Felix told us that he was supposed to be a classical musician.  His mother had him taking piano lessons three times a week, he didn’t know what rock and roll WAS!  But then she died, and some kids at school asked him if he wanted to join a band.  Wanting to integrate, wanting new friends in the wake of the passing of his mother, he said yes.  THAT’S where he learned about rock and roll.  And when they took him to this club in New Rochelle, where the band featured a Hammond organ, a spark was ignited, he went to Macy’s in NYC, and laid claim to his destiny.

And that destiny led him not to Syracuse, where he plied the books during his first year of college, but to the Catskills the summer thereafter, to play in a band for sixty bucks a week.  He got the bug.  He wanted this to be his life.  But what would his father, the dentist, say?  The maitre d’ said not to worry, he’d take care of it.  He gave Felix’s dad the best seat in the dining hall, sat him right up front in the showroom, and told Mr. Cavaliere that he’d seen a lot of musicians, but his son HAD IT!  And Mr. Cavaliere bought it.  Hell, what did he know about rock and roll?  He gave into Felix’s wishes.  His son could take a year off from college to try and MAKE IT!

But Felix starved.  After the mountains closed up shop for the summer, finding himself back in the city, there was no WORK!  But then he got a phone call from one of his Catskill buddies, playing with Joey Dee & the Starliters, on tour in Germany.  Their keyboard player had to drop out.  Could Felix fly and fill in?

That’s where Felix saw the Beatles.  He was impressed, the mania, the girls screaming, but they couldn’t play the American music as well as he could, as Americans could, it was OUR music!

And back in New York, he decided to put a band together.  David Brigati, who was singing with Joey Dee, coughed up his brother Eddie.  He found drummer extraordinaire Dino Danelli, who could not only play, but create a show, twirling the sticks by his ears, throwing them high in the air, and the schooled Gene Cornish.

They did not call themselves the Rascals.  Soupy Sales did that.  When they begged to back him up.  And their manager Sid Bernstein added the "Young", which they hated, and subsequently dropped.

And they had a couple of hits.  But following them up was difficult.  For now they were writing the material themselves.  But then they broke through, they found their groove.  And composed monsters, like this one, that Felix was playing on the piano right now, "I’ve Been Lonely Too Long".

Tommy Nast has been trying to get me out to the far reaches of Burbank for a year, to view the premises of his new employer, CenterStaging.  But it never happened, until Friday, when he told me FELIX CAVALIERE was going to be doing their signature show, "Lessons From The Legends", for ultimate airing on their site, rehearsals.com.

We toured the soundstages.  Saw where they shot Tom Petty and Norah Jones.  Took a look at the seemingly endless robotic camera workstations, where they moved sixteen units, maybe MORE, at a time, dozens of feet away.  Looked at the cooled data room, with the Xserves and terabytes of storage.  And then we went back to the room where tonight’s performance was taking place.  And after meeting the big bosses, were introduced to the man himself.  Who didn’t seem that impressed that I’d stolen Dino Danelli’s drumsticks after their show at Fairfield University.  "So YOU’RE the one!" he exclaimed/laughed.  But maybe I needed to cut him a break.  You see he’d never done this.  Never told his story on stage.  Solo, with no interviewer, just riffing.

I winced.  This was going to be AWFUL!

But about half an hour later, Felix walked out of the dressing room and took the stage in front of the assembled multitude, all thirty five people, and started banging out these notes.  It was instantly clear.

And then sans mic, looking up to the heavens, with his eyes closed, Felix started to sing…

I’ve been lonely too long
I’ve been lonely too long
In the past it’s come and gone
I feel like I can’t go on without love
I’ve been lonely too long
I’ve been lonely too long

I discovered this song by myself, the radio didn’t turn me on, I’d bought the Young Rascals second album "Collections" immediately upon release, loving "I Ain’t Gonna Eat Out My Heart Anymore" and the rest of the tracks on their debut, which I’d gotten for my birthday from my sister’s boyfriend the year before.  But the funny thing about a great track is you GROW INTO IT!  New meaning is revealed as time goes by.  What did I know about being lonely too long just as I was entering puberty.  But, as an ADULT, I KNOW what being lonely too long is ALL ABOUT!  But great songs aren’t about lyrics,  they’re secondary to the music.  And the riff, the essence of "I’ve Been Lonely Too Long", Felix is banging it out RIGHT NOW!

I’m elated.  Larry Solters is drumming in the seat next to me.  And then, when we hit the break, both Larry and I reach our right hands out in the distance, TO PLAY THE ORGAN!

You’ve got no idea how big the Rascals were.  Unless you were alive back then, especially on the east coast.  Oh, their hits eventually dried up.  But for a few years there, you could COUNT on them, they always delivered, they never stiffed, and each track was different, each had its own magic.

And Felix gets up from the piano and starts to tell his tale.  Leaving nothing out.  Giving the kind of details you can’t get from a musician unless you’re MARRIED TO THEM!

And he’s no laid back Angeleno, this Marty Scorsese lookalike is pouring it all out, and we’re drinking it up, positively stunned that this guy is letting us in, that he still has it.

Turns out "Groovin’" was written for his girlfriend.  Who was in HIGH SCHOOL!  He almost married her, but contemplating this, he wrote "How Can I Be Sure", and ultimately convinced himself not to.

They did "In The Midnight Hour" first.  Wilson Pickett was pissed he could never get into the Atlantic studio, the Rascals were always working out, but he taught them a lesson, he had a big hit with their song, hearing it waiting to record himself.

And Felix is playing each and every one of these numbers.  Telling us the parts Arif added.  What was happening in the band’s career.

And then, after about an hour and a half, it was time for questions.

A dude in the back row asked him to tell the story of "People Got To Be Free".

Turns out Atlantic didn’t want the record to come out.  They felt it was unwise for a band to take a stand.  But the Rascals had become politicized, and after the death of Bobby Kennedy, whose campaign they’d been working on, they INSISTED it be released.  And it went number one in all the countries where people are oppressed.  And it might just be another ditty on the oldies station now, but when Felix banged it out, it was a reclaimed anthem.  As he said, we’re in it together, we children of the sixties.  We lived through it, and the music holds us together.

I asked him why they switched to Columbia.

Felix said it was for the worldwide distribution.  Atlantic had licensees in the rest of the world, they were getting ripped off by MULTIPLE companies.

He talked about Eddie’s refusal to move to the new label, about the bad vibe at the R&RHOF, and then he sat down at the Hammond for a final number.  He implored us to sing along.  To the song they added to their repertoire while working the clubs, doing their job, getting people dancing so they’d drink.

And suddenly, the assembled multitude is standing and SINGING!

Sure, "Good Lovin’" is not hard.  But we each knew EVERY WORD!

And the joy…  Everybody was in reverie!

And then it was done.  But the crowd clamored for one more.  So after contemplating for the better of part of five minutes, having believed the show was over, Felix sat down on the bench and started playing "Mustang Sally".  Another track the Wicked Pickett stole from them.

And we’re sitting there, grooving in our seats, listening, as Felix lays down the groove, and sings atop it.  And then suddenly, it’s CLEAR!  This is IT!  This is the experience, this is the one that hooked us forty years ago!  THIS is what the show was all about!

It’s not about the set.  It’s not about the dancing.  It’s not about triggering studio recordings from keyboards.  It’s about laying down a groove.  And getting the audience to jump into it, and get swept away!

This is a business of live performances.  I’m begged every night.  Occasionally something is good, but too many times the show has the soul of a CD.  Tinny and lifeless.  It doesn’t have the heart of vinyl, it doesn’t penetrate you, it doesn’t REACH YOU!

And it’s strange.  This grandfather, who hasn’t hit the chart in eons, he’s not bitter, he hasn’t lost a step, he’s still got it.

And when it’s all done, when we’re eating pizza, eventually it’s me, Tommy, Larry and Felice with the man.  Talking Italian restaurants, talking careers, talking life.  It wasn’t like hanging out with a star, but bonding with a PERSON!  Done with his show, Felix was warm and open.  Someone from your hometown all these years later.

We’re all from the same hometown.  Those of us who lived through the sixties.  And the music was our soundtrack.  And Felix and his band were an integral part of that.

Felix still lives to write, works live a bit too.  But we told him we were blown away.  That he needed to take THIS show on the road.  Telling the story, uniting us in song.  Felix didn’t believe it.  He didn’t know that he was a natural.

So I don’t know if you’ll ever get a chance to be in the presence of the man.

But if you don’t, log on to rehearsals.com in six weeks or so and watch this performance.  Oh, it won’t be like being there, recordings never are, nothing approaches LIVE!  But this show will rivet you nonetheless.  It’s the intimacy, the honesty.