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 In
almost 40 years of reading books on music, this is one of the best I've ever
read: a highly entertaining, well-written, tragic and humourous account of an
amazing -- indeed, "unlikely", as the title indicates -- life.
In fact, to call it a "music book" is misleading. It is, more accurately, simply
a terrific biography, telling a great story.
Doc Pomus
was a paraplegic, an authentic blues shouter, and for a time the most successful
pop songwriter in the world ("Save the Last Dance For Me", "Suspicion", "Viva
Las Vegas") ... these were just a few aspects of Doc's life, memorably captured
and recounted by author Alex Halberstadt. A great story, in every sense.
Doc was born Jerome Felder in 1925 in a Jewish
immigrant ghetto in Brooklyn. He had an oppressive and troubled childhood; short and overweight, he was
crippled by polio at the age of seven, and spent the rest of his life in
crutches and later a wheelchair. His parents were usually arguing with or
ignoring each other. Not surprisingly, he retreated into his own private world and
fantasies. The author was fortunate to have access to the many
journals Doc kept through much of his life, revealing his thoughts and inner
life.
From the introduction to an unwritten
memoir (1984)
I was never one of those happy
cripples who stumbled around smiling and shiny-eyed... They'd never look at
me and say, "What a wonderful courageous fellow".
I was always too fucking mad and didn't
have a chip but great big log on my shoulder... My main thing was to act and
look cool... I talked the hip talk of the jazzmen... I was gonna be the
first heavyweight champion on crutches... Or maybe the first major league
pitcher on crutches... I was going to be the most extraordinary and talented
and virile man that ever lived.
And underneath, I was a frightened little
kid -- afraid that my limited physical equipment was not enough to get me
any kind of piece of the action out there...
Discovering the Blues
Music was an early escape. At night after
everyone was asleep, he'd listen to Beethoven, "the deaf genius", pull out
a baton, and conduct the orchestra. Later he discovered another kind of
music -- another world -- on the black radio stations. His life changed one night
when he first heard the huge voice of Big Joe Turner, belting out the blues. He
was hooked. "The singer shouted out the lyrics with such stupendous, effortless
force that Jerome imagined him to be eleven feet tall, six hundred pounds and
powered by a steam engine".
When he had first retuned
home after two years of sometimes grim rehabilitation following his
polio contraction, Jerome would yell "at a frightening
volume" to call his mother from the far end of their apartment.
Within a couple of weeks, his voice became stronger. This might have
only been a curious by-product of his situation, but after hearing
Joe Turner several years later, he began trying out a Joe Turner
voice. Eventually, his singing was powerful enough that his mother
would come running, and neighbours knock on the walls. This story reminded me of the
accounts of young Salif Keita -- scorned in his
own life as an albino -- yelling at the animals around his village, and eventually
developing into one of the great voices of West Africa.
One night in 1943, in a Greenwich Village jazz
and blues club, the life of Jerome Felder ended, and that of Doc Pomus was
born. Jerome had been holding on to an
empty beer glass for an hour when the owner confronted him, telling him to spend
some money or get out. Jerome answered, "I'm a blues singer,
and I'm here to do a song". He got up on stage with his crutches and jumped into
Joe Turner's "Piney Brown Blues". Encouraged -- and surprised -- by the crowd
reaction, and even more by their acceptance of him, he returned the next
night. Asked his name by the owner, he replied, "My name is Doc Pomus, and I'm
here to sing the blues". Halberstadt writes, "The paralyzing sense of not
belonging began to lift."
 Doc became a blues singer -- and a good one.
Many of those nights, he was the only white face in the clubs. In those years,
some white "hipsters" were hanging out in the jazz and bebop clubs, but not the
blues joints. And nobody had heard of a white shouting the blues, much
less a short, overweight Jewish guy in leg braces and crutches. But, Doc was no
novelty. He was the real thing. Halberstadt describes a pivotal night, when Doc first left the clubs of Greenwich
Village and vicinity to play one of the all-black clubs of Bedford-Stuyvesant
The blacks watched Doc with rapt
curiosity.
Who was this rotund ofay poseur with his crutches and braces?... No audience
had ever watched him so intensely... It hadn't occurred to him that they'd
never seen a white man... on any stage... singing their music....
The room
blew up. It was all Doc could do to keep his voice above the hollering...
They'd loved him all the more because he was white and owned the music,
without fuss or extraneous reverence or apology... Easy, Doc thought. This
was home.
Doc sang at Billie
Holliday's nightclub, one night fronted Duke Ellington's orchestra,
another night, the great Lester Young backed him. He made a
lifelong friendship with "the herb", captured in one of his 40's
singles, "My Good Pott" ("Morning, noon, nighttime too / I need my
good Pott all day through"). You can hear part of the song on the
WNYC radio link at the bottom of the page.
But of course, he did not become the next Joe
Turner. He played, sang, recorded a few songs, and survived for the next
"twelve grinding, stoned, vagrant years during which he was lucky to have made
two grand". By 1955, Doc realized he had to give up his dream of being a blues singer.
The
songwriter
 During the previous few years, Doc
had gained a bit of extra money writing songs for
others, including his hero, Joe Turner (Photo of Doc and Joe at left). But by the mid-50's, the music world was changing; R&B and rock & roll was all over the charts. Atlantic Records, home of
Turner, Ray Charles, Ruth Brown and others, wasn't interested in recording Doc,
but they did want his songs. "Boogie Woogie Country Girl", written by
Doc, was as rock & roll as
Turner got. "Lonely Avenue" for Ray Charles was a song rooted in Doc's own life.
Doc definitely had "a way with words", but
had always struggled producing charts. In 1955, he met Mort Shuman, and for the next
several years, "Pomus-Shuman" credits were on hundreds of records. They started
with the R&B rooted-artists of Atlantic. (Turner, The Coasters, Bobby Darin and
others), but soon moved to the huge teen market. Doc, who loved the down and
dirty blues, now became the master of "adenoidal cries of manhood" and "teenage devotional[s]
of custard-like viscosity". He wrote "Turn Me Loose" for Fabian who possessed "a
reliable range of four or five notes, wobbly pitch and not much volume", and
"Why Must I Be a Teenager in Love" for Dion whose "oiled lustrous mane framed
the delicate face of a criminal".
Soon, they hit the true big
time: Elvis. "Mess of the Blues" found its way onto the B-side of an Elvis
single, and by 1961, they were the favourite writers in the "House of Elvis".
During those same years, Doc
found happiness outside the music business. In 1957, he married Willi Burke, an aspiring actress. "He had assumed loneliness and hard luck were lifelong
fixtures, but Willi swept them away". Their wedding though was not a fairy tale.
Neither Doc's Jewish family, nor Willi's Catholic one was ready to be part of
the wedding ceremony (held in a Catholic church). Willi was dismayed to find only a half
dozen attendees -- all Doc's friends.
The families did however get together for two receptions: the first at Gluckstein's
Delicatessen; the second at the Waldorf-Astoria. At the deli, the floor was
cleared for dancing; When Doc told Willi to go ahead, she protested. "I only want to dance with the
groom". But of course Doc couldn't dance, so on his wedding night, he sat
watching his bride dance with his
brother, Raoul. Three years later, it was that scene he remembered most clearly
about his wedding day, and on the back of a left-over wedding invitation, he
began to write the words to the song that would become Atlantic's biggest seller
in its history: "Save the Last Dance For Me".
At the recording
session, Atlantic owner Ahmet Ertegun told the song's story to the
group's lead singer, Ben E. King.
The story haunted
the young singer. As he waited in front of the microphone, King
fought back tears. Moments later, he laid down one of the most
sympathetic and exquisitely soulful performances of his life.
[The WNYC audio clip at the bottom of the page begins with an
interview with King about Doc and the song].
More troubles
Despite the commercial and
personal success, Doc was still troubled, still insecure. He and Willi -- now
acting on Broadway -- moved out to a ranch house in Long Island. At
parties they hosted, he would at times be embarrassed to say what kind of music he wrote. "His hit
records and possessions couldn't insulate him from the perplexed, pitying stares
he saw, or imagined [he saw]". "He'd hated poverty, but it was easier to handle
than success".
Other, unsettling changes were
afoot. "The day shift at the Elvis factory was tense and overworked", and needed
constant "product" to pad the interminable Elvis movies. It was an impossible
task to write songs of any quality in that quantity. Conflicts developed in his
marriage ("Can't Get Used to Losing You", sung by Andy Williams reflected this).
And the music business was going through another revolution, one that would mean
the end of the era of the songwriter, thanks to the Beatles, Dylan and
others. As well, Doc's partner Mort became less reliable, eventually preferring
to hang out in Europe with the Stones and others in that music scene.
In 1965, Doc had an accident,
injuring himself in a fall from his wheelchair. During his recuperation, Mort
told him he was leaving, and a few days later, Willi asked for a divorce.
The next year, Hill and Range,
Elvis's publishing firm didn't renew his contract. The other singers and acts that he
had helped make a success were now passé. Rock had passed him by, and Doc's life
was heading downwards again. When he and Willi disposed of their home, it turned
out Doc had neglected to file a tax return in 5 years, and he lost all the
proceeds from the sale. "In six years, he'd managed to burn through a quarter of
a million dollars... he was utterly, completely broke".
He got money where he could,
including hosting high-stakes poker games, with players like Harry the Horse,
Lillie Train, License Plate Benny and Chico Marx's widow. Eventually, he had to give
up poker, after they were raided a few times, both by the police ("Flush the
pot", Doc would cry), and fake ones who would rob the players. One of the
regulars had offered Doc a cut in a loan-sharking operation, but couldn't
fulfill the promise as he was fished out of East River, dismembered. That was it for
Doc's poker career.
Doc discovered a great singer
he thought would put him back in the business: Bette Midler, but in the end,
that turned sour for him as well.
Doc & friends
But someone with the musician
genius, soul, and life of Doc Pomus could not bottom out. Too many good people
knew and loved him too well. At the annual BMI award dinner in 1973, John Lennon
asked to be sat next to Doc, and told him that "Lonely Avenue" was the first
song the Beatles had rehearsed together. Around the same time, Doc met a strange
character whom he knew made "intensely weird records". Mac Rebennack -- Dr.
John -- became a close friend and musical partner for the rest of Doc's life.
Doc became a regular again in
the music clubs. One night in 1976, he went to see his old idol, Joe Turner
where they renewed their friendship. Doc discovered how
badly off Joe was, and helped him recover over $25,000 in royalty payments. IN
1983, Doc produced a Turner record, which was nominated for a Grammy.
At the same time, he and Dr.
John began writing songs together. Ironically, after those years at the top of
the songwriting heap, churning out teen hits, Doc's new songs were a throwback
to how he started: intelligent, mature songs about adult relationships. During
his recording of their "There Must Be a Better World Somewhere", B.B. King had
to stop the session; he began to cry after reading the lyrics and
understanding what they really meant. Doc was moved that B.B. had sung the song
-- written about his own life -- just the way he'd imagined it.
A few years later, Bob Dylan, ironically
one of those most responsible for ending the dominance of the songwriter came to visit
Doc for inspiration to overcome a case of writer's block.
Doc's world became
full with friends, admirers and hangers-on -- old and new. Lou Reed
visited almost daily. He started a workshop for
aspiring songwriters, and became heavily involved in the Rhythm and
Blues Foundation, helping former R&B performers who had fallen on
hard times. His old songs came back to life (he made more
money from Dolly Parton's recording of "Save the Last Dance" than he
and Mort had ever made in a year), and his new songs attracted a
long list of great singers, and singer Johnny Adams did an entire album of Doc's newer
songs.
He was back in his
element.
In 1990, Doc was diagnosed with
lung cancer. On March
12, 1991, Doc Pomus passed away.
Coda:
The above article focuses
largely on the broad events of Doc's life. But there is much more to Lonely
Avenue. As stated, it is most definitely not a "music book", but it does provide
a wonderful window into the back rooms of the music business, telling the story
of people like Doc who made the business, but got little of the glory. And it
tells the story of the music itself -- how songs developed, changed because of
events, or the people involved.
More significantly, this account
doesn't capture one of the great elements of the book: its recounting of the
people and characters in Doc's life. Whether his two great loves (Willi and
Shirlee), the "big names" in the music business, the hangers on, the "nobodies",
or the low-lifes, they all played a big part in this life story. The accounts of
these people, their adventures, mis-adventures and close connections to Doc are
a large part of what gives Lonely Avenue its heart. Besides the people
named above, here is just a tiny selection of the people who make the story come
alive: Bette Midler, Willy deVille, Rodney Dangerfield, Otis Blackwell, Esther
Phillips, Phil Spector...
For a time, Phil Spector
was one of Doc's most frequent companions. Doc introduced Spector to his favourite restaurant, Spindletop. One
night while eating there, Spector witnessed another diner taking three
gunshots to the back of the head.
Spector refused to set foot in the
Spindletop again. Doc nudged him back: "The place is incredible, right, the
salads, I mean how about the service in that restaurant? Babe, you always
got to look at the upside." But what about the guy who got murdered, Spector
protested. "Well," Doc explained in a bit of philosophy that Spector never
forgot, "the murder — that’s the downside of the restaurant, you understand,
that’s the downside.’”
Links and other
resources:
Music
 Till the Night is Gone: A Tribute to Doc Pomus
A great introduction to Doc's music, I knew I had to get this when
I first heard Dylan's romp through "Boogie Woogie Country Girl".
The album features a mix of his old and new work. Many of the
songs get a much different interpretation than the original.
Elvis's original "Viva Las Vegas" was all about the lights,
action and glitz; here, Shawn Colvin, as described in Gerri
Hershey's liner notes reflects "the haunts of Vegas' East
Fremont Street, a part of town where the rooms go for $19.95 and
the best odds are with disappointment".
Others who
contribute include Lou Reed re-doing "This Magic Moment",
Solomon Burke (the one voice who could credibly do Joe Turner), Irma Thomas, B.B. King, Aaron Neville, Dion,
and Dr. John growling through a great low-life song he and Doc
wrote on Doc's deathbed.
1995, Rhino. Now
out of print; Amazon.ca lists some very pricy sources, but it
can be found more cheaply online in the US. if you find it, grab it!
 The
Pomus & Shuman Story: Double Trouble 1956-1967
Twenty six of their classic songs by various artists including
Ray Charles, LaVern Baker, the Drifters, Dion, Ben E. King,
Elvis, Irma Thomas and more. Released 2007
Doc Pomus,
Blues
in the Red
Doc the blues singer. The album (2006) collects 24 of Doc's
singles.
HMV's website lists it as available
Johnny Adams:
Sings Doc Pomus/The Real Me
Great interpretation of Doc's later work
And of course,
there's iTunes, which has a good selection of Doc's music. But
not the tribute album, and it seems that since I bought some
tracks there a couple of months ago, The Drifters have been
removed. How can you make your own Greatest Hits collection
without them? (If you do find some Drifters' songs, be sure
you're getting the originals as recorded on Atlantic).
Books:
Publisher info about Lonely Avenue
Always Magic In The Air, by Ken Emerson
A 2005 story of the songwriters of the Brill Building (Pomus/Shuman, Leiber/Stoller,
Neil Sedaka, Carole King, and many more).
Radio / Audio
Two good shows with music and background on Doc, built around
interviews with author Alex Halberstadt.
"His Magic
Moment", on Soundcheck, WNYC, Mar. 20, 2007
Features interviews with Ben E. King about his original
recording of "Save the Last Dance For Me", and with author Alex
Halberstadt. Also features excerpts of Doc's songs, including
the Drifters, plus his own recording of "My Good Pott".
"Blues Brother", a
podcast on Nextbook.
Another interview with Halberstadt, includes recordings by Doc
and Elvis.
Other
Crawdaddy (June 2007): Article and interesting
interview with Alex Halberstadt.
Photos from "The
Doc Pomus Project", a concert held in Brooklyn, July 2007,
featuring Lou Reed, Laurie Anderson, Robin Holcomb, Ben E. King, Eric Mingus,
Shannon McNally, Jenni Muldaur, Howard Tate and others.
Photos:
Doc performing: The William P.
Gottlieb Photographs from the Golden Age of Jazz
Doc & Joe Turner: From
Nextbook site,
Felder family archives |
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