ERIC CLAPTON / CREAM

My phone rang and I answered it. “Hey, how yoo doin’?” asked the voice with an obvious Bronx cant. It was my friend Felix Pappalardi. “Come over, yoo gotta hear this.” “I’ll be right there,” I replied, and with that grabbed my jacket and was out the door. An invitation from Felix carried a certain import that outweighed others’ offers easily. Whatever awaited me, listening would certainly be good and worth the short, three-block walk to the Washington Square Mews near Eighth St. and MacDougal. It took five minutes. My knock was met by the never-changing familiar Felix greeting, “Hey, how yoo doin’?”
Felix Pappalardi, (who is another chapter in this book) was just beginning a production with a new group signed to Atco Records. That was the extent of the information I knew when he played for me an instrumental backing track cut the night before by this new act. As I listened, three distinct thoughts happened: (1) I was mesmerized by the guitars (2), knocked out by the drummer(s) and awed by the bass player, who maybe more than the others, had an edge to his playing that created that wonderful musical tension that many musicians never achieve. This track was a groove. When it was over, I asked him to play it again. He did, and we listened in silence. For me, the same results - mesmerized, knocked out, and awed!
“That’s wonderful”, I said, then asked “Who are these people?” “They’re three crazy guys from England,” he said. “But, there are two guitars playing.” I replied. “One guitar player, overdubbed,” he explained.
As we listened over and over to this track, Felix unfolded the story of how he had been asked to take over a project already begun by another producer, who seemed to be having a difficult time relating to these three and did Felix want to take a shot at it? This track was the result of a couple of hours together in Atlantic’s New York studio. “They’ve done a record in England, but this one will be their first big shot in America. They’re pretty popular over there. The guitar and bass player are young guys and the drummer is an older guy who’s played jazz for a long time and now wants to rock. They’re called Cream.”

Now, the plan was to finish this new album (Disraeli Gears) with Felix, but they only had a week to do it. The track I heard was to be their rendition of the old blues tune, “Hey, Lawdy Mama”. Felix had suggested that an attempt at writing a new lyric was worth the try, so, along with his wife Gail, and Eric, the track became “Strange Brew.”
When Felix asked me if I wanted to attend the sessions, I was thrilled. For the next three days, Felix and I would cab uptown to Columbus Circle and Atlantic’s Studios around 10am, the band would arrive around 11, and work would continue until after midnight. It’s easy to remember the sense of urgency I felt as I watched, clever with myself for thinking that what I was witnessing was the creation of a valuable historical document. The atmosphere was relaxed, but a bit guarded. The band was friendly, but with a certain British reserve that I was unaccustomed to. Understandably, these people, (Felix and Cream,) had just recently met, only to be thrown together by corporate directives that offered no quarter and that demanded immediate results that would “chart”. For some outsiders, the situation would be unfathomable and to some untenable. To this outsider, the situation was magical.
Tom Dowd engineered the sessions. Tom would become Eric’s producer in later years, but was already a certifiable genius in 1967. (Author’s Note: I was saddened to learn of Tom’s recent passing… I read about it just after finding a picture taken in 2001 of Tom and me with our arms around each other, reminiscing about our collective past. Some of what we recalled together was the magic of these Cream sessions so many years ago…)
My two favorite recollections from those four days are these: sometime during one of the sessions, I was drinking a Coke in the lounge area when Eric came in. He said “Hello” as he approached the vending machine. My memory is that the Coke machine dispensed the old six-ounce bottles and the price was fifteen cents. Eric stood there, looked at the machine, then at the coins he held in his hand, then back at the machine and so on. He sighed a big one, so I asked, “ Could you use a little help?” “Oh yes, please” he replied.

So I showed him the American coin system, nickels, dimes, quarters, how two of these with one of these equals one of these kind of thing. He seemed very grateful, and said, “It’s a bit hard, sussing out your money”.

I have always loved how the British have colloquialisms other than we Americans do, and the way they sound is enchanting. Prior to that moment, having only been exposed to the Beatles, as a fan and hearing how they sounded, to now be standing and chatting with a real live “Brit” seemed most delightful.
We talked about how the sessions were going, how he was enjoying Felix ‘s production guidance, how little he’d seen of New York, and how tired everyone was. The conversation ended as we walked back into the studio.
The second recollection I will never forget was this: we arrived at the studio one morning around 11am. Soon after, Jack Bruce and Eric arrived. The first order of business was Jack’s lead vocal on “Sunshine of Your Love”, the track for which had been cut the night before and had withstood the test of overnight scrutiny. “It’s a bit early” , said Jack, then added, “Let me get a cup of tea before I have to sing.” Felix and Tom balanced the playback, readied the vocal mic, set the headphones, and were ready for Jack when he returned dipping a teabag in a cup of hot water. He headed into the studio and positioned himself in front of the mic. “Just give us a rundown Jack”, instructed Felix over the talkback, then turned to Tom and without Jack hearing it, said “take it ” , which meant to record Jack’s performance. Tom did, and when the track ended, Jack was still dipping his teabag. “I’m ready” Jack announced. “I took that one” replied Felix, “Come on in and listen to it.” Obediently, Jack listened. When the playback stopped, Jack said something like “better than I thought it would be.” “I think it’s fine” said Felix. “If you like it, then fine” said Jack, and with that sat down and finished his tea. Turning to Eric, Felix said, “Your turn, my man, let’s get your vocal done.” With that, Eric did his vocals, and to my memory both he and Jack were finished in less than thirty minutes! I was amazed, but what happened next seemed even more amazing.
The guitar solo on “Sunshine” is a classic, and it happened in one take, even though Eric thought he made a mistake eight bars before the section ends - knowing that, listen again, and I’ll bet you’ll notice it yourself. During the take, Eric sat with his back against the control room window, on a stool near his amp head. He made a noticeable body reaction at that point of his “mistake” and without stopping, turned to look over his shoulder into the control booth. Felix was shaking his fist at Eric, as if to say “Don’t you dare stop!”. Well, he didn’t, and when he listened back, he seemed pleased. As I recall, he never tried it again, agreeing that what he played was just fine. That’s how the guitar solo on “Sunshine of Your Love” happened. I know. I was there.

I must add this postscript to the Cream story…… Years later, specifically, in December 1976, while working at Criteria Studios in Miami, Eric walked into the control room and sat down next to me. The reason being he had heard sounds of a guitar coming from the studio. The guitar player he heard was Jock Bartley, overdubbing the lead on a song called “Mexico” and it is on the first Firefall album, which I produced. Clapton was there to do some recording with Tom Dowd, who was then producing him. Before the take was over, Eric turned to me and said “Awfully keen band you’ve got here.” I thanked him and suggested we get him to jam with Jock, but he was adamant in his decline of the offer. Then he looked at me in such a way that it seemed he was trying to place me. “I know you, we’ve met before”, he said. I reminded him of Felix and the Cream sessions. “Yes,” he said, “it was with Felix, yes, you’re the bloke what taught me to make change!” (“YOU’RE THE BLOKE WHAT TAUGHT ME TO MAKE CHANGE”,…… WOW!) Eric Clapton said that to me!
When the take was over, Jock asked to do another. “Come on in and take a listen,” I said. The lighting in the studio and control room was set up so that musicians in the studio could not easily see into the control room. When Jock entered the booth, his eyes did that thing that happens in Tex Avery cartoons. BOINNNNGGG!! I thought he was going to shake Eric’s arm off, he did it for so long. The take that Eric Clapton walked into is the take on the recording, and try as both Jock and I did, we could not convince “old slowhand” to play although he was most complimentary to us about the music. The world knows that Eric Clapton is indeed a great guitarist. Some of us have known him to be a very gracious gentleman.

George Carlin

Old Town, Chicago, 1965 was wonderful… it was great to be part of that fabric of folk/blues/rock music that melded together that year, as it was doing in other places, such as Los Angeles. From  that West Coast mecca to Chicago, came the embodiment of hipness and humor and the perfect co-billing to musical entertainment in the person of George Carlin. George was right at the beginning of his solo career, having dissolved a successful partnership with Jack Burns, also a very hip and funny man.  At that time, George was still the disciple of Lenny Bruce, wearing the same style suits as Lenny, with those skinny little ties, like Lenny’s, with slicked back hair like Lenny’s , and the best weed I’d ever smoked, which I could only guess - like Lenny.

 Old Town seemed to me to be the center of the universe, whose hub and heart was a club on North Wells Street called “Mother Blues”, named after its proprietor, Lorraine Blue. Lots of famous entertainers of the time made her place a regular stop on  the road, and nearly every night the place was happening! Like George, I too had left the safety of numbers, abandoning my musical buddies and began testing the waters of solo performance, so imagine my self-satisfaction to learn that I, Me, would be the other half of the bill at Mother Blues for two weeks that summer along with George. Things went great. George drew the crowds, and they put up with me for forty five minutes, twice a night, six nights a week  because George was worth the wait.  His career as a solo performer worked out better than mine did, obviously, now the whole world laughs with the genius that is George.  

 Those two weeks are still a highlight of my career, and how could I ever forget that wacky weed he “made” me smoke with him on the second floor balcony behind our shared dressing room. Now, jump ahead to May, 2000 - to the Auditorium Theater, Denver when I attended a George Carlin concert, as a birthday present from Mary Ann, my wife. Perhaps I could say hello to George, I thought, after all these years. So, I sent a note backstage at the beginning of the show, and was told to check with the security people at intermission. I did - no response yet, they said, but right after the show, come back to the backstage area, and yes, he did get my note. Well, I wasn’t ready for what happened right near the end of George’s show. He finished a bit, and said to nearly four thousand people, “I want to step out of character for a moment folks, to say hello to an old friend who is here tonight, someone who knew me way back in the old days of the big folk-scare of the sixties, someone I shared the bill with at the hottest club in Chicago at that time, a place called Mother Blues. That old friend is Tim Mason, and Tim, of course I remember you and all the fun we had back then… it was nice of you to send me your note, but I won’t be able to spend any time with you, because when I walk off this stage, I’m out the door, in the limo to the airport and hopefully, I’ll make my plane back home to L.A. “ “Tim”, George told the crowd, “was one of the good guys and we lost touch, but I hope you’ve had a great life, Tim, and you know how to get in touch with me, so please do. Okay, now, let’s finish the show.” And with that, he did… well, thanks George, for saying something, but the name is Jim, not Tim. What, you can’t read my writing? Anyway, it was great to be remembered by him as I was, whatever he wants to call me… Do you think I should change my name?

ABBEY ROAD
Abbey Road Studios became very famous after the 1969 album of the same name by the Beatles. You remember, the four of them marching across the zebra crossing near the entrance to the studio. I first saw the place in 1973 when I was in London on holiday. How could I not want to see the place, especially since I was a legitimate record producer with some level of success, … in America. So, one Saturday morning I drove out to St.John’s Wood, and there it was – with the front door wide open. “How inviting” I thought, “now for a good look around.” Being well-mannered (scared) as I was, straddling the threshold, I called out “Hello, anyone here?” getting no immediate answer, I brazenly stepped into the hallway, and quickly realized I was just outside the control room doors to two of the most famous studios in the world – studios where they (the Beatles) worked! Opening one slowly, cautiously, thinking that someone may be working, just as I got a look inside, a voice from behind ended my adventure with a very British sounding, “Out,out,out”. Turning around, I faced a tiny man in overalls, wearing a hugger cap, with a pipe in his mouth and a push broom in his hand, “out, out” he said, “can’t have you mucking about the place, out, out”. “But Sir” I pleaded, “can’t I just have a quick look around, I promise not to touch anything.” “no, no, no, out, out out”, he repeated, now gently guiding me by my arm toward the front door. “Sir, please”, I pleaded, “just a quick look – what could that hurt. Anyway, I am a record producer from America, you should let me in.” at that moment, without missing a beat, he stopped, looked up at me squarely in the eye, and said, “but of course you are, that’s what they all say.” With that, so ended my first brief encounter at Abbey Road, but it was not to be my last.
Jump ahead to early 1979, when I was hired by Chrysalis Records in Los Angeles to produce the third album for a Welsh group, Racing Cars, fairly popular in Great Britain at that time. At first, the company wanted to bring the five-man group to the States to record, but, being the quick-to-respond-to-the-obvious-opportunity producer that I was, I casually suggested the possibility of sending me to London, thus potentially saving lots of money on the project. “Great idea, Mason” was the reply.

At that moment, somewhere deep in my revenge-filled psyche I knew I would return to Abbey Road, and this time, there would be no one saying, “out, out, out.”
During the time in London, we worked on the project in several very good facilities. I booked a string date for the big studio in the basement of Abbey Road, the one from which was broadcast the Beatles working on their recording “All You Need Is Love”. It was seen live around the world June 25, 1967 on Public Television. I remember watching it in New York. Now, in 1979, I was where it had happened. The basement of Abbey Road isn’t truly a basement. The grounds slope away from the street in the front of the building towards the rear, revealing another story as seen from the back. This allows the ceiling in the lower studio to be quite high, creating a natural reverb time of some 3.5 seconds. It’s a very popular recording site for large symphonic orchestras, and that’s what we did for the album “Bring On the Night” by Racing Cars, by bringing in nearly thirty string players, violins, violas, celli, and basses. The session was a huge success, the album wasn’t. Just as Chrysalis planned their release, so did Elektra (?) plan the first release in America, (and then the world) of a new band “Cars”. Such is life in the record biz.
Anyway, my chance to finally work in such a prestigious place as Abbey Road, was realized, and no one told me “out, out, out.” I conducted my business and “left, left, left.” After twenty-five years away, I still look forward to returning yet a third time………