Off My Rocker: One Man's Tasty, Twisted, Star-Studded Quest for Everlasting Music by Weissberg Kenny

Author:Weissberg, Kenny [Weissberg, Kenny]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: rock and roll, music, Memoir
Publisher: Sandra Jonas Publishing House
Published: 2013-11-30T05:00:00+00:00

21.

miles in the rain

At the onset of 1985, I sat in the catbird seat, with the money and authority to book a forty-five-show summer concert series. There were a couple of problems, though. One, I didn’t know what I was doing. Two, Jerry Mack, the ousted promoter of record at Humphrey’s, was coming after us with a vengeance. He immediately went down the street to the far end of Shelter Island and started a competing series at the Kona Kai Hotel.

I was unquestionably the underdog, but the cliché that all the pressure was on the favorite was a crock. It was a struggle to get agents to take or return my phone calls. I was running a uniquely quaint venue but I was just shy of invisible in the eyes of the power brokers.

As future concert seasons came and went, I would start booking the following year’s lineup in October and have at least a dozen confirmations by December. But 1985 was a bitch because Southland Concerts didn’t land the Humphrey’s account until early January and I didn’t secure a firm date until a month later.

My first confirmation after becoming “captain of the ship” was Chuck Mangione, an artist whose music I equated with cotton candy, primarily fluff with no substance. One booking and I had already compromised my artistic values. I dished out offers to any agent who would pay attention to me. That was a short list. Peter Sheils of the William Morris Agency had been plied frequently with coke by Brent so he politely picked up my calls. But Peter had a long-standing allegiance to Mack—in fact, Peter had sold him the Camilo Sesto tour that had propelled him toward bankruptcy.

Since I had no choice but to be patient my initial year at the helm, I was exhilarated when Sheils called in early February to confirm David Sanborn, one of the biggest names in contemporary jazz. This might quell the onslaught of naysayers who didn’t think I was up to the task of competing against Mack, Avalon Attractions, and other more established promoters in the market.

My mild euphoria was short-lived. A few days later, Sheils called. “I have bad news,” he said. “Mack came up to the office with $15,000 in cash yesterday and I have to give him Sanborn.”

It was my first indication that one’s word meant nothing in the mercurial concert business.

“What the fuck?” I’m generally a mild-mannered person, not prone to temper tantrums, but reneging on a promise is a quick way to elevate my blood pressure. “You confirmed the date last week. I have already written a press release and was just getting my ad campaign in order.” I was stretching the truth—our ads weren’t scheduled to break for a month. “How can you fuck us over like that?”

“I’m really sorry, Kenny. You should have seen Mack. He was groveling. His voice was cracking. It was pathetic.”

“And I’m supposed to feel sorry for him? C’mon, Peter. He dug his own grave a million times.

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