Tuesday, May 30, 2017
Tuesday, May 23, 2017
Herb "Bubba Mac" Birch RIP
Herb "Bubba Mac" Birch - RIP

Herb "Bubba Mac" and Carmen Marotta
Two Jersey Shore Music Heavyweights
By William Kelly
It was at the Tony Marts All-Stars concert on the Somers Point beach last summer (2016) when I was approached by a hesitant young kid who asked me if I was Bubba Mac.
"No," I said to the clearly disappointed kid, "but if you follow me I'll introduce you to The Man himself," and his face lit up and he followed me to the stage where Bubba was standing with Carmen Marotta, son of the legendary Tony Mart and primary promoter of the Point beach concert series, now in its 25th season.
While I somewhat resemble Herb Birch with now white hair and beard and we are about the same height, he was older, wiser and richer than me by a long shot.
We shook hands and he gave me a big biker hug and I said hello to Carmen and Herb's son Mac, and then introduced him to the kid who wanted to meet Bubba Mac.
Herb didn't look too good, as he was on oxygen, but played his guitar and sang in his distinctive voice and put on a great show with the other Tony Marts All Stars.
So it was with much dismay that I learned of his recent death.
In retrospect - I recall when he first came to town in the late 1990s, buying a house in Ocean City and frequenting the Point, looking to put a band together.
Having sold his Maryland medical services company for millions, he had deep pockets and money to spend.
First he put a band together - one with a blues bent that consisted of him and his good friend Ritchie Baker on guitars, and brought in the best local talent money could buy - including guitarist Danny Eyer, Lew London on fiddle, Chris Sooy on piano, and rounded it out with Charlie Winters on harp and vocalist Terri Showers.
Then he needed a place to play, and sat down with Randy Scarborough, whose bar/restaurant was up for lease. Randy's father had pretty much built Cherry Hill as a suburb of Camden, and Randy, being a racing sailor, bought the bayside land at the north end of Bay Avenue, erecting upscale townhouses that came with boat slips. He also built a large restaurant, got a liquor license and leased it out to the son of the president of an Atlantic City casino they called Markers - as in ship markers.
It was an upscale carpet joint in a shot and beer drinking town with a fishing problem, and it served the people with money - no riff raff. But after five years, someone new tried something different - a Friday's type place that didn't work for long. But Bubba had his own ideas and Randy handed the keys over to him in 2000and Herb opened the Bubba Mac Shack - a mid-scale barbecue and beer joint with live music - featuring The Bubba Mac Blues Band. And the Riff Raff were welcome.
Somers Point hadn't seen such a big place since Bay Shores and Tony Marts bit the dust in the late 1980s. With two stages - the first up front in the main bar, and he built a new large wood stage out back that had a dance floor and balcony, the Shack had four bars - one outside overlooking the bayside boat slips - and you could arrive by boat as transient slips led right to the bar.
Besides his own really terrific band - CDs are still available, Herb hooked up with Carmen Marotta and Jerry Blavat - the Geater with the Heater - the Boss with the Hot Sauce, who spun the oldies but goodies on dance night. Carmen introduced Herb to a lot of great talent that played the Shack's main stage over the years - blues harp man the late great James Cotton, Hubert Simkin - Howlin' Wolf's legendary guitarist, drummer Levon Helm from The Band and Bill Haley's Original Comets, who made a Labor Day weekend performance a regular gig for years.
Sunday afternoons were particularly popular as Herb gave the main stage to local talent Jackie Major, whose band was solid and visiting guests really jammed.
Herb "Bubba Mac" Birch brought a rush of fresh air to the Point and brought back the great music the town was know for in its heyday glory years, something no one believed would happen.
Now I don't know what happened, but from what I understand, it was the neighbor's complaints that did the Shack in, as some of the people who lived nearby didn't appreciate the music or noise that came out of the Shack until two in the morning - something the Point was known for. You don't buy a house next to an airport and complain about the planes.
So Randy, shortly before he died, let Herb finish out his lease and then sold off the liquor license and tore the building down - a parting shot if ever there was one.
But Herb kept the band together, opened another Bubba Mac Shack on the Ocean City boardwalk, and kept plugging the blues - sponsoring a fantastic two day Blues Fest at the big baseball field - Bernie Robbins Stadium in Atlantic City - the last time I saw Woody and the late Carol Stone - founders of the Cape May Jazz Festival.
And now Herb - Bubba Mac Birch is gone too, leaving us with his big smile and a lot of great memories of the music he brought to town - the Music Man.

Bubba Mac and Jerry Blavat - TGWTH-TBWTHS

Levon Helm on drums and Bubba at the Mic at the Old Shack



Bruce Aydelotte's photos of Levon at the Shack - Circa 2001

Herb "Bubba Mac" and Carmen Marotta
Two Jersey Shore Music Heavyweights
By William Kelly
It was at the Tony Marts All-Stars concert on the Somers Point beach last summer (2016) when I was approached by a hesitant young kid who asked me if I was Bubba Mac.
"No," I said to the clearly disappointed kid, "but if you follow me I'll introduce you to The Man himself," and his face lit up and he followed me to the stage where Bubba was standing with Carmen Marotta, son of the legendary Tony Mart and primary promoter of the Point beach concert series, now in its 25th season.
While I somewhat resemble Herb Birch with now white hair and beard and we are about the same height, he was older, wiser and richer than me by a long shot.
We shook hands and he gave me a big biker hug and I said hello to Carmen and Herb's son Mac, and then introduced him to the kid who wanted to meet Bubba Mac.
Herb didn't look too good, as he was on oxygen, but played his guitar and sang in his distinctive voice and put on a great show with the other Tony Marts All Stars.
So it was with much dismay that I learned of his recent death.
In retrospect - I recall when he first came to town in the late 1990s, buying a house in Ocean City and frequenting the Point, looking to put a band together.
Having sold his Maryland medical services company for millions, he had deep pockets and money to spend.
First he put a band together - one with a blues bent that consisted of him and his good friend Ritchie Baker on guitars, and brought in the best local talent money could buy - including guitarist Danny Eyer, Lew London on fiddle, Chris Sooy on piano, and rounded it out with Charlie Winters on harp and vocalist Terri Showers.
Then he needed a place to play, and sat down with Randy Scarborough, whose bar/restaurant was up for lease. Randy's father had pretty much built Cherry Hill as a suburb of Camden, and Randy, being a racing sailor, bought the bayside land at the north end of Bay Avenue, erecting upscale townhouses that came with boat slips. He also built a large restaurant, got a liquor license and leased it out to the son of the president of an Atlantic City casino they called Markers - as in ship markers.
It was an upscale carpet joint in a shot and beer drinking town with a fishing problem, and it served the people with money - no riff raff. But after five years, someone new tried something different - a Friday's type place that didn't work for long. But Bubba had his own ideas and Randy handed the keys over to him in 2000and Herb opened the Bubba Mac Shack - a mid-scale barbecue and beer joint with live music - featuring The Bubba Mac Blues Band. And the Riff Raff were welcome.
Somers Point hadn't seen such a big place since Bay Shores and Tony Marts bit the dust in the late 1980s. With two stages - the first up front in the main bar, and he built a new large wood stage out back that had a dance floor and balcony, the Shack had four bars - one outside overlooking the bayside boat slips - and you could arrive by boat as transient slips led right to the bar.
Besides his own really terrific band - CDs are still available, Herb hooked up with Carmen Marotta and Jerry Blavat - the Geater with the Heater - the Boss with the Hot Sauce, who spun the oldies but goodies on dance night. Carmen introduced Herb to a lot of great talent that played the Shack's main stage over the years - blues harp man the late great James Cotton, Hubert Simkin - Howlin' Wolf's legendary guitarist, drummer Levon Helm from The Band and Bill Haley's Original Comets, who made a Labor Day weekend performance a regular gig for years.
Sunday afternoons were particularly popular as Herb gave the main stage to local talent Jackie Major, whose band was solid and visiting guests really jammed.
Herb "Bubba Mac" Birch brought a rush of fresh air to the Point and brought back the great music the town was know for in its heyday glory years, something no one believed would happen.
Now I don't know what happened, but from what I understand, it was the neighbor's complaints that did the Shack in, as some of the people who lived nearby didn't appreciate the music or noise that came out of the Shack until two in the morning - something the Point was known for. You don't buy a house next to an airport and complain about the planes.
So Randy, shortly before he died, let Herb finish out his lease and then sold off the liquor license and tore the building down - a parting shot if ever there was one.
But Herb kept the band together, opened another Bubba Mac Shack on the Ocean City boardwalk, and kept plugging the blues - sponsoring a fantastic two day Blues Fest at the big baseball field - Bernie Robbins Stadium in Atlantic City - the last time I saw Woody and the late Carol Stone - founders of the Cape May Jazz Festival.
And now Herb - Bubba Mac Birch is gone too, leaving us with his big smile and a lot of great memories of the music he brought to town - the Music Man.

Bubba Mac and Jerry Blavat - TGWTH-TBWTHS

Levon Helm on drums and Bubba at the Mic at the Old Shack



Bruce Aydelotte's photos of Levon at the Shack - Circa 2001
Sunday, January 15, 2017
Robbie Robertson Remembers Tony Marts - The Summer of 1965
Robbie Robertson – from the autobiography Testimony (2016) –
Chapter 12 p. 158
IN THE SUMMER of 1965 we had booked
a gig at Tony Mart’s big dance club in Somers Point, New Jersey. Tony’s was a
hot spot, a popular club that sometimes had three bands playing on separate
stages over the course of the evening. A big round bar sat in the middle of the
club, handy for a refill no matter where you were standing. Tony himself was an
unusual club owner, a real character.
A bit stocky, no-nonsense, and
Sicilian born. Anthony Marrota spoke broken English and hardly ever smiled. He
ran his “circus” with a strong hand, wandering through the crowds while yelling
order at bartenders and bouncers. Every once in a while he’d walk by the center
stage we were playing on and call out, “Hey, turna downa the jukebox!” We took
this to mean we were playing too loud for an early-evening crowd.
On the first weekend we were there,
you could tell the audience was into our type of music. Conway Twitty and some
of his original band were in residence too, which was a nice surprise. When we
went on, the place came alive. By Saturday night the club was so packed you
couldn’t move. Tony Mart pushed his way through the crowd and called up to us, “Hey,
turna upa tha jukebox!” and gave a little grin.
After the first two weeks, Tony
asked us to come back for two more weeks later in June. It was very unusual for
us to play two stands so close together in one spot like that, but we were glad
to plant our feet for a while. And lo and behold, our old road manager, Bill
Avis, showed up in Somers Point too, managing a band of lesbians calling
themselves the Female Beatles.
In between dates in Somers Point, we
would head up to New York City to meet with production companies that had seen
us play and were interested in signing us. We listened to songs they thought we
could record, but none of them really connected….The acoustic folk setting was
thriving in New York. You could feel it goring in Toronto’s Yorkville district,
but Greenwich Village was the epicenter of this world.
John Hammond (Jr.) asked me to come
hear him play at the Gaslight Club. He talked up Dave Van Ronk, Fred Neil and a
couple other guys he thought were very soulful folk singers. The Gaslight had a
sign out front announcing the next act that would be performing there –
Mississippi John Hurt. I told him about our jam with Sonny Boy Williams, and he
said, “Sonny Boy one or two?”
One afternoon John came by the
Forest Hotel to collect me for a trip downtown to a hip record store,…then he
hit the breaks and said, “Oh, man, I forgot something. A friend of mine is
recording around the corner and I promised him I would stop by….”
Before long we were on the elevator
in the Columbia Records building heading for Studio A. In the control room
people were listening to the playback of a song they had just cut. John said
hello to a man in round wire-rimmed glasses with shoulder-length grayish hair.
“Robbie, this is the great music
manager Albert Grossman,” Sitting in the corner silently was Dion of Dion and
the Belmonts. Then John went over and gave a big greeting to his friend who was
recording. He turned to introduce me.
“Hey, Bob, this is my guitar-player
friend Robbie, from Canada. This is Bob Dylan.”
You could barely see his eyes
through the dark glasses he wore, but there was high voltage in the room coming
from his persona.
Bob said hello,a nd then to John. “You
want to hear something.”
“Yea, I’d love to.”
Bob teased. “You sure you want to
hear this? You never heard anything like this before.”
Albert Grossman and the record
producer nodded in serious agreement.
“It’s called ‘Like a Rolling Stone,’
Bob said with a little smirk.
Bob was right – I’d never heard
anything like this before. The studio lit up with the sound of toughness, humor
and originality. It was hard to take it all in on one listen….
By then we’d begun our second stand
at Tony Mart’s club in New Jersey, and on our nights off we would slip over to
the Wonder Gardens club in Atlantic City, where we caught some of the best
jazz-organ combos going. Jimmy Smith played there, and we also saw Brother Jack
McDufff, whom Garth appreciated for his unusual style. Shirley Scott, “Queen of
the Organ,” was a favorite of mine, with her husband, Stanley Turrentine, on
sax. Most of these jazz organizats played a Hammond B2 with bass pedals, which
meant they could play a lead part with their right hand on the upper keyboard
and chords or counterparts (and sometimes lead) with the left hand on the lower
keyboard. At the same time they’d be changing sounds and controlling the speed
with both hands while playing the bass part with their feet. The whole thing
was a remarkable balancing act. And of course the grove and texture of the B3
was sexy cool. It made you want to order Cutty Shark and soda. Garth played a
whole other kind of organ, the incomparable Lowrey. Different sound, different
touch all together from the Hammond B3, and you could bend the notes like a
horn or guitar, which completely baffled a lot of listeners. So great when
Garth would kick into a free-for-all jam by himself, with those bass pedals in
full effect. Gave you the shivers.
One night after we finished playing
Tony Marts, Garth began telling me about some ideas and effects he was experimenting
with. He was always devising new modes of ‘hot rodding’ the Lowrey organ and
its Leslie speaker to create brilliant new sonic wonders. As he described his research
and discovery approach, most of it went over my head, but the results were
undeniable. The sounds that came out of Garth’s keyboards or wind instruments
had originality stamped all over them. Garth experimented endlessly, like a
Harry Partch or Les Paul. He never stopped wanting to expand on his technical
abilities inside or outside the instrument. None of the rest of us Hawks was so
inclined.
Some people wanted to know how a watch works, and other people just want
to know what time it is.
Quite regularly on our days off I
would head up to New York City, sometimes crashing out with our Canadian pal
Mary Martin, who had taken a job working for Albert Grossman’s management
company. She was always so supportive and would try to turn us on to new music
that was happening, like John Sebastian’s new group, the Lovin’ Spoonful.
Sometimes one or two of the other Hawks would join me on these excursions into
the city, but it soon became evident that I was the one most drawn to the
metropolis….
Of all the groups that played Somers
Point in the summer of 1965, Tony Mart’s personal favorite was Levon and the
Hawks, though it was sometimes hard to tell whether he like the swampy sound of
our music or the ringing of the cash registers.
Towards the end of our stint, our
relationship with Tony had grown warm, almost familial. He hired us to finish
out the season, which proved ideal for future recording sessions and continued
access to the city. Everyone in the band seemed to be in a good place during
those days.
The only dark cloud that passed over
us that summer (other than the enduring stress of the drug bust in Canada) was
when we got word that our dear Sonny Boy Williamson II had passed away from
tuberculosis, and that the beautiful dream we had of recording together had
died with him.
Soon after I got a message from
Albert Grossman’s office, asking me to come up to the city on our next day off
to meet with Bob Dylan. I’d only met him briefly with John Hammond when they
were recording “Like a Rolling Stone.” I asked the guys if they knew any of Bob’s
music. I wasn’t that familiar with it myself, though I remembered a song he’d
done a few years back called “Oxford Town.” It rang true, and the tone of his
voice really stood out for me. Richard offered that Bob’s record of “Subterranean
Homesick Blues” reminded him of Chuck Berry’s “Too Much Monkey Business.”
“Yea,” I said, “That staccato
rhythmic phrasing is reminiscent.”
Albert Grossman’s office set up for
me to meet with Bob the following Monday. I couldn’t help but wonder what this
was all about.
Monday, October 3, 2016
Bruce Springsteen's book Born to Run Reviewed
Born to Run by Bruce Springsteen
(Simon & Shuster, 2016)
A review by Bill Kelly
billkelly3@gmail.com
Bruce Springsteen’s autobiography Born
to Run is on the streets.
I didn't stand in line with the
other 4,000 fans to get an autographed copy, a selfie and thirty seconds to
shake hands and exchange words with the Boss, but if I did I would have told
Bruce to get an index, as every serious work of non-fiction should have one.
I wanted to read Springsteen's book for
a number of reasons - to see who his ghost writer is, to hear what he has to
say about a few particular people, to see if there were any key South Jersey
connections and to find any personal associations between my life and his, as we both
grew up Jersey Shore Guys at the same time.
But without an index as a search
guide I couldn't "research," cut to the chase, cheat or read the
Cliff Notes, and would just have to buckle down in the front seat, riding
shotgun on the passenger side, and read it, all 510 pages with color photo
supplement.
I also wanted to know if this was to
be like a Billie Holiday or Howard Hughes imaginative autobio or more like
Dylan's (Volume 1), that actually answers some questions and at least tries to
get to the heart of things, which in this case cuts close to home.
I didn't have to look far for a
South Jersey connection - there on the front cover is Frank Stefano's 1978 black
and white photo of Bruce in front of Stefano's Haddonfield home, leaning
against his $6,000 1964 Corvette convertible, as if waiting for you to take
that long walk from the front porch to his front seat - let the screen door
slam, and the trip begin.
As Bruce explains it he met Frank
Stefano through Patti Smith, another South Jersey connection, and they're both
in the book.
But like Dylan's auto bio it isn't
always who you mention but who you leave out, and a few prominent names go
unmentioned – like for instance President Obama and Governor Chris Christie,
both big fans on opposite ends of the political spectrum. Bruce backed Obama
for President, campaigned for him and sang at his inaugural, but like Sinatra
and JFK, they apparently had a falling out. It was the other way around with
Christie, who gets first row seats to Bruce concerts, but was snubbed by the boss
until after hurricane Sandy, when Christie moved beyond party politics and
gained Bruce's admiration, however temporary. Both understandable snuffs.
If Dylan is the conscience of our
generation, then Bruce is the spirit, and both are the only living contenders
to Walt Whitman's title of America's unofficial Poet Laureate. And there's an
affinity between them that's quite evident, and there paths would cross down the
road a number of times, most notably when Bruce introduced Bob to the Rock and
Roll Hall of Fame. But they also were at Sinatra’s funeral together and met a
number of times privately and Bob probably edges out Bruce on influence and
seniority.
The answer to the first question is
the Ghost Writer is Bruce himself, and it isn't hard to imagine the person who
penned "Blinded by the Light," “Thunder Road,” "Born to
Run" and "Spirits in the Night" could write a complete sentence and
put the story into words and paragraphs instead of rhymes and rhythms.
“Madman, drummers, bummers, Indians
in the summer, with a teenage diplomat…- The screen door slams. Mary’s dress
waves like a vision she dances across the porch…- In the day we sweat it out on
the streets of a runaway American dream. At night we ride through the mansions
of glory in suicide machines. Sprung from cages on highway nine, chrome
wheeled, fuel injected, and steppin’ out over the line…- Crazy Janey and her
mission man were back in the alley traden’ hands, ‘long came Wild Billy with
his friend G-Man all duded up for Saturday night. Well, Billy slammed on his
coaster breaks and said, ‘Anybody wanna go up to Greasy Lake? It’s about a mile
on the dark side of Route 88 I got a bottle of rose so let’s try it….”
They’re well baited hooks that grab
you and the take you for a ride that feels like magic.
But it isn't reassuring to read his
opening line of his book - "I come from a boardwalk town where almost
everything is tinged with a bit of fraud. So am I a member in good standing
amongst those who 'lie' in the service of truth...But I had four aces in youth,
a decade of bar band experience, a good group of homegrown musicians attuned to
my performance style, and a story to tell."
And a story to tell it is indeed,
but only one we've heard through his songs and music, and by others, not from
the man himself, and he warns us from the get go that he’s a bit of a fraud and
will ‘lie’ in the service of truth, so hold on to your hats and keep your elbows
in the window.
As one fan told him, after hours in
line, he got his 30 seconds with the Boss and said, - "You know Bruce, if
this book thing doesn't work out you can always write songs."
And for the millions of Bruce fans
who grew up with him, it's time to jump into his skin and rewind the ride from
the front porch, - beginning with the typical family problems everyone
experiences, skipping high school graduation to go to the Village, getting
evicted from Freehold, Greetings from Asbury Park when it was still the pits, back
and forth up and down E-Street a few times, on to world tours and the Rock
& Roll Hall of Fame up to now. And the rides not over yet.
You don't have to read it from
beginning to end but can pick it up anywhere you are interested and it will
still make sense - it is in chronological order, until the end, when he regurgitates
some of the early feelings that were hard to express early on, such as how he
found his voice, realized it wasn’t so hot, and knew he had to overcome that
with other finer attributes, like spirit, style and a little magic.
The book is written in a bare bones
Hemingwayesque prose much like the parting note - in case you didn't know -
"About the Author: Bruce Springsteen has been inducted into the Rock &
Roll Hall of Fame, and the New Jersey Hall of Fame. He is the recipient of
twenty Grammy Awards, an Academy Award, and the Kennedy Center Honors. He lives
in New Jersey with his family. For more information go to www.brucespringsteen.net."
Just as a local newspaper columnist
complained about Springsteen fever, - he just didn't get it, you have to
understand the music to appreciate it, or appreciate it to understand it – as they
go hand in hand.
Bruce is well known as a Jersey Guy,
but like Frank (Sinatra) and Jack (Nicholson) and Joe (Piscopo), they are NORTH
Jersey Guys - with closer affinities to New York and are Giants, Devils and Mets
fans, rather than the South Jersey connection to Philly and Philadelphia
Eagles, Flyers and Phillies fans. There is a difference, and I know of only a
few occasions when Bruce ventured down and performed south of Toms River. He
did it early in his career at the Earlton Lounge bowling alley in Cherry Hill
and the Satellite Lounge in Wrightstown, both of which get a mentioned in the
book.
The Satellite gets a whole chapter because the gig was the first for a
new drummer, and the owner threatened to kill Bruce if he reneged on his contract
and didn't play, but would love him if he did. Greg Gregory of Somers Point was
a Temple student and bartender at the Satellite and recalls charging Bruce a
dollar for a beer.
Early in his career Bruce also
played Ocean and Burlington Community College gigs, that put him just over the
Jersey Mason-Dixon Line.
Then there was the time in 1988 Bruce
sat in and jammed on a few songs with Jackson Browne on the makeshift stage in
the parking lot of Bally's casino in Atlantic City, the first and only time
Bruce has ever played a casino.
Then there was the 2002 Rising Tour
show at Atlantic City Boardwalk Hall, but that’s pretty much it.
Bruce is a North Jersey Guy, who
made it in New York mainly through the efforts of his agent and promoter Mike
Apple and John Hammond, Sr., who signed him to CBS Records, both of whom are
seriously dealt with in the book.
But he also acknowledges the
Delaware Valley fans were the first to really embrace him, with a tip of the
hat to David Dye (now at World Cafe WXPN) and Ed Sciaky both acknowledged.
Another local South Jersey Shore
music writer Kurt Loder of Ocean City gave a five star Rolling Stone magazine review
of Springsteen's The Rising album, and David Kamp writes a flattering cover story
profile of Bruce in Vanity Fair that refers to Bruce's suffering year-long
bouts of depression, that some attribute to his alcoholic father, who was hot
and cold with his kids and packed up and moved to California in 1969, leaving
behind 19 year old Bruce and 17 year old daughter with child.
While his Italian mother was full of
love and family, maybe it was his salt and fire Irish father who inspired Bruce
to pick up the guitar and believe he could, like the Beatles and the Stones,
make a living playing rock and roll.
As Bruce said in his R&R Hall of
Fame speech, “I’ve gotta thank him because – what would I have conceivably
written about without him? I mean, you can imagine that if everything had gone
great between us, we would have had disaster. I would have written just happy
songs – and I tried it in the early ‘90s and it didn’t work; the public didn’t
like it.”
More so were the influences of
Sinatra, the Beatles and the Rolling Stones, all of whom he would cross paths
with down the road, after his mother bought him a $60 guitar and he began to
play with local garage and bar bands.
Bouncing around for years, playing
with a series of bar bands – The Castiles, Steel Mill, Earth, Dr. Zoom & the
Sonic Boom, Sundance Blues Band, until he gets the Bruce Springsteen Band
together in 1971 and as with the evolving E-Street Band, there's no disputing
who is the boss, though they did get a big boost from Mike Apple, who signed
Bruce to contracts as an individual - not as a band, and in 1972 he got Bruce
the audition with John Hammond, Jr., the legendary CBS Records A&R man who
signed Billie Holiday, Bob Dylan and Bruce.
While Dave Marsh wrote the 1998 Born
to Run biography - you can't copyright a title - it was another music
journalist Jon Landau who wrote “I saw rock and roll future and its name is
Bruce Springsteen.” Landau then stepped in as a producer who gave Bruce the
advice and direction he needed to go even further, and his role is well
amplified in the book.
Some of the stories Bruce tells make
the book – like the time they travel onto the Indian reservation in the
Southwest, where they found Thunder Road, the time they got thrown out of
Disney Land because Steve Van Zant wouldn’t take off his bandana, how he met Patti
his second wife at the Stone Pony, how he met Sinatra through Patti’s
pedicurist, and Dylan and Jack Nicholson at Frank’s funeral.
The business end of things wasn't
his major interest and making a lot of money not a motive, but making the magic
in the performance was - and he honed his band to do it right, night after
night, and they pretty much did.
Bruce says that outside the bouts of
depression, he only felt he lost the magic a few times – first when he played
his first large scale stadium show in Ireland, then at a Madison Square Garden
show when he performed "American Skin," about the police killing of a
young black boy, to which the police benevolent association took exception, and
then while practicing for the E-Street
Band revival after 10 years hiatus.
The last time, after weeks of
practice behind closed doors in the Asbury Park Convention Hall, Bruce felt the
music was dull, uninspiring and the spirit lacking, until he opened the doors
and let the fans waiting outside in.
Suddenly he came to life, looked
into the faces of the fans who expected magic, and he reached back and found it
- just as he found it in Ireland and at the Garden, the fans provided the
missing ingredient that mad the magic - just add love.
They get it.
And for the fans, old or new, who
read this book, who get in the car with Bruce, they too will get it, and go
back, back to Greasy Lake, drink the rose wine, dance under the stars and among
the lightning bugs, fairies and the fell the magic in the spirits in the night,
the magic that Bruce has brought us over these many years, a trip that's still
unfolding, as the magic is still there, if you want it. Just get in and go for
a ride with Bruce behind the wheel.
Friday, August 19, 2016
Wayne Kline RIP
KLINE,
WAYNE E.
·
Aug
17, 2016
Top of Form
Bottom of
Form
KLINE, WAYNE E. - 69 of Ocean City, NJ passed
away on Saturday, August 13, 2016 at the Shores at Wesley Manor in Ocean City,
NJ.
Wayne was born to Alma and Edwin Kline of
Barrington, NJ in Camden, NJ. He was born with Cerebral Palsy due to
complications at birth. Although his disability has proved challenging
throughout his life, it has never deterred him from accomplishing his goals.
Wayne graduated from Haddon Heights High
School is 1967 having studied Business. In 1967, Wayne attended Brandywine
College in Wilmington and graduated with a B. S. in Marketing Management in
1971.
He worked for Clint Campbell at Spence Seafood
in Ocean City working there for several years.
In 1972, Wayne got a seasonal job at the
"Clam Bar" in Somers Point, where he was a bookkeeper. At the Clam
Bar, he became fast friends with many customers, especially with the owners
Pete and Patrice Papovic and Dennis and Lucy Dixon and became lifelong friends.
In 1975, Wayne took a job with Paul Glenn,
Inc., a bus company in Northfield where he helped children as a school bus aide
for Special Ed students.
In the 1980's, Wayne went to work for the
Atlantic City Country Club. The owner, Leo Fraser and his sons Doug and Jim and
daughter Bonnie became like family to him. When they sold the club and moved
their operation to their Mays Landing Club where Wane worked over 20 years for
them until his retirement in 2006.
Wayne is survived by his caretakers, Todd
Bower and his children Todd, Jr. and Amy and Muriel Dickinson and her children,
Joseph, Bart and Don. Friends may call Monday evening, August 22nd from six
until seven o'clock at The Godfrey Funeral Home, 809 Central Avenue, Ocean
City, NJ. Burial is private.
Memorial contributions in his memory may to the
United Cerebral Palsy of Philadelphia, 102 East Mermaid Lane, Philadelphia, PA
19118.
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