Memories of a DJ

ImageThird of an eight-part featuring the legendary rock group, The Kingsmen

Brian Beirne, “Mr. Rock ‘N Roll,” Reminisces

My dad took me to a radio station when I was 10, and I watched a guy spin the records, cue them up and talk about them. Elvis had just hit and was the rage of the day, and of course all of us kids wanted to pick up a guitar and be the next Elvis Presley. I played piano and guitar, but once I watched the guy in the studio, that was it.

I was a record collector from the time I was four. The magic words for me were, “Hey kid, see the records underneath the console? When we get done with them on the playlist, we get to take them home. And I thought “Wow, this is great. I’d get to play the records on the radio, talk about the artist, physically handle the records, and then I’d get FREE records!”

What’s interesting is, when my dad passed away several years ago, I opened the family trunk and saw my birth announcement. It was a baby holding a microphone. It was prophetic. Blew me away. I guess that was my calling. And I enjoyed every day I was on the radio in my 40+ years, and of course I got to meet great people along the way—got to have them on my radio shows wherever I was in the country—got to work with them, book them on shows, hang out with them and have fun. It was a fabulous career.

It was the “Golden Age of Rock,” and to a great degree, the second golden age of radio. We had freedom as disc jockeys. Today it is extremely controlled. You’re given a playlist. You’re told don’t talk over so many seconds, don’t do this, don’t do that. Back then, the personality of the DJ was really important. Now people seem very interchangeable. It was an exciting time to be on the radio. It really was.

When I got into radio, stations were owned by “moms and pops.” There were only a few major companies that owned radio stations, and there were restrictions—you could only own so many AM and FM stations, and so many television stations. I think there was a lot of freedom in the industry. Disc jockeys were stars. We were talent. We had a following like celebrities. It was exciting, too, because somebody would walk in the door that afternoon and say, “Hey, we’re The Kingsmen, and we have a brand-new record out, and do you want to give it a spin?”

I started in radio by accident when I was 13. I hung around the radio station from the time I was 10. Three days a week I’d take the bus there after school. I’d hang around and watch the guys, get them coffee, pull their records, and they would teach me the ropes.

One evening there was a live broadcast from the YWCA. Though I was shy, I’d go and hang around with the DJs. About a half hour into the broadcast, the jock said, “I’m sick. I’m going home. You take it.” And I said, “What do you mean, ‘me take it? I’m a 13-year-old kid!’” And he said, “You know how to run this!” So, the next thing I knew, I was on the radio. That lasted until my mother thought I actually was going to find girls down there at the radio station and put the kibosh on it. I went back into radio full time when I was about 17 and moved around the country to various cities. I was working in a major market by the time I was 21 and eventually settled in Los Angeles for 29 years at The Earth 101.

When The Kingsmen started to hit big I was 17. I remember when they recorded the live album at The Chase. I was on the air and the guys came by with a new record—they were always trying to crack me up, and I remember all of them, probably led by Mike Mitchell, when I opened the mike, they were in the production room across from me, all mooning me at the same time. In those days we had to read a five-minute newscast at the top of the hour, even Top-40 stations. I’d find myself reading the newscast and these guys are mooning me across the way to see if they could break me up. We had a lot of good times and I think that whole sound they produced at that time with “Money,” “Little Latin Lupe Lu,” “Jolly Green Giant,” were all really, as I said, not a polished sound, but it was exciting. It was new.

So many great memories and it all happened so fast, because right after that I started to do a lot of package shows that had five to 10 acts together. One day The Dave Clark Five are on your radio show, the next day it’s The Mamas and The Papas, then The Kingsmen drop by with a new record—it was kind of a whirlwind—the experiences and people I met during that period of time.

In terms of most amazing moment, there wasn’t a particular event, but more like the cumulative experience of being in that business at that point in time. Lots of exciting things happened. The Kingsmen were swell people and it was wonderful to be a part of their career at that time.

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Terri Nakamura is a professional graphic designer who loves social media, music and writing. Follow her on Twitter: @terrinakamura; Read her blog, Confessions of a Graphic Designer: http://seattledesigner.blogspot.com/ or find her connections on xeeme: http://xeeme.com/terrinakamura
© 2010-12 Terri Nakamura

Following the Muse

Second of an eight-part featuring the legendary rock group, The Kingsmen

Image

“Louie Louie” Gold Record Ceremony, New York, NY, April 1964. Standing, rear, left to right: Bob Levinson (Scepter/Wand distributor), Pete Garris (Scepter/Wand National Promotion Director); Kneeling, front, left to right: Norm, Mike, Lynn, Dick, Barry

As told by Barry Curtis, The Kingsmen Keyboard Player, 1963-2005

Everyone in The Kingsman had been playing music for quite a while in various capacities. I’d been in other bands in junior and senior high school, and studied piano since I was a little kid. And in high school I was in various vocal ensembles and things like that. I was totally aware of rock and roll — Elvis, Jerry Lee Lewis, Little Richard, Buddy Holly…  I was that young teenager buying those records. I even dreamed of seeing someone famous like that.  I was in these bands learning those tunes and playing them at sock hops, etc.

I was 19 years old. At the pinnacle, our managers were making a lot of money and the record companies were making a lot of money, and the booking agents were making a lot and we were making more than any of us had made before. Management, booking agency, record companies—these entities have their legitimate place and take their amounts. They were well-established entities. William Morris is huge. We were paid decently for that time, I think. When we were doing gigs it was before Credence Clearwater, Led Zeppelin and others who in the later ’60s were making really awesome money. We were before that era. But I had no complaints.

Later on in our career we started questioning, like maybe we should be getting a greater percentage for our record sales, which we eventually did. But by then, our record sales weren’t as huge as they were before. None of us became millionaires doing that.

Five years ago I retired from The Kingsmen. During some time before that, I took computer-oriented classes in community college. Now I have a job in Seattle doing data quality control and processing for an AIDS study in Africa, dealing with data they collect during clinic procedures and interviews.

I was connected to The Kingsmen through a person I played in bands with in high school and who had been Lynn Easton’s (one of the original band members) roommate. That’s how I got involved. I didn’t even audition. Lynn called me on the phone and said, “Well, you play organ, right?”  So I got hired on the phone.

I’d been playing at least as long as the rest of the guys had—maybe longer. So I knew most of the tunes they were doing. It wasn’t a huge learning curve. I liked the groove and sound we had. It was good solid R&B rock and roll, so that worked, and we just went on the road.

What happened to all of us, perhaps in different ways is that we experienced something of a delayed maturation process. “Normal” people in their early 20s start becoming adults. I think we kind of stayed where we were at 19. As the jobs got into bigger venues and we had more and more record sales, did interviews and TV, etc., we were, in various ways, affected by that.  I personally got into the space that this was reality. And it WAS reality. I began to think of that reality not changing. And I think that’s what most anyone in this kind of successful situation might experience.

There are phases of music, different kinds and different eras. Cream, Hendrix, Jefferson Airplane and the Grateful Dead became the dominant San Francisco, psychedelic kinds of bands, and certainly the WHO, Rolling Stones, and Beatles kept going and kept innovating. We didn’t have a lot of opportunity to take time off for extensive recording, rehearsing and writing. The booking agents thought we should be playing constantly because it was good for the income. So we basically were run dry. That’s how I look at it.

In early 1966, I was drafted and went to Viet Nam and came back in late 1967 into a Jefferson Airplane-dominated, era which was quite different. The Kingsmen hadn’t transitioned into that. There were some decent original recordings, but by that time the focus had changed to these other kinds of bands. After a while we kind of became dormant.

Currently, Steve Peterson and I are members of The Daily Flash in Seattle. (Steve is also still an active member of The Kingsmen).  All the Flash members have a lot of musical background and knowledge.  We can quickly communicate musical ideas — transposing, modulations, chord substitutions, vocal harmony arrangements, tempo changes, etc.

The Daily Flash is kind of like Utopia for us. It’s all about the music and what each of us can bring to it. We all love it. We’re all good friends. We trust each other—None of the BS that happens in so many other bands.

This is the musical environment I’ve always wanted and needed. It’s so expansive and collaborative.  We’re free to explore wherever the muse takes us.  It is always interesting and sometimes surprising where that goes.

My gold record is in a cardboard box next to my computer desk. If I had it on the wall it would freak me out.  I don’t have to live under that now. Now, that expectation is not put on me. “Louie Louie” was a magnificent thing, but it so dominated us we found it difficult to break out of garage rock mode. Other kinds of stuff weren’t what we became known for.

We took it seriously but we had a lot of fun doing it. We felt we were like American rock and roll ambassadors. Agents would say we were the answer to the British Invasion, but we loved the Beatles, Stones, Kinks, Animals… We were just serious about putting on a good rocking show, and we did.

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Barry Curtis has found happiness in The Daily Flash. Having seen the band perform numerous times, I can vouch for the fact they put on an incredible show each and every time.

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Above photo © 2006 Richard Peterson 

Terri Nakamura is a professional graphic designer who loves social media, music and writing. Follow her on Twitter: @terrinakamura; Read her blog, Confessions of a Graphic Designerhttp://seattledesigner.blogspot.com/ or find her connections on xeeme: http://xeeme.com/terrinakamura

© 2010-12 Terri Nakamura