Musician/engineer/producer Bob Rock has been on every side of it, from a hit record with his band the Payola$ to engineering “Slippery When Wet” to producing the Black Album. Listen to hear stories of Bob seeing the Beatles at the airport in Winnipeg to being in the studio with everybody from Aerosmith to Michael Buble to Van Morrison.

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He was a hero to our heroes. By time we came along, he was already a preacher.

Yes, our heroes were born during the war. Roger Waters has made a whole career writing about it, and he broke after the Beatles and the Stones.

You see while we in America were riding the zeitgeist, we were ignoring the heroes of our past, mostly our blues heroes, but they were soaking them up in England, and we ended up with not only John Mayall, but Eric Clapton, Mick Taylor, Peter Green…the list goes on and on.

But on this side of the pond, English blues-rock came after the British Invasion.

Now some boomers were conscious at the end of doo-wop. Some even experienced Fabian and Bobby Rydell. But the Beatles came along and wiped away all that had come before, except for the Four Seasons and the Beach Boys, and suddenly music was the focus of attention for boomers across the land, the world, it was kinda like the tech frenzy of the first decade of this century (and the last half of the one before!), music was everything, you had to know about the new thing, hell, Michael Lewis even wrote a book entitled THE NEW NEW THING!

But then it died.

We can debate all day long what the first rock and roll record was. Most insiders agree it was “Rocket 88,” the press often says it was “Rock Around the Clock,” but one thing is for sure, what was happening in the fifties was different from what had happened in the forties. It was a new sound. With Little Richard, Jerry Lee Lewis, Carl Perkins and Fats Domino too, but baby boomers really only knew Elvis, who’d sold out and gone Hollywood, the Beatles of his day, the difference being, and it was a big one, he did not write his own songs. Then again, the Beatles didn’t always either, they covered Little Richard.

So by time most boomers reached consciousness, they thought Fats Domino was dead, the fact that he could be living in plain sight in New Orleans was unfathomable. We all knew “Blue Suede Shoes,” but few of us could tell you it was recorded by Carl Perkins. As for Jerry Lee Lewis and his cousin Myra? That eluded us completely, until Lewis tried to make a comeback, when “Rolling Stone” made everybody aware of rock and roll news, and sometimes history.

So, there’d been a rock explosion, that had mostly expired. Kinda like the hip-hop explosion of the eighties and early nineties, just when you thought it was over, it fired-up with a vengeance, to the point it rules today. Pop, mostly meaningless, was dominating the airwaves, but then the Little Richard and early rock-influenced Beatles broke out, and through the door came a whole slew of acts brought up on the same influences. These were war babies, who’d grown up with hardship, they lived for the music in a way no one is focused today, with so many options for diversion.

We didn’t learn of Little Richard and the Beatles’ infatuation with him from “Meet the Beatles,” but on “The Beatles’ Second Album,” which was really the third, VeeJay’s “Introducing” came before, the opening cut on the second side was…

“Long Tall Sally.”

I’m gonna tell Aunt Mary, ’bout Uncle John

Paul McCartney emoted with exuberance. Even beyond that which was exhibited on the hits, like “I Want to Hold Your Hand” and “She Loves You.” It was like he was plugged into a socket and had been shocked. Now they call him “Sir Paul,” but he used to be a scruffy kid from Liverpool, who played the catalog of the original rock and roll of the fifties in multiple sets a night in Hamburg. There’s not a boomer alive who is unaware of this version of Little Richard’s hit, no one today is as big as the Beatles were, forget the charts and statistics, these albums were oftentimes all people had, and they played them until they turned gray, and then bought the CDs and watched the documentary and…

So now, there’s a rock press. Rock info is readily available. And all these English rockers can’t stop testifying about Little Richard. They rarely talked Elvis, they’d mention Jerry Lee, even Ike Turner, but through their lens it appeared that Little Richard was their Beatles, that he meant everything to them.

So we started being exposed to these tracks. Most specifically, “Tutti Frutti.” Huh?

Whop bop b-luma b-lop bam bom

Who knew what the song was about. And this was in the era of one speaker radios and record players, misinterpretation was rampant, and everybody was convinced that there was something dirty in the song, not that they could agree on it.

And then came the covers. Like Mitch Ryder’s “Good Golly Miss Molly.”

Not that the average person knew it was a Little Richard hit, to most people, Little Richard was just a name. But we knew his real name was Richard Penniman, and what he was selling was energy, with no limits, the power of a sound that not only enticed teens, but drew them to gigs where they got caught up in the energy.

By the late sixties, the turn of the decade, covers became more rampant, and they weren’t always hits. “You’re My Girl” (a retitling of “I Don’t Want to Discuss It”), was the second best song on the Rhinoceros album, and the best was the legendary “Apricot Brandy.” And for those of us who got the memo on Rod Stewart, there was an absolutely killer version of the same song, now titled “You’re My Girl (I Don’t Want to Discuss It,” closing “Gasoline Alley.”

But still, Little Richard was not a household name, he was nowhere to be seen. He was an oldie, maybe dead himself.

I met him in this era. With his producer Bumps Blackwell. And the funny thing about Little Richard…

Well, there were two funny things.

1. He was not little.

2. He was always on.

Now if you’ve met many celebrities, you know that oftentimes the character on stage is not the one you get in real life, especially if their rep is built on energy. But it was like Little Richard was plugged into that socket 24/7, who even knew how he slept. He’d fawn over himself, crack jokes and take mock offense at the tiniest of slights. It was weird, because he was an icon and he wouldn’t brush you off but he was always in character, meeting him was an indelible experience.

And then he made his comeback.

It was “Down and Out in Beverly Hills.” Back when Disney was the business story of Hollywood and flicks were all not high concept blockbusters. You went to the theater on a regular basis, and seemingly everyone saw this pic.

And put a face to the name of Little Richard. And was exposed to his magnetism.

And then suddenly he was everywhere. Even more than Orson Welles. Welles might have made the best movie of all time, but Richard was one of the progenitors of rock, with multiple hits, who could still perform on the same level whenever called upon. His contemporaries acted like old men, Little Richard seemed ageless.

And he became part of the firmament. Someone you always expected to be there. A god from another era here to walk the earth now.

But today he passed.

The news mentioned his son. Which was another point of mystery. Richard was seen as gay, back when “homosexual” was a bad word. I mean who really was this guy, he was a walking enigma!

And yes, he had a thousand watt personality.

But really, it comes down to those records.

Today a track is a means to an end. You build your brand and leverage it. But back in the original days of rock and roll, you didn’t even get rich on your hits. There were no royalties. You made what you got playing live. And if you were African-American, there were places you couldn’t play, and oftentimes white, Top Forty radio, wouldn’t play your songs at all, and if they did, they were covered by some white guy, like Pat Boone.

So, it was about the music.

And the drinking, the drugging and the sex.

This is what a musician used to be. Not someone computer-savvy posting to social media, but someone whose life mostly took place in the shadows. These were people who didn’t fit into regular society, or who didn’t want to fit in, who saw music as their way out.

And they created their own rules. They were renegades, they were outlaws.

And that was the appeal of their music. It was not dumbed-down, there was nothing cut off the edges for consumption, it was all raw humanity, in a way most people couldn’t even express, but resonated with when they heard it.

Now the weird thing is rock history is passing in front of our very eyes.

Sure, there’s the 27 club.

But in the last decade we’ve lost people we shouldn’t have, like David Bowie and Glenn Frey. And before that the inexplicable death of John Lennon.

But now it seems to be a regular feature in the news, celebrities tweet their condolences and everybody moves on. And we no longer live in a rock culture, and a lot of the work of those who’ve passed is not regularly played or remembered.

But Little Richard is different. This is the beginning. This was the moon shot. The fact that this guy was still walking the planet was utterly astounding. And if you missed him… You might have seen the Stones, but without Little Richard, would there be any Stones? Beatles too?

Somehow Richard was not a curio, his hits were stuck in the past, but his performances and his identity were not. Maybe because Richard was singular, anything but me-too. When they created him they truly broke the mold, hell, Richard broke it being birthed. He took on all comers. He could play in any arena. Michael Jackson might have called himself the King of Pop, but Little Richard was the King of Rock & Roll long before, and despite some detours, Richard continued to reign.

The king is dead.

Long live the king.

Brian Howe – spotify

And every time I see your face
It lightens up the whole damn place

“How About That”

We won’t be seeing Brian Howe’s face anymore.

Calling it Bad Company was sacrilegious. But what are you gonna do when your iconic lead singer moves on and your label won’t sign you unless you use the old moniker?

By time the second edition of Bad Company gained notoriety, this sound was on its deathbed. The hair bands had overloaded the public with attention-seeking ballads and grunge was just around the corner, straight ahead rock was fading, as was AOR…at this point if you didn’t cross over to pop, you were left behind. Many thought Bryan Adams’s “(Everything I Do) I Do It for You” was a sappy sell-out, but Adams was smart, he got out before the whole thing collapsed, he survived.

If you want to understand the second coming of Bad Company you have to look back to Bud Prager (and Phil Carson!) Prager was an attorney who started in the performing rights area but quickly segued into management. He’d tell you his best friend was Felix Pappalardi, how he got him the gig producing Cream. Prager would speak of Felix’s demise as if it were yesterday. But that was Bud, he was dramatic. He was an orator. He was not street, he was dignified.

Not that he could not go gutter.

At this point, Bud is most famous for being the manager of Foreigner. Bud believed, he stuck by Mick Jones when his CV didn’t appeal to labels, he cut the Scotti Brothers in for a point forever to ensure the success of the band. And it broke instantly, and sustained.

This was Bud’s sound. It’s not quite corporate rock, it’s not that calculated, this is what Bud knew and he continued to mine this sound until his passing. Hell, he worked with Giant back at the turn of the decade from the eighties to the nineties, and the band turned out a couple of great, radio-friendly tunes, but AOR was dying and the band didn’t have a brand name and Dann Huff went back to the studio, ultimately becoming a go-to country music producer.

So, the legend of most bands is they started in the garage, maybe they grew up together, maybe they found each other through an ad, but then they bonded as blood brothers and it was them against the world.

This was not the second iteration of Bad Company. This was a band that was put together on paper. It was not sheer luck, it was sheer effort. Brian Howe had had a turn with Ted Nugent, but nobody can stick for long with the Motor City Madman, he’s the star and you’d best never forget it. And Mick Ralphs was an underrated guitarist in Mott the Hoople who finally got his due in the original Bad Company, and he brought “Ready for Love,” but despite his licks, he was not a songwriter from scratch, not somebody who could fill up a whole album all by himself. Brian Howe could write too, that made a good fit.

But it didn’t work. Keith Olsen produced the initial comeback LP, and it made no splash. That’s another person who died, who did not get the obits he deserved. I’m not sure who he pissed off, he was always cool to me, but I only knew him in e-mail, this was the guy who melded Buckingham and Nicks into the Fleetwood Mac we know, as well as much more.

But then the managers executed a master stroke. I’m sure if Bud were still here today he’d take credit. Phil still is here today, he’ll probably take credit, and since he’s English it makes sense but…

Someone had the bright idea of bringing in Terry Thomas.

Yes, the man behind, the man who essentially was Charlie. With great albums with great pop sensibilities on Janus that most people were unaware of.

And the first Terry Thomas produced Bad Company album, “Dangerous Age,” did not break through.

But the managers stuck with the band. Bud was loyal. Phil too. And what do they say, the third time’s the charm?

It started with “Holy Water,” the eponymous opener of the LP. “Holy Water” was heavy, in a way what came before was not. The guitar crunched. And Brian Howe emoted. It had that special sauce, the je ne sais quoi, you know, the sound that penetrates your gut and hooks you, that you want to turn up as you bounce around the house with that guitar shaking the walls, this is the power of rock and roll.

The rock and roll that those in control of the media despise, the same media that despised Led Zeppelin, even though Page’s outfit was on a whole ‘nother level. You see, to resonate with the critics, you had to be punk, you had to strip it down, you had to be out of the mainstream, if anything the mainstream had to come to you, if you were playing in the mainstream lane to begin with you were denigrated, written off, kicked to the curb by the tastemakers, but…the heartland loved you!

So this is when MTV is making the transition from rock to rap. With a ton of overproduced pop, both on wax and on film, in-between. But somehow, “Holy Water” got some traction, you heard it on the dying AOR, it had presence. And then…

Should have told you by now
But I can’t find the words

Most people making this music can’t find the words, either in song or in regular life, they speak through their instrument, but the girls are drawn to them nevertheless.

If you needed somebody
Like the way that I need you
If you wanted somebody
Ah, the way that I want you

Yes, “If You Needed Somebody” was a ballad. But it rocked harder than Extreme’s “More Than Words,” sure, it was soft, but then it built, it was tough, it had balls, and a bridge. The bridge is the secret to the Beatles’ success, and even though it’s been hiding in plain sight, it seems that today’s songwriters can’t find it.

So, MTV picked up on “If You Needed Somebody” and it was gigantic. Sure, the name was Bad Company, but it was clear the frontman, Brian Howe, was the star. He and Terry Thomas wrote both of these hits. And if you bought the album it was eminently playable. “Boys Cry Tough,” “Stranger, Stranger” and “Walk Through Fire” all had major impact at rock radio (appealing only to those listening, which was a declining number), and the latter even made it all the way up to #28 on the pop chart.

So, this second edition of the band had built itself into a business, it had momentum, this is what you were fighting for back in the day. You released albums, hoped for radio/video exposure, toured incessantly, waiting for it all to catch fire, so you could sell arenas. No one played an arena on their first time out. Flash in the pan was looked down upon, you had to pay your dues, you had to have a catalogue.

So, the new Bad Company is ready to capitalize on “Holy Water”‘s success. But in the interim, in the fifteen months between “Holy Water” and its follow-up, “Here Comes Trouble,” grunge arrived, Nirvana and Pearl Jam, no one wanted the sound Bad Company was making, it was seen as passe. And not being hip to begin with, the band had no hit and broke up.

But there was a hit on rock radio. Which was not playing grunge. Which meant less every day, to the point where today it’s a niche, albeit a harder rocking niche.

And that hit is quoted at the top of this screed.

It’s “How About That.”

Last night when the moon was new
I couldn’t sleep, I was thinking of you
And how much I need you
How ’bout that?

“How About That” is the apotheosis of the second coming of Bad Company. It’s got an inviting guitar intro, the kind of sound you used to live for, that you used to fantasize to.

And one thing about Brian Howe…HE COULD SING!

A lot of lead singers, even famous ones, cannot. But they were there in the beginning, in the garage, it’s too late to kick them out now. But when you’re building a band, or filling a hole, pipes are a requirement. Howe could hit the high notes, he could emote, he could sell it. He was a totally different animal from Paul Rodgers, really not even in his league, but when it came to what was coming across the airwaves Brian Howe was a solid B, and live this meant everything, you couldn’t fake it on stage, this was before all of the fancy sound-processing equipment of today.

So this was back in the era when being on the company mailing list was everything. That built the rock critic business, the free records. You wanted ’em, and those you didn’t want you sold so you could stay alive. And if you were a fan of a band, you always spun the new record. And this was in the era of CDs, the transition from vinyl and cassettes was complete, and this meant you could dial up the track you wanted to hear and…PLAY IT OVER AND OVER AND OVER AGAIN!

That’s what I love to do most, find a track I love and burn it into the ground. Usually the magic works for a day or two, sometimes a week. Doesn’t have to be loud, just has to have some magic. And “How About That” had some.

Now I don’t even remember playing the rest of “Here Comes Trouble.” Earlier, when the stream segued into the second cut, “Stranger Than Fiction,” I was stunned how good it actually sounded. But despite everybody crowing about the album, it started to die with the CD, albums were one long sonic sludge, there was no second side, you focused on the single. People still focus on the single.

The hoi polloi never understand why a band breaks up. You’ve got a good thing, keep at it, make that money. But that only happens late in the band’s career, when the members make up and go on the oldies circuit, usually because they need the cash.

So the band imploded. Brian Howe probably thought he was the band anyway, along with Terry Thomas, they were writing the songs, Thomas sculpted the sound but…

Crickets.

Howe was just the singer. Bad Company was the brand. And without the brand, he was an unwanted character. It’s not like rock was dominating the airwaves.

And it became an issue whether Howe could employ the name Bad Company to sell his shows. And when the dust settled, he could not sell his appearances as the band, and he played to ever smaller audiences and became a faded rock star.

Prior to the internet you wouldn’t even be able to look them up. They faded away, and they did not radiate.

And yesterday Brian Howe died. It’s everywhere. Google news coughs up 148,000 results.

But tomorrow it will be nowhere.

That’s how it is. You die, and life goes on. In the internet era the news is spread far and wide, but there’s new news the next day, if not that afternoon. And if you’re lucky, people will remember you died at all. Especially if you were not a superstar.

Brian Howe came from England. He was a rock and roll lifer. It was different over there, here you could always fall back on your middle class lifestyle, the one you grew up with, but that’s not the way most of the rockers grew up over there.

So, you have success and it’s hard to give up. For everybody. You were somebody, to some people you’re still somebody, you’re gonna switch to being a nobody? I don’t think so.

So, you sell your soul to rock and roll.

Howe died of cardiac arrest. He’d had a heart attack previously. Was it genetics? Did he not take care of himself?

He knew it was over. He was speaking, then he passed. What flashed before his eyes when the curtain fell?

I’m sure his family.

I’m sure his desire to live.

But mostly his success, he’d made it, he’d thrilled thousands, he’d played in the bigs and…

Some people will never forget him.