Read Online Here Comes the Night by Joel Selvin - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Joel Selvin
Tags: music, History & Criticism
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your old Moondog here, with rhythm and blues records with the big beat in popular music in America today, for everyone out there in the Moondog kingdom.”
Freed hit the city like a fireball. In a minute, he was the town’s top deejay. Almost as quickly, he also found himself in court, losing a lawsuit to a blind street singer who wore a Viking costume and called himself Moondog. The court only awarded the singer chump change, but Freed also lost the right to use the Moondog name. Welcome to New York.
That night, drinking at his customary watering hole, P.J. Moriarty’s on Fifty-First Street, Freed dreamed up the cockamamie notion of copyrighting the term “rock and roll.” That way, Freed could protect his radio show’s new name, Rock and Roll Party , and extract tribute from interlopers violating his trademarked term. “Rock and roll” was rapidly gaining currency in the public tongue, replacing “rhythm and blues.”
Freed was introduced to Morris Levy by Jack Hooke, a small-time operator on the fringe of the music business who knew Freed from Cleveland and had been instrumental in his moving to New York. Levy filed a copyright notice for “rock and roll” on behalf of Seig Music, a corporation comprised of Levy, Freed, one of Freed’s Cleveland business partners, and radio station WINS. Freed pounded the phrase on the radio, insisted the station refer to him as a “rock and roll” disc jockey, and was a key instigator in spreading the term beyond the boundaries of any enforceable copyright. Within weeks, the phrase “rock and roll” became part of the national vocabulary. And the moneybags sprouted wings and flew away.
Freed’s fingerprints were all over the music business. He managed the vocal group the Moonglows and was credited as coauthor on their hit “Sincerely.” He was also given a writing share by Chess Records of the 1954 Chuck Berry hit “Maybellene.” He owned a piece of a Cleveland record distributorship. He made a pile throwing concerts in Cleveland and, with Levy’s backing, started doing concerts in New York. Levy, who produced a nationwide jazz tour, “Birdland Stars of 1955,” featuring Sarah Vaughan, Erroll Garner, Lester Young, George Shearing, and the Count Basie Orchestra, put up the dough and split the action with Freed, who pumped the concert on the radio.
The “Rock ’n’ Roll Jubilee Ball” sold out two shows at the six-thousand-seat St. Nicholas Arena, better known for boxing matches, featuring Clyde McPhatter and the Drifters, Fats Domino, Joe Turner, the Clovers, Ruth Brown, and others in January 1955. An Easter week run at the much larger Brooklyn Paramount blew out the house record with a whopping $107,000 gross. Freed was big business.
Before long, he was living in splendor in a sixteen-room, half-century-old stucco mansion called Grey Cliffe on a two-acre grassy knoll on the Connecticut shore. Freed remodeled the guesthouse into a remote studio where he would do his nightly broadcasts. He bought the place for a princely $75,000 and had two mortgages, one held byJerry Blaine of Jubilee Records and the other by Morris Levy. Atlantic Records paid to build a swimming pool.
A lot of labels kept Freed on a monthly dole. Atlantic Records partner Jerry Wexler would take $600 cash in a paper bag every month and give it to Freed’s bagman in a cloakroom at the Brill Building. When Atlantic hit a terrifying cold streak, Wexler went to see Freed to ask if he could carry the label for a couple of months. “I’d love to, but I can’t do it,” Freed told Wexler. “That would be taking food out of my children’s mouths.”
Freed had no problem being a son of a bitch, but keeping him in line was his manager Tommy Vastola, most certainly put in place by Morris Levy. When Freed showed up bruised and battered at one point, it was widely assumed to be the result of a beating administered by Vastola, product of four reform schools. “This kid could tear another human
Freed hit the city like a fireball. In a minute, he was the town’s top deejay. Almost as quickly, he also found himself in court, losing a lawsuit to a blind street singer who wore a Viking costume and called himself Moondog. The court only awarded the singer chump change, but Freed also lost the right to use the Moondog name. Welcome to New York.
That night, drinking at his customary watering hole, P.J. Moriarty’s on Fifty-First Street, Freed dreamed up the cockamamie notion of copyrighting the term “rock and roll.” That way, Freed could protect his radio show’s new name, Rock and Roll Party , and extract tribute from interlopers violating his trademarked term. “Rock and roll” was rapidly gaining currency in the public tongue, replacing “rhythm and blues.”
Freed was introduced to Morris Levy by Jack Hooke, a small-time operator on the fringe of the music business who knew Freed from Cleveland and had been instrumental in his moving to New York. Levy filed a copyright notice for “rock and roll” on behalf of Seig Music, a corporation comprised of Levy, Freed, one of Freed’s Cleveland business partners, and radio station WINS. Freed pounded the phrase on the radio, insisted the station refer to him as a “rock and roll” disc jockey, and was a key instigator in spreading the term beyond the boundaries of any enforceable copyright. Within weeks, the phrase “rock and roll” became part of the national vocabulary. And the moneybags sprouted wings and flew away.
Freed’s fingerprints were all over the music business. He managed the vocal group the Moonglows and was credited as coauthor on their hit “Sincerely.” He was also given a writing share by Chess Records of the 1954 Chuck Berry hit “Maybellene.” He owned a piece of a Cleveland record distributorship. He made a pile throwing concerts in Cleveland and, with Levy’s backing, started doing concerts in New York. Levy, who produced a nationwide jazz tour, “Birdland Stars of 1955,” featuring Sarah Vaughan, Erroll Garner, Lester Young, George Shearing, and the Count Basie Orchestra, put up the dough and split the action with Freed, who pumped the concert on the radio.
The “Rock ’n’ Roll Jubilee Ball” sold out two shows at the six-thousand-seat St. Nicholas Arena, better known for boxing matches, featuring Clyde McPhatter and the Drifters, Fats Domino, Joe Turner, the Clovers, Ruth Brown, and others in January 1955. An Easter week run at the much larger Brooklyn Paramount blew out the house record with a whopping $107,000 gross. Freed was big business.
Before long, he was living in splendor in a sixteen-room, half-century-old stucco mansion called Grey Cliffe on a two-acre grassy knoll on the Connecticut shore. Freed remodeled the guesthouse into a remote studio where he would do his nightly broadcasts. He bought the place for a princely $75,000 and had two mortgages, one held byJerry Blaine of Jubilee Records and the other by Morris Levy. Atlantic Records paid to build a swimming pool.
A lot of labels kept Freed on a monthly dole. Atlantic Records partner Jerry Wexler would take $600 cash in a paper bag every month and give it to Freed’s bagman in a cloakroom at the Brill Building. When Atlantic hit a terrifying cold streak, Wexler went to see Freed to ask if he could carry the label for a couple of months. “I’d love to, but I can’t do it,” Freed told Wexler. “That would be taking food out of my children’s mouths.”
Freed had no problem being a son of a bitch, but keeping him in line was his manager Tommy Vastola, most certainly put in place by Morris Levy. When Freed showed up bruised and battered at one point, it was widely assumed to be the result of a beating administered by Vastola, product of four reform schools. “This kid could tear another human
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