Done: You Haven’t Done Nothin’

Stevie Wonder: You Haven’t Done Nothin’ [purchase] 

I’m still trying to wrap my head around this theme—“Done” would have made sense to me at the end of 2021, although the year-end here at SMM is filled with traditional themes, like our post-Thanksgiving “Leftovers,” some holiday-related theme(s) around Christmas, and the post-Christmas “In Memoriam.” So, if we had kicked off 2022 with “Beginning,” which we did in 2016, or “Fresh Starts” (2012), I’d get it. But maybe I protest too much, since our first theme of 2021 was “Over,” but I think that tied into the end of the Trump Error, and not the end of the also crappy 2020. 

Anyway, even though, so far, there’s no evidence that 2022 is going to improve on 2021 in any way, my choice of song for this theme is unrelated to the definition of “Done” as an adjective meaning “over,” but rather in its role as the past participle of the verb “do.” (Yes, we here at SMM are grammar nerds). And after the somewhat disappointing view totals of my In Memoriam piece about Larry Harlow, not exactly a household name outside of the Harlow household (and, of course, the salsa world, which doesn’t appear to overlap too much with our readership), I’m going to write about a big hit for a massively famous musician, Stevie Wonder’s “You Haven’t Done Nothin’” which was a No. 1 pop and soul hit for Wonder.

I’ve probably mentioned more than a few times here (and maybe at some of my other blogging homes) that one of the joys of writing these pieces is that I often learn things about the song or artist that I didn’t know, and that’s what happened here. “You Haven’t Done Nothin’” was released as a single in 1974, and I probably heard hundreds of times over the years. But what I did not know, until I began researching this piece, was that it was directed at Richard Nixon, who resigned two weeks after the album it was on, Fulfillingness’ First Finale, was released, and one day after the single was released. Thanks for making that happen, Stevie. (I still remember the joy that my 13-year-old self felt when I heard, while working as a junior day camp counselor, that Nixon had decided to step down, which is maybe why this is my second Watergate related post in recent weeks.) 

I also didn’t know that the background vocals on the song were sung by the Jackson 5—despite the fact that Wonder literally sings “Jackson 5 join along with me” during the song. Or that all of the instruments on the song (other than bass) were played by Wonder, including the horn parts on synthesizer. 

Wonder is, of course, amazing, which was brought home to me this summer when, during that brief period when we thought COVID was on the ropes, my wife and I went to an actual movie theater to see the brilliant documentary, Summer of Soul, about the mostly forgotten Harlem Cultural Festival that took place in 1969, featuring an incredible roster of talent. Questlove, the director, made the decision to open the film with 19-year-old Stevie Wonder playing an amazing drum solo (!). You can see a bit of it (and hear a little more of it) in this trailer for the film (it’s on Hulu, and you really should just see the whole film because it is mind-blowing)



I also found this interesting essay from the Arkansas Democrat Gazette that discusses Wonder’s performance, including speculation as to why Wonder chose to include the drum solo in a cover of the Isley Brothers’ “It’s Your Thing,” which was considered to be a “kiss-off” to Motown Records, Wonder’s label, and it’s a worthwhile read.

In Memoriam: Larry Harlow

[purchase] 

On New Year’s Eve, my wife and I watched Being the Ricardos, the new film about Lucille Ball and Desi Arnaz, directed by Aaron Sorkin, which we enjoyed greatly. At one point, I began to wonder about the popularity in the US of the Latin music that Desi Arnaz (and Ricky Ricardo) performed in the 1950s. And yes, it appears that in the 30s, 40s and 50s, Latin dance music of various styles, including the tango, samba, and rhumba, was popular in dance halls, essentially because it was fun to dance to. And some have ascribed the popularity of Latin music in the United States during the 40s in part as an attempt to escape the horrors of World War II. Arnaz was part of a mambo boom that started in the 40s with, among others, Xavier Cugat and later included Tito Puente, Pérez Prado (the “Mambo King”), and Carmen Miranda. 

During this period, the bandleader at the Latin Quarter nightclub in New York was Buddy Harlowe, whose birth name was Nathan Kahn. Nathan’s young son Larry (born in Brooklyn in 1939) often hung around, listening to the music with club owner Lou Walters’ daughter Barbara (yes, that Barbara Walters). Larry, whose mother Rose was an opera singer, was a musical prodigy who could play many instruments at a young age, and he soon focused on the piano. While attending the High School of Music and Arts in Harlem, he became fascinated by the music of Cuba that he heard coming from the buildings he passed walking the streets.  Harlow studied music in Cuba in the 1950s but didn’t finish his degree, though, because of the Revolution, so he returned to New York. 

Using a truncated version of his father’s stage name, Larry Harlow and his orchestra played the Borscht Belt hotels in the Catskills, where Latin music was extremely popular and other Jewish and actual Latino musicians performed the music. (The number of Jews playing Latin music during this era was surprisingly large). Once the US Government embargoed Cuba, it became impossible for Cuban musicians (and their recordings) to come to the States, so an American label for Latin music was needed. Fania Records was founded by lawyer Jerry Masucci (who Harlow had met in Cuba and bonded with over their common Brooklyn roots and love of the music) and Dominican-born musician Johnny Pacheco. Fania’s first signing was Larry Harlow, and it went on to be referred to as the “Motown of Salsa,” for its influence in the style of Latin music that arose in the 1970s. 

Harlow became one of the most prolific artists for Fania, recording more than 200 albums by various artists and 50 of his own, including Hommy, inspired by the Who’s Tommy. He was the first to develop the front line of two trumpets and two trombones that most salsa bands use today and explored Latin music’s African roots. When Arsenio Rodriguez, an influential blind Afro-Cuban musician died in obscurity in 1970, Harlow recorded a tribute album. Rodriquez had been nicknamed “El Ciego Maravilloso,” “The Amazing Blind Man” — and Harlow would soon be known as “El Judio Maravilloso.”—"The Amazing Jew.” As a less amazing Jew, I found that amusing when I learned about it. 

In 1974, Harlow was instrumental in collecting over 100,000 signatures for the recognition of Latin music by the Grammy Awards and led a protest at the awards, resulting in the creation of a Latin Grammy Award. Three decades later, in 2008, Harlow would receive the Trustees Lifetime Achievement Award from the Recording Academy, which runs the Grammys. (That category no longer exists, but there's now a whole separate Latin Grammy Awards.  You can decide for yourself if that is better or not.) And while constantly affirming his Jewishness, Harlow became a Santeria priest in 1975. 

Despite the fact that my parents are basically the same age as Harlow and are also from Brooklyn (and went to high school with another well-known Jewish salsa musician, Harvey Averne, who played and worked with Harlow), I’m not well-versed in Latin music, and was utterly unaware of Harlow until my son became a fan of the Mars Volta, which was made up primarily of Latino musicians, but whose sound, in general, had very little in common with salsa. However, Omar Rodriguez-Lopez, of the Mars Volta, is of Puerto Rican descent, and was a fan of Harlow’s. Through the friendship of Harlow’s son Miles (who now runs a cannabis company named “Buddy’s” in honor of his grandfather) and the lawyer for the Mars Volta’s label, Harlow appeared on two songs on the band's album, Frances the Mute, "L'Via L'Viaquez" and "Cassandra Gemini." I saw Harlow perform “L’Via” with the Mars Volta a bunch of years ago, and you can read about that (and hear the performance) here. 

The clip above is from a film, Our Latin Thing, released in 1972, featuring the Fania All-Stars, which, as you probably can guess from their name, was an all-star collection of Fania bandleaders, sidemen and singers. You can see Harlow in the recording studio directing an overdub vocal sweetening session with vocalists Ismael Miranda, Adalberto Santiago and Cheo Feliciano, who sang lead on the tune “Anacaona,” as well as playing an amazing piano solo.

Martial: The Mars Volta

The Mars Volta: L'Via L'Viaquez (live) 
[purchase Frances the Mute]

First, a little plug—In addition to continuing to contribute here, I have started a new blog to allow me to write about music and life, without being limited by the bi-weekly themes we have here. Please check out Another Old Guy....Writing About Music, and like its Facebook page. Thanks.

I’ve written in the past about the pleasure that I have gotten from going to concerts with my kids. There was a brief period in each of their lives where they were old enough to want to go to shows, but not old enough to go there by themselves, or where the location was deemed inappropriate for attendance without parental supervision. And, being the lover of music that I am, I often was designated (or volunteered) to be the supervising parent.

When my son was in his early teens, he and his friends became fans of The Mars Volta, and I had to agree that they were an interesting band. It is always interesting to play “spot the influence” when you listen to new artists, and the first thing that came to mind when I heard The Mars Volta was King Crimson, due to their complex song structures and the mix of rock, jazz and avant-garde sounds. One difference, though, was that while later Crimson lineups incorporated some elements of New Wave music, they never really adopted more hard core punk sounds, or emo. The Mars Volta, with their roots in At The Drive-In, though, cite, among many others (including King Crimson), Throbbing Gristle and Black Flag, as influences.

Although I had only listened to a relatively small amount of their music, I was intrigued, and when my son and his friends wanted to go see the band, at the Roseland Ballroom in NYC in 2005, it was not a hard sell to get me to drive them in, see the show (and provide appropriate supervision) and drive them home.

It was quite an experience. As I thought about writing this piece, I tried to remember back 11 years (almost exactly), to how I felt about the show, and I found this review, which pretty much nailed my experience:

Admittedly, their “noodling” did get boring at first (I wondered if I was going to like the show during the first 20 minutes), but I actually grew to like it more and more as time went on. What seemed a little boring at first, completely swept me away with it by the end. 

Another influence that added to The Mars Volta’s eclectic mix is Latin music, which is no surprise considering the background of a number of the members. For the show that we saw, the band invited salsa music legend Larry Harlow to join them on stage. You can see him in the blurry picture above that I found online. Harlow, who is not Latino, but is actually from an Eastern European Jewish family, has had a long, celebrated career as a multi-instrumentalist (with piano a specialty), songwriter and producer in the salsa world, and is nicknamed “el Judio Maravilloso.”

Harlow’s piano adds a traditional Latin touch to the great song L’Via L’Viaquez, both on the album cut on which he played, and live, as you can hear in the featured version. I haven’t listened to The Mars Volta much recently, and I don’t think that my son does, either, but whenever one of their songs pop up on my iPod’s random shuffle playlist, I remember both how inventive they are, and that night at the now, regrettably closed, Roseland Ballroom.