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Anteater · 11-21-2014, 10:48 PM

Quote:

On the top floor of the Columbia Records' L.A. headquarters, seasoned boat captain Koko "Slippy" Goldstein stood before his producer's highly furnished desk as a convict would before the gibbet: resigned and ready for the inevitable judgement that awaited those who failed to uphold the universal laws of smooth music.

But when his balding perpetually well-dressed boss finally swiveled around in his leather office chair to face Koko and speak, what the aspiring singer-songwriter got was something else entirely.

"Koko, Koko, Koko, brother from another mother...we just can't release this album to the public, man. The grooves are beyond reproach, your songwriting impeccable, your image classy and iconic...but the voice just doesn't cut mustard with what I was looking for. Everyone's been paid for their time in studio already, but your debut is DOA."

Koko sighed to himself under his breath. He was afraid that things would turn out like this. The best session players in L.A. had all showed up to do their little jig last week, but the weak link was oh so obvious once you got back outside the booth and listened to the demos. And there wasn't enough time to find a better voice and put everything together before the established deadlines.

Koko waited a bit before finally replying. "...so my maiden voyage is over before it even began? Lay it on me: what do I owe Columbia? I am prepared to sell my yachts-"

Amadeus "Blood God" Karmichael suddenly stood up and grabbed Koko's shoulder with such intensity it made him jump. "Nothing pal. Zip, zada, nada. I had a dream last night you see. And you were in it."

Koko only blinked in response behind his midnight shades in the dying afternoon light. He could only stand there and listen as one bizarre thing after another spilled from his old friend's lips.

"Look, you know me. I'm not one for believing in "signs" per se'. But I saw it so clearly amigo: I dreamed you were on one of those yachts you and I used to go deep sea fishing on weekends, sailing the many waters of the world and signing fresh new bands and artists to our label who could preserve smooth music for countless generations to come. Otherwise...all would be lost. And then I woke up. Your future as an artist is done, but a better path has opened..."

Amadeus let go of Koko's shoulder, this time grabbing his hands into a clasp. Koko resisted the urge to jump backwards.

"Koko, you are the only one in the world who hears what I hear in smooth music. Your songs are the ambrosia of the gods, if only the right voice could come along to sing them-"

"Actually, I'm pretty good friends with the guys in Amb-"

Amadeus just kept talking as if Koko hadn't said anything. "-and so I bid thee: set sail out into the world and find me the smoothest cats to sign. A worldwide talent search to find the best of the best and get them signed & recording here. We must save the era before *shudders* "heavy" metal and those ****ers over in Motown take radio over, destroying smooth music forever! WILL YOU DO THIS KOKO?!"

The sudden shift in volume caught Koko off guard. It was always like this was Amadeus. He responded "yes" before he could think of anything else.

Amadeus smiled. "I knew you wouldn't let me down pard'. Go home and sleep on things. We've got an expedition to plan...hehehehe...!"

Koko left in a daze as he took the elevator down, leaving his friend to wallow in his excitement. He left the building and called a taxi to take him toward Bluewater Sailing's main facility at the nearby marina. Some time by the water would let him clear his head and relax. Time to think.

As one of those reliable yellow transporters pulled up by the curb and he slipped in, Koko realized he wasn't alone in the backseat as the heart of L.A. faded into the background. Feeling suddenly distracted, he gave the cabbie the destination, and then they were off without a fuss.

Beside him a man in mink and burgundy stared out the opposite window with calm black eyes and a chiseled angular face that seemed uncomfortable atop his broad neck and shoulders. In one hand he held onto a cane, in the other a brick of what looked like hundred dollar bills.

Koko caught himself staring despite knowing better, and the man noticed. Without a word, he turned his odd, angular face to face Koko. Black, cold eyes like a fish. And yet they burned. Something in them filled the master of smooth music with mixture of queasy apprehension...and awe. No words were said: each looked at the other like two animals might when separated by glass walls in a zoo exhibit...

...and then the moment was over, as though it had never existed in the first place. The dandy man smiled silently, focused his odd intensity back toward the view outside, and after a few minutes asked quietly to be let out on the street.

Koko observed with a curiosity normally untypical to him that several beautiful women all converged upon the man from out of nowhere as soon as he had exited the taxi, as though inexorably summoned by some unseen order from above. Koko watched uneasily as they started lining up before the man like bowling pins ready to be knocked down. But then the taxi took a right, and that moment too was gone.

Koko slumped back into his seat, exhaustion seeping in like a slow leak in a boat's hull. The night was just beginning. Soon he would reach the waterline...

Boz Scaggs - Jojo (from Middle Man, 1980)

Boz Scaggs is one of the more interesting players of the classic "yacht rock" scene in L.A. during the genre's prime from '76 through '84: he got started in blues and playing guitar in the Steve Miller Band, but after a slow start to his solo career in the mid 70's and middling sales, the Boz moved to Columbia who promptly hooked him up with David Paich from Toto and they recorded the platinum selling 'Silk Degrees' in '76. This relationship opened doors to the rest of L.A.'s top session players and writers, culminating in 1980's album Middle Man and absolutely killer songs like 'Jojo'.

Let's be straight up: this is a song about a pimp. And not just any pimp: this guy's a firecracker, a baddass who doesn't take your **** and who can "get you all you want". He's a creature of the night, a boogeyman with a "gentle and soft" side. He's a thrill seeker and a dangerous, dangerous guy. As far as Westcoast goes, this song is filet mignon. And a co-write with the legendary David Foster of all people too, which might explain why it kicks so much ass.

I decided to start this journal off with a bit of swagger, and Scaggs' distinctive strutting vocal style combined with the godly backing combination of drummer Jeff Porcaro, bassist David Hungate and some of L.A.'s other top players results in an absolute beast of a song. There's even some subtle orchestral elements floating around the fringes to give the whole thing an extra layer of class and polish, elevating it even higher in my eyes. It's not the definitive L.A. yacht rock song, but its high up there and a good place to set sail in your explorations of the genre for those of you who thought I was going to be reviewing Bread or Orleans or crap like that.

Middle Man is a great album by the way (and fairly diverse too), but this singular glimpse into the nightlife of a gun-toting pimp is the "single" you'll want for your collection as we start our journey into the world of smooth, seafaring soft rock awesomeness...