ike many twentieth-century Ameri- can musicians, Felix Cavaliere is a crazy quilt of cultural influences. Growing up in the burbs of New York City, he played Schubert and Mozart before catching the doo-wop bug and forming Felix and the Escorts (which included Neil Diamond) in the early
off to school and started researching it. Then I had to actually find one. I went down to New York City, and of all places, it was Macy’s. Being a teenager, there was no way I could afford to buy one. I’ve read somewhere that you saw the Beatles before they hit the States. Yeah, I was on tour with Joey Dee [and the Starliters] over in Germany and Sweden when I saw the Beatles. I was a classically trained musician, so I could see what they were doing. I decided what I would do when I got back over here was to find the best musicians that I could, which meant I stole the frontman from a bunch of other groups. Dino Danelli was a hot drummer who as a teenager had already played with jazz vibraphonist Lionel Hampton’s group, toured the R&B circuit with Little Willie John, and gigged with Felix in a Las Vegas casino house band. Playing organ in Joey Dee and the Starliters, Felix met his other future bandmates, R&B vocalist Ed- die Brigati (who had taken his brother David’s place in the band) and Gene Cornish, while touring Europe spreading the jubilation of “Peppermint Twist” across the continent. Upon their return, the trio dumped Dee and hooked up with Danelli. Rehearsing down in Felix’s basement, Eddie, Gene, and Dino ripped through a dozen songs until, as Cornish once remarked, they “hit magic.” An impish prankster of the first order, Eddie showed up to the band’s first rehearsal clad in Little Lord Fauntleroy knickers. The joke stuck. Like Gene Cornish said: “Before we had a hit record, before people remembered the name, they remembered the kids with knickers.” The time was ripe with the British Invasion in full throttle and a constant stream of soul hits percolating on AM ra- dio. New York promoter/manager Sid Bernstein signed the Young Rascals just months before presenting the Beatles at Shea Stadium in the summer of 1965. Knickers aside, it was the band’s music and energy that ultimately impressed Ahmet Ertegun. After catching them at a Westhampton nightclub, Ertegun immediately offered the Young Rascals a contract. There are a number of firsts when it comes to the Ras- cals. Not only were they the first rock band to sign with Atlantic, but you guys were the first White group on the label. On top of that, you were actually given the license to produce your own records, at a time when creative control was virtually unheard of. Felix Cavaliere: I fell in love with Berry Gordy and Phil Spec- tor, who wanted to produce us. But I didn’t want to go with Phil, because I didn’t want to be a third party. Even though I adored his work, I didn’t want Phil or anybody coming along and producing the band. I wanted to do it. There was a little bit of consternation with the guys, but I held my ground. We were offered deals with Columbia and Capitol, but the only people that would give us that opportunity was Atlantic. The guys in the band said, “Who do you think you are?” I said, “I know what I’m doin’. You gotta trust me.” This is where God stepped into our lives and put Arif Mardin and Tom Dowd with us in the studio. I thought I’d passed away and gone to heaven! Atlan- tic provided us with this very fertile garden; the soil was perfectly
’60s. Then came the lightning-bolt revelation of soul singers Ray Charles and Marvin Gaye along with the roller-coaster licks of jazz organ genius Jimmy Smith. Mesmerized by the Hammond B-3, Cavaliere played Vegas casinos, shook and shimmied to “Pepper- mint Twist” with Joey Dee and the Starliters, and witnessed Beat- lemania pre-Sullivan—all of which planted the seeds for the Young Rascals, three Italians and a Canadian guitarist who were tossed into the blue-eyed-soul bag along with the Righteous Brothers and Mitch Ryder and the Detroit Wheels (who could kick some genuine jam). Although the Rascals never harnessed anywhere near the same kilowattage as the Who, Townshend and company were hardly alone when it came to playing “Maximum R&B.” (The time has finally come to give Dino Danelli’s drumming the respect it deserves. And Gene Cornish’s snarling twang wasn’t far behind that of Telecaster master Steve Cropper.) But by April ’67, the tight, edgy combo of organ, guitar, and drums that drove “Good Lovin’ ” to number one back in ’65 was nowhere to be found on “Groovin’,” the laid-back anthem that ush- ered in the Summer of Love on an ethereal breeze of harpsichord, harmonica, piano, vibes, congas, and birdcalls. Felix soon found his bliss at the lotus feet of Swami Satchidan- anda, as he engaged in meditation and sun salutations, expanded his consciousness and the Rascals’ sonic horizons beyond the pale of his fans, fellow bandmates, and record label. No matter where the music has taken him over the years, Felix still talks like a New Yorker, sounding more Marty Scorcese than Cowboy Jack Clement. I had to remind myself that he lives in Nashville these days and not down the block when we spoke by phone back in early December 2007. What was your first real gig? Felix Cavaliere: My first gig was as the youngest member of a big band. It was a transitional time, between two periods of music. I used to do a little segment in the show, playing a Fats Domino/Jerry Lee Lewis/Little Richard kind of thing as rock and roll was starting to come in, and, before I knew it, that’s what the band became known for. Then you put together the Stereos, an integrated group, and started playing talent shows. It’s not the same Stereos that made a record, which I still get credit for. Not that I mind the credit, but those guys only had one hit, and I got the credit for it. It never dawned on me that it would be a problem that the band was racially mixed. The fact was they were the only guys who could sing. After that, I was invited to a Black club in New Rochelle, where I was introduced to the Hammond organ. I could not believe what I was hearing. It really affected me, just blew my brain out. I had to learn to play that thing. So I went
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(above and previous spread) Photography by Jay Good/Frank White Photo Agency.
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