roll. Jan & Arnie were on the bill for the first rock ‘n’ roll concert ever held at the Hollywood Bowl in 1958. Jan’s career was historic and thrilling from the outset.
PM: Humorous?
MM: Well, Jan’s exploits as a teenager and budding artist were often humorous, and sometimes downright hilarious. From breaking Don Altfeld out of class at Uni High, to stealing his own records in 1958 to promote sales for Jan & Arnie, to mooning bystanders, you just never knew what he might do next. His friend Brian Bruderlin (James Brolin’s brother), from the garage studio days, called Jan an anarchist—a guy who lived to grandstand and make people take notice. Jan had a great sense of humor. He was not the natural comedian that Dean Torrence was, but he loved the back-and forth banter. Jan was a Laurel & Hardy freak, and he liked the idea of a comedic music duo. He was serious as a music arranger and record producer, but in terms of public persona, Jan loved the irreverence, and Dean really carried that. Jan liked playing straight man to Dean’s over-the-top, Tommy-Smothers-on-acid shtick. If it was not clear before, when “Schlock Rod” was elevated to B-side status in late 1963 it became clear that Jan was comfortable with comedy being part of their identity.
PM: Unsettling?
MM: The tragedy that befell Jan could not be more unsettling. But the pre-accident period from August 1965 through April 1966 was an unsettling and pivotal time in Jan’s life. He was badly injured in a railroad accident during a location shoot in Chatsworth for the Jan & Dean film Easy Come, Easy Go (Paramount Pictures). That random event sent his highly structured life into a tailspin. The injury forced him to withdraw temporarily, in good standing, from medical school. He quickly arranged to be officially reinstated and resume his sophomore year in September 1966, but the wheels of administration and bureaucracy turn slowly. The Selective Service seized immediately on Jan’s withdrawal, regardless of the medical reason, and deemed him eligible for military service. He was not drafted, but the mere fact that he was reclassified from “school deferment” to “eligible for service” infuriated Jan. And over that same period, through his own actions, he torpedoed his nearly seven-year relationship with Jill Gibson. So, he was in a dark place emotionally, and uncertain about the future.
PM: Disturbing?
MM: Jan was vulnerable in the early years after the car accident. His brain injury erased his previous intellect and high-profile station in life. His ego remained intact but his cognitive and expressive impairment set him back immeasurably. It was devastating and he struggled to come to terms with it. At the same time, there was still a lot of glamor surrounding him, from his pre-accident status in the music industry. People were still drawn to Jan, especially when he started working in the studio again. He wanted people close at hand in his life. He wanted to be liked and accepted, and it set the stage for hangers-on to take advantage of him and exploit his need for love and acceptance—his need for reassurance. They crowded his home, stole his possessions, ate is food, used his credit cards, and further enabled his drug use. He did have friends who tried to protect him, but he would often shrug away their concerns—to the frustration of his heartbroken family.
And Jan still attracted women in droves. He had a turbulent relationship with new girlfriend Jan Hirsch in 1967 and sometimes lacked what you might call situational awareness. Consequently, he ran into trouble for sexual relations with underage girls. It was disturbing to say the least, and a nightmare for Bill Berry as Jan’s conservator.
PM: Uplifting?
MM: Jan’s story is ultimately about perseverance. Fighting through rage and depression, he gained a measure of success despite his post-accident limitations. He returned to the recording studio one year to the month after the car accident in April 1967. His initial efforts were geared toward making a comeback as a songwriter, arranger, and producer in the late ‘60s, and by the early ‘70s he was recording lead vocals again. From 1972 to 1978, he forged a career as a solo artist, recording for the Ode and A&M labels, and by 1976—10 years after the car accident—he was performing live again.
When the Jan & Dean film Deadman’s Curve aired in February 1978, it was Jan who first toured nationally with his Aloha Band. Dean Torrence was not interested in touring or working with Jan at that early stage, so Jan hit the road as a solo act and toured nationally in March 1978, a month after the film debuted. The movie made a big splash. Fans old and new clamored to see Jan & Dean perform together again, and after a few sporadic appearances, Dean eventually got on board with touring as a duo in 1979.
One of the effects of Jan’s post-accident impairment was a lack of inhibition. That was a problem in some areas, but it often served him well in ignoring detractors and pushing ahead, no matter the setbacks. But his therapy was inconsistent. He was too strong-willed to adhere to a rigid, long-term rehabilitation structure. He developed his own coping mechanisms that sometimes were at odds with techniques or results his therapists preferred. His progress was sometimes limited as a result, but he always kept pushing ahead, hoping for a better future. His residual capacity for music gave him hope and something to live for. And the positive reception he received on tour—and for his new recordings—fueled his determination to keep going. He became a high-profile role model for patients with traumatic brain injuries, during an era when people with disabilities were rarely in the public eye.
PM: Sketch out Jan's profile as a songwriter, music arranger, record producer, and lead singer:
PM: Songwriter?
MM: By 1957, inspired by the black R&B musicians he listened to through his KJAN Radio scam, Jan began experimenting with writing his own songs. His earliest collaborators were Arnie Ginsburg, Don Altfeld, and Dean Torrence.
Every Jan & Arnie song was co-written by Jan, and of course “Jennie Lee” was a Top-10 national hit, right out of the gate. His first professional compositions were published by Marty Melcher’s Daywin Music, so Jan began learning about music publishing with the release of his first record. Songwriting royalties and music publishing royalties are not the same thing. They are two different revenue streams. So, Jan saw an avenue there and in 1959 founded Fiji Music, his own personal publishing company, named for the fraternity he joined at UCLA (Phi Gamma Delta). With Fiji, Jan began sharing in some of the publishing royalties—along with Lou Adler, Herb Alpert, and others—on some of the early Jan & Dean sides for Doré Records. Jan’s best Fiji Music publication during the early era was the unreleased “I’m Dying to Give You My Love” (by Pixie).
When Lou Adler joined Nevins-Kirshner Associates (Al Nevins and Don Kirshner) as a junior executive in 1961, that opened the door for Jan to take his next step as a professional songwriter. In addition to Jan & Dean’s new artist contract with the company, Jan signed separate agreements as a songwriter and fledgling record producer with Nevins-Kirshner in September 1961. From that point, his new compositions would be published by Aldon Music, the company’s publishing firm.
Fiji was consequently sidelined (until the ‘70s) due to Jan’s contractual obligations to a high-profile entertainment company. It was a good trade-off that would serve him well, and Nevins-Kirshner gave Jan a higher profile in the industry. Aldon published ads in magazines like Cash Box identifying Jan and some of his Aldon peers as future hit-makers for the company. Aldon and Nevins-Kirshner worked out of the 1650 building on Broadway in New York City, a block from the Brill Building, where a lot of the Aldon writers worked. Lou Adler and Jan were the company’s West Coast extension. That’s heady stuff for a budding 20-year-old artist like Jan.
He ended up not writing much during his brief Aldon phase. For example, Lou Adler brought in “Tennessee” through Gary Walker in Nashville and Jan himself chose to rework the 1940s standard “Linda,” which became a Top-30 hit for Nevins-Kirshner. Jan’s composition “When I Learn How to Cry”—the B-side of “Linda”—was an Aldon publication. But by April 1963, Nevins-Kirshner had been acquired by Screen Gems-Columbia Music, an entity of Columbia Pictures’ Music & Record Division. That was a big deal. Screen Gems reworked all three of Jan’s contracts and further boosted Lou’s and Jan’s West Coast operation—setting the stage for his biggest success. Don Kirshner remained at the helm in New York, and quotas were set for Jan’s new compositions and productions.
The first Screen Gems publication for Jan & Dean was “Surf City,” in the spring of 1963. And by working with Jan, Brian Wilson knowingly forfeited any publishing royalties from the songs they wrote together. Brian got a nice songwriting royalty, but the publishing royalty went to Screen Gems thanks to Jan’s contract with the company. The publishing aspect is what made Murry Wilson apoplectic. (Sorry Murry, no Sea of Tunes. Take a powder). Brian of course didn’t care. He liked working with Jan and the extra songwriting income outside of the Beach Boys. That was right in line with Brian’s personal goals in ’63 and ’64.
That fall Jan scored a Top-30 hit for Screen Gems, outside of Jan & Dean, with his composition “I Adore Him” by the Angels (co-penned with Artie Kornfeld). For Jan, this “girl group” classic made up for the disappointment of not releasing “I’m Dying to Give You My Love” in ’62.
In fulfilling his songwriting obligations to Screen Gems, Jan always worked with collaborators. He never carried the load on his own as a songwriter. This marked the rise of his core creative team for Jan & Dean: Jan, Brian Wilson, Roger Christian, and Don Altfeld (in various combinations). Artie Kornfeld was also a brief but major contributor. Jan had a knack for melody, and while he would occasionally write lyrics, he would often share ideas and then leave the words to others, who also brought their own input. One of the best examples is “The Little Old Lady (from Pasadena).” Jan wrote the music while Altfeld and Christian wrote the lyrics.
Don Altfeld was one of Jan’s best friends from high school. When Jan and Roger Christian met, they bonded and became close personal friends. They had their ups and downs, but Roger stuck with Jan after the car accident—co-writing songs with him during the Carnival of Sound era in the late ‘60s, the Ode solo era in the 1970s, and into the 1980s.
As Roger said, Jan really respected Brian Wilson’s talents. After “Surf City,” Jan would share works in progress with Brian and solicit his input. They would bounce ideas off each other.
PM: Music Arranger?
MM: Jan was not a musical genius. He just had a high level of skill and talent for arranging music and producing records.
He began arranging multi-part vocal harmonies in 1957. He had an original composition called “There in the Night,” which he recorded with his garage group, the Barons. Jan played piano and taught each of the group members their parts. They also covered hits of the day. Jan could already read music by this time, having taken guitar and piano lessons.
As Bruce Johnston has said, this was the beginning of Jan putting it all together and learning how to control the room, often with Bruce and Sandy Nelson playing along. So early on, Jan had the raw talent for putting parts together, taking what he heard on the radio and putting his own spin on it.
If you’re a football fan, you might be familiar with the concept of a “coaching tree,” which charts a coach’s rise from position coach to offensive or defensive coordinator, and finally to head coach—and recognizes the coaches above him who mentored him along the way.
As a music arranger Jan’s coaching tree began with Don Ralke, Ernie Freeman, and Adam Ross in 1958. Watching those guys at work—putting parts together and working with elite studio musicians—fascinated Jan, and it laid the groundwork for his career. In the early Jan & Dean era, Jan learned more by watching Herb Alpert arrange parts and contract the musicians. He also learned from industry arrangers like Jimmie Haskell and Marty Paich.
After enrolling in college in 1959, Jan began taking music theory classes at UCLA, and on his own began studying a music text called The Professional Arranger-Composer by Russell Garcia. Through this process he steadily honed his skills.
By the time Jan signed with Nevins-Kirshner in 1961, he was well on his way. He began getting label credit for his music arrangements for Jan & Dean while Lou Adler was still the producer. Jan also began working with artists outside of his own act and getting label credit as an arranger for other artists.
By the time of the Screen Gems acquisition in 1963, Jan was hitting his stride and would soon be at the top of his game. He was writing his own music scores and getting paid for his arrangements through the musicians’ union (AFM Local 47 on Vine Street in Hollywood). Another significant chunk of his income.
PM: Record Producer?
MM: The “coaching tree” also applies to Jan’s evolution as a record producer. It began with Joe Lubin, who discovered Jan & Arnie in 1958. Joe was an ambitious Englishman who worked for Marty Melcher (Doris Day’s husband) as an A&R (artist & repertoire) executive and vice president of Melcher’s Arwin Records. Lubin was Jan’s foundational mentor as a record producer. Joe had tons of connections in the business, used the best musicians in Hollywood, and began teaching Jan the ropes.
On a parallel track, Robert “Bumps” Blackwell mentored Lou Adler and Herb Alpert during their stint at Keen Records in 1958. Bumps—who worked with Little Richard and other well-known artists—taught Herb and Lou how to evaluate talent and identify what made a potential hit record.
When Herb and Lou took the plunge as independent producers, which was unheard of in Hollywood at that time, they signed Jan & Dean as their first act in 1959. And Jan immediately began absorbing from Herb and Lou what Bumps Blackwell—one of the best in the business—had taught them.
By 1961 Alpert was on his separate path as a solo artist, and Jan became a Lou Adler protégé. Through Nevins-Kirshner and Screen Gems, Jan and Lou rose in stature together. Lou helmed the West Coast office and mentored Jan until he became the sole producer and creative force for Jan & Dean in late 1962. Jan also produced music for other artists under the Nevins-Kirshner/Screen Gems umbrella (as stipulated in his contracts).
Jan’s tenure with Screen Gems was lucrative. He earned significant income as a producer, in addition to his artist and songwriting royalties. It was a sweet gig. He got paid handsomely to produce his own records, regardless of whether they became hits. His position came with perks, including advances against royalties. The company went straight to Jan on business matters, and he reported directly to Don Kirshner in New York. Jan had to follow rigid procedures for the company, like identifying titles and tracks to be recorded ahead of time, and meeting quotas for the number of sides completed during a certain timeframe. Completing his contractual obligations came with a high amount of stress, and he often “broke the rules” in the process.
Inspired by Phil Spector and others, Jan established his own signature sound as a record producer. He became known for his prominent arrangements for brass, woodwinds, and strings—on vocal records. And his use of two drummers—Hal Blaine and Earl Palmer—playing live in tandem in the studio, was an innovative hallmark of his sound. He also loved limiters, as P. F. Sloan noted, and employed them in layering his tracks, which often included auxiliary percussion. Jan’s backing tracks were much tighter and cleaner that Spector’s reverb-muddy Wall of Sound.
By mid-1965 Jan knew all the ins-and-outs, and how to game the system, and looked forward to starting his own independent operation. He founded his own production company, Berry Enterprises Ltd., in the summer of 1965, bankrolling the firm himself. By early ’66 he was looking to establish his own label, J&D Records. His strong desire for complete business independence fueled his legendary clashes with Screen Gems. He wanted out from under their thumb, but the company and its high-powered attorneys had other ideas.
PM: Lead Singer?
MM: Jan was an average singer, at best. He generally sang lead with a warm tenor, not far from the speaking range of his voice. And double tracking gave it the punch it needed to fill it out, to give it body. His leads were generally adequate, but there were some clunker moments here and there, too. As engineer Bones Howe has said, Jan did not take himself seriously as a singer, and he was not above criticism from the people he worked closest with. Bones would sometimes suggest re-doing a line, and Jan would sometimes work on his vocals during the mixing process. He worked long hours, but ultimately his time was limited, and there were some vocal imperfections here and there. But he did have some good leads.
He lavished attention on the instrumental backing tracks. That was one of his main interests, and his backing tracks had meat to them. Yes, they were vocal records, and the harmony singers were topflight, but Jan viewed the vocals as part of the overall production blend, and not necessarily as parts up front in the mix. A great example is “Drag City,” with its aggressive guitar and rolling drum fills. Great bass line, too. The exact bass lines for many of Jan’s arrangements—the parts heard on the records—survive in his original music scores.
Another factor, in my opinion, was the stereo re-mixes that started happening in the 1990s (and Jan was not a fan of these). Some of the vocal blends were improved in that process and some were not.
One of the areas where Jan excelled vocally was singing bass in the harmony stack, and that was one of the things Brian Wilson admired about Jan. Brian compared Jan to Mike Love as a bass singer. Mike has a lot of detractors, but he is an iconic front man in rock history, and he was highly skilled at singing bass in the Beach Boys’ harmonies. So, Brian paid Jan a high compliment in making that comparison. One of the best examples is “Anaheim, Azusa,” where the opening harmony vocals are doubling the parts for oboe, trumpet, French horn, and bassoon, with Jan singing the bass part.
PM: Jan seemed to understand the business side of the music industry. How did he relate to record companies? Radio airplay?
MM: Jan learned a lot about business from his father Bill Berry. Aside from working as an electrical engineer and program manager for Howard Hughes and Hughes Aircraft Company, Bill also dabbled in real estate in Bel Air and around Los Angeles. Jan was good with numbers, and he watched his royalty statements and dealings with Screen Gems and Liberty like a hawk. His business manager was Jess Morgan, who worked for a high-powered agency called A. Morgan Maree Jr. & Associates on Wilshire Boulevard.
In the early days, Jan didn’t have a direct relationship with the record companies. That came later, in the Nevins-Kirshner, Screen Gems, and Liberty Records era.
The contract with Liberty happened in October 1961, but it’s important to understand that Jan & Dean were not signed directly to Liberty. As artists they undersigned the contract, but the main signatory was Nevins-Kirshner Associates, the production company that held Jan’s contracts as an artist, songwriter, and producer. Liberty paid Nevins-Kirshner (soon acquired by Screen Gems) a hefty royalty for the privilege of releasing Jan & Dean records.
Though Nevins-Kirshner/Screen Gems guided the ship and made all final decisions, Liberty did have a limited say in how things went. For example, they could object to a given track if they questioned its sales potential, or if they thought another submission might be better. The label also had the authority to dock Jan & Dean’s royalties from record sales when Jan regularly broke studio protocols. The label also made noise when the production schedule was delayed (like after the movie train accident in 1965).
So, in these matters Jan had direct (and sometimes tense) dealings with Liberty and label president Alvin Bennett. Jan & Dean made a lot of money for Liberty, and Jan started questioning the label’s accounting practices. He especially had a beef with how much Liberty was docking Jan & Dean’s money for the cost of producing album covers. Jan had a high-powered entertainment lawyer named Gunther Schiff, whom he employed in his clashes with Screen Gems and Liberty. They had the label audited to bring its accounting practices to light.
It was contentious at times, but no bridges were burned. The label staff had respect and affection for Jan, even though he drove them crazy in breaking the rules. After the car accident, Alvin Bennett and Liberty were the first to step up and facilitate Jan’s return to the studio in April 1967. That says a lot.
As for radio airplay? Radio was pretty much everything in those days. There was no internet, no streaming services. As an artist, you had radio airplay, television appearances, concerts, and special appearances. That was it, and radio was the main conduit to the public.
After working on their latest creations, Jan and engineer Bones Howe would cut a reference dub and drive from the recording studio to KFWB Radio where deejay (and often co-writer) Roger Christian would be on the air. Bones would wait in the car while Jan ran the acetate disc up to Roger to give it a trial spin on the radio. Jan wanted to hear what the track sounded like on a car’s radio speakers. Roger would announce a new Jan & Dean song, and Jan and Bones would crank up the volume and listen in the car. Based on what they heard, they would go back to the studio and tweak the mix or production to get the sound Jan wanted. And as Bones has said: Only in that time and in that place could that have happened—Los Angeles in the ‘60s.
And speaking of Jan, Roger Christian, and radio airplay? A major payola scandal erupted in 1964 when a disgruntled L.A. promoter sued over claims that radio deejays, including Roger, offered radio airplay in exchange for songwriting credits. That one hit close to home for Jan & Dean and the Beach Boys.
PM: How would you summarize his life after the car crash at "Dead Man's Curve?"
MM: Jan’s life after the car accident was initially defined by rage and frustration, but thereafter by hope and promise—a dichotomy between his residual capacity for music and the disruptive aspects of his expressive impairment. His biggest obstacle was a severe impulse disorder. In ’67 and ’68, Jan was often his own worst enemy, unintentionally derailing the best laid plans of his team, Screen Gems, and label officials.
He would lose perspective sometimes but would always find his way back. He had a lot of help and encouragement along the way. The support network around him enabled him to keep going. It was not easy—not for Jan, and not for his team. There were a lot of low points, which made the high points all the sweeter.
PM: Speculate for us . . . Would Jan Berry have pursued a career in medicine if not for his tragic accident?
MM: There was every indication that he planned to achieve his MD degree and practice medicine. He was asked about it by the media, and he made a point of saying he would earn his degree and become a doctor. He also talked about continuing in the music business on the side, and perhaps even producing Dean Torrence as a solo artist. If you look at the groundwork he laid, his intentions were clear.
Think about it. Jan gave music his part-time attention, which also means he gave medical school his part-time attention. In doing so, he still pulled nearly straight C’s (average grades) in med school. That’s mind-boggling. He was getting by with giving the academic side of his career only partial attention. Just imagine what he might have accomplished if he had given medical school his full-time attention. It’s a remarkable statement on his intellect and capacity for achievement.
On the music side he sought to terminate his Screen Gems contracts so he would finally be able to work commercially with Berry Enterprises and J&D Records. He was pushing hard to establish an independent business operation when the car accident happened. Without the tragedy, I believe these two entities would have been in business, at least in the early days of Jan’s career as a doctor.
PM: Identify a few examples of his best work:
PM: Music-Recording-Media (TV, Movies)?
MM: Jan placed two of his original compositions in films in 1964 (not counting The TAMI Show), thanks to his contracts with Screen Gems-Columbia Music and the firm’s parent company Columbia Pictures. “Ride the Wild Surf” of course was one of Jan’s best arrangements and productions, the title track for the film Ride the Wild Surf, written and produced by Art & Jo Napoleon and directed by Don Taylor. Brian Wilson loved Jan’s arrangement for “Ride the Wild Surf” and the ending knocked him out. That exchange between Jan and Brian is on tape for posterity.
The film The New Interns featured “Come On, Let Yourself Go,” which was co-written and arranged by Jan, and produced by Jan and Artie Kornfeld for the Matadors, an act Jan oversaw for the Colpix label (which fell under the aegis of Screen Gems). “Let Yourself Go” was more of a party record, loose and fun, featuring the Bo Diddley beat. Above all, these tracks further illustrate how lucrative Jan’s Screen Gems contracts were, with significant production income unrelated to songwriting royalties or record sales.
PM: “Doo Wop”?
MM: I think the best Jan & Arnie song was “Gas Money” in 1958, though all of them are good. “Gas Money” was a better composition with better production than “Jennie Lee.” A great follow-up and Jan’s first car song. But the distribution by Dot Records was a one-off deal for “Jennie Lee” only—because it became known publicly in April 1958 that Arnie Ginsburg had a forthcoming military commitment. So, “Gas Money” did not enjoy the wide distribution and promotion that “Jennie Lee” got. If it had, it likely would have charted higher than the #81 spot it achieved with no distribution or promotion by Dot whatsoever.
I think some of the best early Jan & Dean tracks include “Baby Talk” (1959), “Jeanette, Get Your Hair Done” (1959, co-written by Jan), “Rosie Lane” (1960, co-written by Jan), “It’s Such a Good Night for Dreaming” (1960), and “Those Words” (1961, co-written by Jan).
PM: Surf?
MM: You would have to include the hot-rod stuff in this category as well. The obvious choices among the hit singles would include “Surf City,” “Honolulu Lulu,” “Drag City,” “Dead Man’s Curve,” “The New Girl in School,” “Ride the Wild Surf,” “Anaheim, Azusa (a B-side), and “The Little Old Lady (from Pasadena).” But I think some of the album cuts from that period were as good as or better than the hits. These would include “Surfin’ Hearse,” “Popsicle” (later a post-accident hit), “Three Window Coupe,” “Bucket ‘T’,” “Rockin’ Little Roadster,” “My Mighty G.T.O.,” “It’s as Easy as 1, 2, 3,” “Surfin’ Wild,” “A Surfer’s Dream,” “Horace, the Swingin’ School-Bus Driver,” “One-Piece Topless Bathing Suit,” and “Summer Means Fun.” The Wrecking Crew instrumentals Jan co-wrote and produced during this period are also notable: “’B’ Gas Rickshaw,” “Barons, West L.A.,” “Old Ladies Seldom Power Shift,” “Skateboarding” (Parts 1 & 2), and “Walk on the Wet Side.”
PM: Folk-Rock?
MM: “I Found a Girl” was a Top-30 hit for Jan & Dean in 1965, but Jan’s arrangement (which composer P. F. Sloan loved) was more in the Sunshine Pop vein. But Sloan’s later, slow acoustic version in ’66 was certainly folky. There are some nice moments on the Folk ‘n Roll LP—the album version of “I Found a Girl” (despite the staccato piano chord Jan leaned on during the intro, which he left in there), “It’s a Shame to Say Goodbye,” and the covers were strong, including “Yesterday,” “It Ain’t Me Babe,” and “Turn! Turn! Turn!” I think “Yesterday” is Dean Torrence’s shining moment as a lead vocalist. I think Jan’s instrumental backing track for “It’s a Shame to Say Goodbye” (not the vocals) are as good as anything Brian Wilson did for Pet Sounds.
PM: Humor?
MM: The overt—and best—humor began with “Schlock Rod” in 1963, progressed to “The Submarine Races” in 1964, and then culminated with the Jan & Dean Meet Batman LP in the spring of ‘66. A legal clash with National Periodical Publications ended up saving the Batman concept. Jan & Dean were prohibited from doing comedy skits in the guise of Batman & Robin (the original recordings for which still exist). So, they re-worked them as “Captain Jan” and “Dean, the Boy Blunder.” The latter incarnation was a lot funnier, allowing the duo to be themselves, with their own in-jokes and humor, while savaging the goofy, camera-slanted pop-art Batman TV show. As it turned out, Batman was a product of 20th Century-Fox, the same studio that was behind Jan & Dean’s current television pilot On the Run. So, they knew about Batman ahead of time, which is why Jan was able to co-write and produce Jan & Dean’s “Batman” single right as the show was premiering.
And yeah, they finally went too far with the original concept for Filet of Soul, in late 1965. “Dean would like to do his virgin . . . uh, version of ‘Michelle.’”
PM: “Some Very Ingenious Stuff”?
MM: The chapter title “Some Very Ingenious Stuff” is from a 1968 quote by Frank Zappa expressing his appreciation for vocal surf music in general, and specifically “The Little Old Lady (from Pasadena).” Jan and Frank were the same age. Zappa grew to really appreciate the musicality, the arrangements and backing tracks. He had initially dismissed the music as “white and disgusting,” but four years down the line Frank had matured as an artist and changed his tune. “If you just hear the music that was in it, there was some very ingenious stuff there.”
It’s appropriate to call attention to Jan’s Pop Symphony here, as well. He struck up a friendship with well-known music arranger George Tipton. They hit it off and began collaborating in the spring of 1965. Their first project together was Pop Symphony. George helped Jan realize his vision for fully orchestral arrangements. Some of the cuts are deeply symphonic. “Little Old Lady,” for example, is embellished significantly and barely recognizable. Jan and George continued to collaborate until Jan’s car accident in 1966 (and later in the Carnival of Sound era). Jan wanted to “educate the ears of the skeptics” with Pop Symphony, but he also wanted to make his symphonic orchestrations available to young music students in high schools and other orchestras. The album was a “Pop Special Merit” pick in Billboard. Hal Blaine said of Pop Symphony: “It was unique, and it was wonderful . . . But that was Jan, and Jan was a visionary.”
PM: Mark, give us a statement on why you believe Jan Berry belongs in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame:
MM: This question gets asked a lot. The Hall of Fame is controversial. It has a gatekeeper and is highly politicized. Some musicians who are in the Hall, like Steve Miller, don’t have much respect for it. A case can be made for Jan & Dean, but I think an induction would likely reflect the full range of Jan’s career.
Just looking at the hit singles, chart records, and chart albums (not counting those “bubbling under”), this is a metric where Jan Berry (with Jan & Arnie, Jan & Dean, and other artists) more than qualifies—given the era in which they occurred (1958 to 1966). Jan had 26 chart records with two acts during a short eight-year span, including 16 Top-40 hits, seven of which were Top-10. He also had seven chart records as a songwriter outside of his own act during the same period, and two of those were Top-30. Five of Jan & Dean’s 10 chart albums were Top-40 (as logged by Billboard and Cash Box).
It’s an impressive list for a guy who did not give music his full-time attention. I think people tend to forget or don’t fully appreciate that music was a part-time endeavor for Jan Berry (and Dean Torrence). He gave it about half his time, essentially, which puts his and Jan & Dean’s accomplishments in a different light.
“Rock ‘n’ roll” music, as a commercial art form, was still new in popular culture when Jan had his first self-penned Top-10 record in 1958. Like others in the genre, he took what came before him and began putting his own spin on it in the late ‘50s.
Jan blazed a trail as one of the architects of the West Coast Sound, an early influence on the Beach Boys, and by late 1962 had become one of the pioneering self-produced artists of his era in Hollywood. He learned the ropes under some of the biggest names in the business. Moreover, as a music arranger and record producer, Jan had a direct and positive influence on the careers of several industry heavyweights, including Hal Blaine, Brian Wilson, Bones Howe, P. F. Sloan, Steve Barri, and Artie Kornfeld. And that influence is described in their own words.
The short eight-year hitmaking career might be used against them, but it was cut short by tragedy, which should be a mitigating factor. It’s not like Jan had a few hits over eight years in the 1980s or ‘90s. His era was both formative and transformative for the genre known as rock ‘n’ roll.
The film Deadman’s Curve brought part of Jan’s story to the masses in 1978, a ratings success that brought Jan & Dean a whole new generation of fans. The movie put them back in the pop culture spotlight, and their post-accident touring operation helped keep them there.
Punk artists started covering Jan’s material in the 1970s. Cult films and iconic television shows started using Jan & Dean’s original music as part of their soundtracks in the ‘70s and ‘80s.
“Dead Man’s Curve” is in the Grammy Hall of Fame, which recognizes songs of lasting importance.
All of this taken together, I believe, is enough to warrant induction.
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