| Thom Bell | |||||
Interviews with Successful Songwriters DIANE WARREN THOM BELL |
(Dan Kimpel conducted this interview in March 1992 for the Los Angeles Songwriters Showcase Musepaper.) Growing up in the Midwest in the late 60s the AM radio was my connection with a world beyond the cornfields and oil refineries. Soul music and R&B provided a soundtrack to my teen years-in the winter of 1969 as I was driving my dad's Buick Special across the tracks the car radio played a song so dramatic that I had to pull over to the side of the road to listen. The song was "Didn't I Blow Your Mind This Time" by a group from Philadelphia, the Delfonics; written and produced by Thom Bell. The lush, arch romanticism of Bell's work was everywhere in the next couple of years, and when I was old enough to go to bars my friends and I would drive to the big city of Toledo to dance the night away to the Spinners and the Stylistics hits pumping out of a jukebox. Thom Bell's subsequent work with Dionne Warwick, Johnny Mathis, James Ingram, and Elton John was always a breath of fresh air in oft-stagnant musical times. When Songwriters Musepaper editor John Braheny was unable to interview Thom Bell, I leaped at the chance to meet a longtime hero. On a beautiful winter day I drove to a Studio City motel. Thom Bell was waiting for me at the desk, and he carried my briefcase up to his room. He lit the first of many Benson & Hedges 100s ("my only bad habit", he explained), and we began. DK: I didn't know you were from Jamaica. TB: Yeah, I'm from Kingston. I was born there, but I was brought to the United States when I was five when my parents moved to Philadelphia. But I have tons and tons of relatives still living in Jamaica. I don't get down there too often. It's too hot. DK: Have you recorded down there at Compass Point? TB: I worked with I-Threes at Compass Point. I also worked with Marley. Marley and I were good friends. That was before he got sick in 1979 and 1980. In fact, I was represented by the same cat. Him being a Rastafari, he didn't believe in white people, in banks. He hid all his money and stuff in the mountains, and they're looking for his money to this day. No banks, no checks. In the eyes of Rastafari, you don't fix up with any money, accept checks of any kind, no drafts, all cash. But then the poor boy died. I kept telling him to go to the hospital, man, but he thought that roots and herbs and things would cure him. DK: Did you watch the Grammys last night? TB: No, I didn't watch for a reason. Back in 1968, when I won my first Grammy for a song called "La La Means I Love You," they didn't allow any black acts on stage. Most people don't know that. What they would do is advertise the Grammys, but they would have the "chocolate version" somewhere in a corner and have the white version on television. They never told you that until you got there and you're looking to be in the audience. They would tell you later on, "I'm awfully sorry, but your version will not be on TV, but thank you for coming anyway." They didn't want to give me tickets for the show. And I said, "But I thought I was nominated for a Grammy." I finally did get one ticket, because at that time--I don't know if the companies still do it--but the companies sponsored the tables and things. I wormed my way in. They made one special seat by the door in the back. When they announced the Grammy for Song of the Year, which was "La La Means I Love You," somebody else went up and got it. It was the president of the company who went and got it. He had nothing in the world to do with it. I decided never to go to another Grammy show as long as I lived. And I haven't. Here's another bit of history for you: Until 1973 or 75, they didn't even have a producer's award. It wasn't until I had gotten so many hit records. I was the first one they created the award for. DK: And so you received a Grammy? TB: I received the first Grammy for Producer of the Year and then I later received Producer of the Year two years in a row. I was the only one that beat Stevie Wonder. Stevie never forgot that, either! DK: So what are you doing right now with James Ingram? TB: We're working on a new album, new tunes. We're going to keep him in the same direction, but take him to another level now. The songs that we've been getting have been clones of the hits he's had before. So we're taking our time, and we're coming up with different kinds of songs. Still good songs, because he's got that kind of voice...it's amazing to have a voice like that and not to have operatic training. He has a vast range and he breathes extremely well, and he works hard on his voice. DK: "I Don't Have The Heart" which you produced, was an incredible hit for him, the writers, Alan Rich and Judd Friedman, are members of our organization. TB: Those guys worked real hard on that tune. That song took eight or nine months from the break, if it had not been for a guy named Steve Rosen at Peer. He believed in the song, and they believed in the song, and we believed in the song, and they got independent people on it. DK: Did you pick that song for James? TB: What happened was that Karen Jones--who worked for Benny Medina--picked that song and sent it to James. James and I were sitting down listening to songs and I said, "There's the song." And he believed in the song himself. It wasn't just me. DK: When did you live in New York? TB: I was studying to be a conductor and a concert pianist. I went to New York to study further, but they weren't taking any chocolate conductors on Broadway at the time. We're talking about the '60s‹about 1961--and they said "Well, here's what you do. There's a fantastic place up in Harlem. It's called the Apollo. They really could use you up there. What you do is..." And I said, "Wait a minute, you didn't give me a chance." But again, nothing stopped me. 1, 2, 3 | next page > |
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