Forever Doo-wop, published in 2010, reflects on how the music is perceived by different sides: the large white audience who pay to see live acts; the increasingly elderly, mostly black, singers, making a living from serving up their past - significantly fewer in number now, of course - and those in the middle who promote and make money from the enterprise.
Despite seeing it periodically in remainder shops I must admit that I'd put off buying this book. The cover seemed to suggest something picture-heavy, aimed squarely at the nostalgia market - and there are quite a few of that sort around, repeating the same basic points about how great it all was for those growing up in fifties America.
So it was a pleasant surprise to discover that it was in fact an academic work but clear and readable, written by someone who is both part of the culture and at a distance from it: a white musician who has played longterm with the Cadillacs, one of the most famous of all black doo wop groups, and has also been their musical director and an occasional singer. He examines that myth of "oh, wasn't everything great back then" and discusses the complex feelings of black oldies groups performing for a largely white audience.
In outline the book is not unlike another memoir, reviewed earlier in this blog, by Michael G. Devlin, a white musician who played with the G-Clefs. But the crucial difference between the two (Devlin's book is entitled Doo-Wop! and the Glefs) is that the limitations of Devlin's ability as a writer mean that there can be a bit of struggle to understand precisely what he means, despite the inherent fascination of the tale and a few good anecdotes about his own musical career before meeting up with the group.
It's not entirely his fault: there are limits to the extent to which Devlin has been truly accepted by the group, despite many years' service, and neither he nor, it seems, anyone else, can fathom how they conduct their business affairs, rejecting opportunities which could have improved their fortunes for reasons which don't seem logical. That said, Doo-Wop! and the Glefs is essentially a tantalising work rather than one which has been fully achieved.
Runowicz, by way of contrast, is able to articulate his misgivings about interviewing the Cadillacs' leader (and by then his friend) Earl "Speedo" Carroll for the academic piece he's writing, and the need to convince Carroll that he's not trying to write an unofficial biography on the sly and thus cheat this doo wop icon out of potential earnings.
This is a big issue for many doo wop originals - and Runowicz mentions that the doo wop documentary Life Could Be a Dream is yet another example of artists not receiving their due, made harder to bear by the high quality of the programme and the irony that the documentary discusses that very problem. I'll quote the relevant passage, abridged, below, as it will give an idea of Runowicz's style:
A show the Cadillacs had played ... on Long Island .... was the show at which much of the video Life Could Be a Dream (2002) was made, an experience still invested with much bitter feeling ... The filmmakers offered no payment or royalty arrangements, claiming that it was a low-budget production for the Bravo cable television network which would not be for sale. Within a year of the taping, however, VHS and DVD versions were on sale ... Some of the exploited parties ... tried to put together a lawsuit, but it ultimately proved not to be worth the time, effort, and money. According to Jay, who was featured prominently in Life Could Be a Dream, not getting paid for the use of his image and words would not have been such an injury if the video had not been so well made and had not so sympathetically featured the artists in their current lives as oldies circuit performers. The documentary is an effective portrayal of the doo-wop community highlighted by a wonderful offstage interlude in which Jay along with Carroll and many of the other performers in the show spontaneously gathered around a piano in one of the classrooms and began to sing. The excitement increased as, one after another, singers entered the room and joined the music making. The video crew was notified and soon after the cameras were rolling. In the background were five recent graduates of the New York High School for the Performing Arts, all in their early twenties, whom Carroll had hired for the evening to be the Cadillacs' horn section. Even before the cameras arrived, they were dancing and singing along, absolutely surprised and overwhelmed by how much fun they were having at a gig where many of the artists were old enough to be their grandparents. I was seated behind the singers gathered around the piano and in front of the young horn section, singing along but smiling a little uncomfortably, acutely aware of being in the middle of a very special, deeply resonant fieldwork and life experience. All this was captured on video, as good as any informal, spontaneous backstage moment represented in the media. The surprise marketing of Life Could Be a Dream was deeply painful for its stars. Just as in the 1950s, when so many of them were exploited by the entertainment business — ironically, a subject addressed in depth in the video — their rich, music-infused lives had been commodified and distributed with no financial compensation for them.
The fact that Runowicz is in such a privileged and unusual position - viewing the situation both from outside and as one of the musicians - makes for a compelling read overall. My only gripe, and it's a minor one, is there is an occasional sense of a scholarly tone intruding on sections which don't really need such thorough explanations. But as some books about doo wop can get rather bogged down in tales of changing personnel Mr Runowicz's book has to be applauded overall. (I recall the excitement of first reading Philip Groia's They All Sang on the Corner - the first book I ever read devoted to doo wop - and then, for all its virtues, beginning to think that there was a lot of focus on the personnel of the Cadillacs' many spin-off groups and not quite so much discussion about the music - or at least that's the impression I retain from reading it several years ago.)
For more about doo wop groups I recommend Richard G. Carter's biography of the Spaniels, written with the cooperation of all members of the group. That too doesn't really discuss the music, taking its importance as a given, but there is more than enough of interest in the changing fortunes of the group members. I was lucky enough to interview Billy Shelton at length; he taught Pookie Hudson how to sing at glee club in high school and joined the Spaniels around the time of Mr Carter's biography; he said that with all members in the room any dubious account of events was instantly contradicted.
For a monograph about life as a member of a young doo wop group Johnny Keyes' book Du-Wop [sic] can't be beat for conveying the excitement and anxiety of making a first recording (Keyes was in the Magnificents of Up on the Mountain fame).
Related posts:
Review of Doo-Wop! and the G-Clefs
Review of Life Could Be a Dream
Billy Shelton: Spaniel Forever
Review of Du-Wop by Johnny Keyes
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