I was not a very happy camper around 1981. My musical career was dead in
the water, I was working a mindless day gig, and the girl that I was romantically involved
with had skipped town a few months earlier without even saying goodbye.
Then, one day, I
received a mysterious picture postcard with a beautiful island sunset on the front and an
inscription on the back that read:
“Dear Denny,
Here’s a picture of our evenings here on Sanibel -
Wish you were here. All my love, ___________”
My fantasies ran amuck, but I noticed the lady had neglected to include an address or
phone number. Be it accident or omen, I took this as a sign that this was not meant to
be.
As usual, I vented my mixed emotions the only way I knew how - on my acoustic
guitar. My
heart wanted to escape, but my body felt trapped in time. I started to bang away on some
blues “poor me” or “she done me wrong” kind of thing, but the Muse had
other plans. Starring out the window of my little pool guest house, I watched the
shimmering waters glow from the pool lights in the dark night. An odd peace came over my
soul; the next thing I knew, my guitar was in open G tuning, and I was playing a
sweet,
James Taylor like progression. I sang the first half of the 1st verse on the
fly, and then
the entire chorus. I always say, they burned Joan of Arc at the stake for doing what we
songwriters do for (we hope) a living. We hear inner voices from some other
dimension,
then release them into our own time and space. The song knows what it wants to
say, what
emotions it wants to convey, and who need to hear it. Every song is an angel; we are the
song prophets. Any songwriter that hasn’t experienced this feeling is just phoning it
in.
After the first rush of inspiration is over, the real work begins, wrestling the beast to
the ground. The search engines of my literary life library popped out three major little
mind movies:
1) the image of the first few pages of Kahil Gilbran’s “The Prophet”, in
which a metaphysical master, preparing to leave his home forever, addresses his
followers.
2) Paul Simon’s “The Boxer” ..... “So I’m laying out my winter
clothes and wishing I was home, going home...” and “Sounds of Silence”,
..... “I turn my color to the cold and damp”, two images that this ex-NYC boy
understands well.
3) Homer’s “The Odyssey”, which chronicles the ten year struggle of a
warrior hero trying to return to his beloved wife Penelope and his home land. His vow to
her, and their blind faith in the power of their love for each other helps them
survive.
“Angels of the waters, Sirens of the Sea ....”, Mythology 101.
The song just poured out. Musically, I heard the whole arrangement in my
head. I knew
there was something special about this song, but it didn’t seem to fit any artist on
the current musical scene, and I was light years away from a record deal
myself. So, I
just thanked the Muse and tucked the song away for a couple of years.
“WHAT’S A NICE SONG LIKE YOU
DOING ON A CD LIKE THIS ....”
or
THE NASH FACTOR
I first met Graham Nash on a NYC street corner in the late sixties. I was leaving Allegro
Studios after an all night Every Mother’s Son session. He was looking for the studio,
and noticing my guitar case, asked me for directions. I recognized him instantly and
awkwardly introduced myself. He was courteous, chipper, and freezing; I was thrilled to
have met my Hollies Hero. Our next encounter was around early 1969 at Wally Heider Studios
in Hollywood. I was working on the soundtrack for a movie musical I was involved in
(it
made the Monkees look like Masterpiece Theater!). One of my band mates used to be a roadie
for the Buffalo Springfield, and mentioned that Stills was recording next door with his
band, “The Frozen Noses”. We thought we’d sneak a listen. Now .... picture
the setup: Studio B had this odd
arrangement where you entered from the street and walked right into the control room. We
walked in, just as the down beat of “Suite: Judy Blue Eyes” blasted away on the
big speakers. Stills had just laid down the lead guitar overdubs, and CSN (and their
wonderful engineer, Bill Halverson) were listening back to the entire piece for the first
time. I saw Graham, Crosby stared me down, then recognizing my friend, and passed me a
“party favor”. Words can’t describe what the mood was like in that room.
After the last “Dit-dit-di-it”, the room got quiet; we all knew this was a
milestone moment in Rock music. I felt like a voyeur on their musical
honeymoon. Then the
soundtrack producer came in to collect us. It was like one of those “white
light” near death experiences - I’d heard the Angels sing, and now I was being
dragged screaming out of the light and back into this mundane session. CSN went on make
musical history; I rode the movie project right down the toilet.
Things picked up in 1973. I was watching “The Tonight Show” one night when
former teen idol Rick Nelson came on, backed by his country rock Stone Canyon Band. I had
always enjoyed his music, but I was fixating on his lead guitarist playing acoustic guitar
and singing backgrounds on the Dylan song, “She Belongs To Me”. I turned to my
girlfriend, and said “That would be a nice gig for me”. The next day I got a
call from my best friend, MCA promo man Lindy Goetz, saying Rick’s manager just
called him in a panic; the SCB rhythm section had just quit. I assembled my friends Jay
DeWitt White (bass) and Ty Grimes (drums), and after two rehearsals with Rick and pedal
steel legend Tom Brummley, we were playing the Astrodome! Within the next six
months, we
played Carnegie Hall and recorded the “Windfall” album, which featured five of
my songs, including the title track co-written with Rick. I thoroughly enjoyed the next
few years. Rick was a talented guy and there was a great sense of camaraderie between
us,
but after seven years of lagging record sales, poor management, and changing musical
trends, we parted ways.
The early 80’s were a creative void. Disco and Punk had driven the
singer/songwriter
deep underground. We weren’t considered “unplugged” back
then; we were
obsolete. I was doing film production work for writer/director John (“Red Dawn”)
Milius and producer Buzz (“Rambo”) Feitshans. Enter Allen
McDougall, an affable
Scotsman whom I had met through mutual friends at A&M publishing. He mentioned his son
wanted to learn how to play slide guitar, and I offered to show him some basic licks. The
next day, he dropped him off, and casually asked “I’m going over to Graham
Nash’s house - got any tunes?”. Allen was Graham’s best
friend, and best
man at his wedding. I thanked him and eagerly whipped out a song sampler tape. You have to
keep an even keel in these situations; the higher the expectations, the greater the
dissappoinmet. Allen picked up his kid, and I went about my business. Two days later,
there was a message on my answering machine saying, “Hello Denny, this is Graham Nash
calling from Maui to tell you I love your song, ‘Sanibel’ and it’s going to
make us both rich!” I went nuts! This was an absolute dream come true.
“TIME KEEPS ON TICKIN’ .... TICKIN’ ....”
I wasn’t expecting the time line that followed.After an initial series of phone calls
between Graham’s “people” and my “person” (longtime friend and
show biz attorney Gerry Rosenblatt), things seemed to grind to a halt. I never heard from
Graham personally, but Allen assured me that he was still very excited about the song. As
jazzed as I was about the prospect of CSN doing the song, they had no immediate plans to
record, and as a writer and publisher, I could make no commitment that would take the song
off the market. This informal stalemate continued for almost a decade. There was talk of a
“mystery superstar project” with Graham and other artists, a
Crosby/Nash album,
and a slot on CSNY’s “American Dream”, but nothing clicked. One
day, about
eight years ago, I was working on a screenplay, when the
phone rang:
“Hello, Denny, this is Graham Nash. Who played guitar on your demo of
Sanibel?”
“I did.”
“Can you get down to the studio right away? James Taylor tried playing guitar on the
track, but it just didn’t sound the same.”
“The only problem is my guitar is in the shop.”
“Don’t worry - we’ve got all of Stephens guitars down here, just pick one
you like.”
“Sure. I’ll be there in an hour.”
Other than getting to record with Crosby, Stills, and Nash, replacing James Taylor on
guitar, and running through one of the greatest collections of antique Martin guitars in
the world, it was just an ordinary day.
THE SESSION
I drove through a rare L.A. rainstorm down to The Record Plant in
Hollywood. As
intimidating as the situation might have been, Graham Nash is one of those rare people
that makes you feel right at home immediately. David, on the other hand, was cordial but
all business. I remember him saying something like,
“ you got to play it just like the demo, or you’ll ______ it up!”.
Something on the demo clicked with him, and he wanted to make sure that quality came
through on the record.
(Note: in defense of Stills, Neil, J.T., and all the other great guitar players that took
a pass at it, I wrote the arrangement in open G tuning, so I wound up sounding “the
most like me”.)
Graham started to wax philosophically about not closing any creative doors on the
arrangement. This brief interplay between the two spoke volumes to me about their personal
relationship and contrasting creative styles; the bull and the butterfly, weaving through
their creative options.
Moments later, I was delivered into the hands of the band’s guitar
tech, who took me
into a back room filled with giant road cases that housed the Stephen Stills Martin
Mini-Museam. I was like a kid in the candy store. I’ve played and owned many fine
guitars in my life, but these rare classic prewar instruments were
spectacular! I had to
remind myself that I was there to work, and began noodling on different
guitars, trying to
find the one best suited for the track. During this time, the tech got a call from
Stephen, who grilled me by proxy until he was convinced that I was using no
fingerpicks,
nor was I performing any unnatural acts on his treasures (don’t blame him a bit!) I
finally chose a prewar, herringbone D-28 that felt and sounded like the early 60’s
D-28. I played on the demo. The tech did a great job of restringing and tweaking the
guitar to perfection.
I was then introduced to engineer/co-producer Stanley Johnston, and session all-stars Joe
Vitale (drums), Bob Glaub (bass), and Craig Doerge (keyboards). These guys are masters at
turning good songs into great records! While Stanley was working on the drum sounds,
Stephen entered. We made our introductions, then he broke out a guitar and we jammed on
the song for a while. I sat down by the piano and ran over the chart with
Craig. After a
few minutes, David, Graham, and Stephen circled the piano, and began
singing. Graham sang
the verse, and when they all broke into harmony on the hook, it was
overwhelming; the kind
of rare, magical moment that every songwriter dreams about. The collective consciousness
of everyone in that room merged into a single musical entity. After all these years of
singing and playing along with their songs, here they were, singing one of mine. Talk
about your Cosmic Connections! It was one of the most pure, perfect moments of my
life. It
lasted about twenty seconds.
The boys stopped singing and started discussing the key, who sings what part, etc. While I
was coming in for an emergency landing from Cloud 9, Stephen volunteered to take a crack
at the lead. Mind you, musicians are dark humored creatures who love throwing zingers at
each other. The guys got into a mock battle over who sang lead; Stills broke
off, joked
about quitting the band.He had fired a few shots over my bow earlier, so I fired back,
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you - they won’t even have to change the
logo”.
It took a few seconds for the visualization of a monogramed Crosby,
Sarokin, & Nash
tee-shirt to sink in, but it got a big laugh. I really made me feel like one of the
guys.
Time to start tracking. Stephen played a little lead on the run throughs, then decided to
join the other producers in the booth.I sat in the middle of the room where I could cue
the musicians, and in a couple of takes, they laid down a perfect track. I knew I would
have to redo my guitar track because of leakage (the sounds of other instruments coming
through an open mike), and Stanley came out to fine tune the miking. Crosby ran out and
replaced Still’s D-28 with his own D-45, claiming it was part of their classic sound.
In all honesty, I perfered the 28, but, that was the producers and engineers
call. They
miked me and took me direct through an internal guitar pick up. A few takes later, the
doubled guitar tracks were done. We listened to the playback, and everyone seemed
pleased.
They were moving on to another song, and I didn’t want to impose on their creative
space, so I made my rounds of farewell, and left the studio a few feet taller than when I
came in.
Once again, I made all the necessary business arrangements and anxiously awaited the
release of the “Live It Up” CD. Unfortunately, when I went to the store to pick
up a copy, my song was conspicuously absent. Just another day in Show Biz.
"TO BE OR NOT TO BE ..."
Cut to Nashville, Christmas '99. My lawyer called to say that Graham wasinquiring about
the song again. I negotiated a mutually beneficial licensing agreement. I was
excited, but cautious. In the months that followed, I heard talk of a CSNY
reunion, and realized this
must be the project!
I didn’t hear anything until April, ‘99, during “Tin Pan South”, a
week long celebration of songwriters put on by the NSAI (Nashville Songwriter’s
Assoc. International). The highlight of the event is a “Legends” concert, which
included performances by Mac Davis, Paul Williams, and Jackson Browne, with Graham closing
the show. He wowed the audience, which sang along on “Our House” and “Teach
Your Children”. He also debuted “Heartland” from the new CD.
At the post show Pro Member party. NSAI Executive Director Barton Herbison had paired me
up with a Tennessee Congressman, and I was pleading our case for an up coming
vote. Graham
entered the room, and I eventually worked my way over, stuck out my hand, and
said,
“Hi, Graham , Denny Sarokin...” He shook my hand politely and
said, “Nice
to meet you.” Well, so much for having made a lasting impression at the
session. Suddenly, he stared at me and made the connection.
“Denny ??? ....”, he went into overdrive, pumping my hand, and introducing me to
publicist Michael Jensen as “the guy from Sanibel”.
He told me the status of the song:
1. They had lost the original 48 tk masters, but had been reworking the song off a
“magic” DAT mixdown.
2. Neil was singing one of the verses. At first I couldn’t picture
this, then I heard
the chorus of “Birds” flying through my brain. and it made perfect
sense.
3. Neil was unsure of something on the mixdown tape, and it was his call whether or not to
keep his performance.
4. Graham was more hyped on the song than ever and he wanted it to be one of the singles.
We finished talking about the song, and then just started rapping about whatever came to
mind, like old friends at a party. I called attention to the fact that we had
“known” each other for over 30 years, and this was the first time we’ve
actually had a conversation. It was a weird realization, but both of us, being the Zen
type, wrote it off as Karma. We exchanged phone #’s, and he told me to stop by when
we got home. I had to remind him I was home. We gave each other a manly-man
hug, and I
walked away feeling great about the song, and privileged to have finally spent some
quality time with this witty and wonderful gentleman.
We spoke on the phone a few days later. I offered my services if they were
needed, and
Graham reconfirmed his determination to get the song on the CD, inviting me to stop by the
studio if I were in town. Now, I know what you’re thinking - "how come Denny
didn’t walk barefoot over hot coals to get the chance to be in the studio with
CSNY"? As a fan, I would have loved to have be there, but having seen the unique
chemistry of how these guys work together, and Neil being the “X-factor”, I felt
the song would be better served if they had the opportunity to experiment on their
own. I
couldn’t have a better foot in the door than Graham, and I trusted he would call me
if he needed me.
Months went by again. I ran into Stills at the NAMM show in July, where he was plugging
his signature Martin guitar. I asked how the CD was going, he said, “Fine”, but
didn’t mention Sanibel. The project and tour had been scheduled for a summer release,
so I assumed the song was history.
I finally got a call from Graham on August 8th, telling me that they had just finished
sequencing the CD, and “Sanibel” was programed as the last cut.
(Neil said,
"We’ve taken them on an emotional roller coaster - let’s drop ‘em off
on a nice little island”). Nothing was certain until the master was approved by
everyone, but he promised to call me when it was a done deal. Neil’s comments and
vocal participation seemed to put the whole thing over the top.
I didn’t hear from Graham for a while, and didn’t expect to after his nasty
little accident, but I did receive all the pre-release paper work from the Warner Bros.
Records Legal Dept. This was not a test. Now, I finally spread the news to my
friends, family, and musical comrades.
On Oct. 10th, I came home to a message on my machine. Graham Nash, being a man of his
word, had called to tell me the song was on the CD and was being released as one of the
singles. I was disappointed I missed his call, but laughed to myself. This whole crazy
ride started with a message on my machine, and had finally come full
circle.
I bought “Looking Forward”, and listened to it in sequence. As a fan, I was
thrilled to hear them. After “Queen Of Them All”, I did a head count on the
writers, looking to see if I had missed one of Graham’s songs. It was then that I
heard a familiar guitar refrain, and I realized the enormity of this man’s generosity
and musical integrity. The world had been waiting for a new generation of Graham Nash
songs, but he had selflessly substituted one of mine. I welled up with
tears. Joy, gratitude, frustration, pride, all came to a head in that one moment. I was listening to
Crosby, Stills, Nash, & Young... and me.
I’ve never been blessed with children, but to a writer, songs are like
children; small, living extensions of our creative fabric. These wonderful artists brought my song
to life, and now, a little piece of me is out there touching people all aroung the
worldt.
Thank you, CSNY, from the bottom of my heart.
“IT AIN’T OVER ‘TILL THE SKINNY BRIT SINGS ...
“ I look forward to seeing everyone again, and of course, meeting Neil for the first
time. Graham was gracious enough to provide me with tickets to the Nashville show, as well
as the show in Miami, where I’ll get to bring my greatest supporter, and fan - my
Dad.
Feel free to check Denny's
site.
"Sanibel - The Song"