The Wrecking Crew! Page #7

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were sort of demo musicians,

but we played rock and roll.

Usually, every guy that sat

down in one of those sessions

in that group

was a great musician:

Studied, practiced, taught well,

loved what they were doing.

Everybody wanted us.

Do you remember when my dad

was doing the Jobim album?

Oh, yeah.

And all of the "A" team was in.

And at the end of that session,

we were doing Somethin' Stupid.

And the "A" team left,

and our little "B" team came in,

The Wrecking Crew

came in and sat down,

and we cut a number on record.

And what most people

don't realize,

that was our dad's

first number one record.

And we just marched on in there

and made our little hit.

- Daddy.

- Sorry.

I've got to sing

a little louder then.

- You have to sing...

- You too, you sing

I did Somethin' Stupid

with Frank and Nancy Sinatra.

And that little lick

that I played on the intro,

I had already played that

on another record of the song

by the guy that wrote it,

Carson Parks.

And Frank heard it and wanted

that very lick on the intro.

Billy Strange was the arranger

and the guitars were me

and Glen Campbell.

And Billy had just written,

like, El Paso style guitar

for the intro.

So Glenn, of course,

played something real nice,

but it wasn't

what was on the original record.

And Frank said,

"No, that's not it,

that's not it. Let's try it... "

So Glenn tried something else

and Frank wasn't

real happy with it

'cause it didn't sound

like we'd heard.

So finally, after a while,

I said, "Glenn,

I don't want to be pushy

or anything,

but that's me

on the original record.

I know exactly what he wants."

He said,

"Well, then you play it."

Then, we switched parts real

fast and I played it.

Do you want to hear the guitars

just to make sure

everything's cool?

One real fast start,

then we'll go.

All right, letter "A."

- That did it, all right.

- Pretty sound.

Yeah, that's the whole trick

of the record.

Chuck Berghofer,

who was the star,

you know, that bass line became

infam... As a matter of fact,

it's probably... Simple

as it sounds, it's probably

one of the hardest things

a bass player ever has to do.

- Nobody can do it.

- They never do it correctly,

you know, or they make

an attempt at it.

The engineer came out and said,

"Gee, I love the sound

of your bass."

He says, "I'm gonna

give your name to my friend."

And it turned out

to be Jim Bowen.

And I wound up doing some dates

for Jim Bowen.

About the third date, I did

was Boots Are Made For Walking.

And that put me on the map.

I went from doing two dates

in my life

to doing three a day.

Yeah, if I wasn't available

that day,

I'd probably be selling

insurance somewhere.

That "chunk-a-chunk-a-chunk,"

that rhythm chunky sound

that was so...

Lee used to call it "dumb."

He wanted that dumb sound.

It really made...

made the records,

and it's very hard to capture,

especially live.

Lee didn't want me

to do the song.

I kept saying, "I want to do

that boots thing,

that one about the boots."

And he said, "No,

it's not a girl's song.

I said,

"Well, it's certainly not

a guy's song."

He used to sing it live

in his performances.

And I said, "It's wrong

for a man to sing it.

It's harsh and abusive,

but it's perfect for

a little girl to sing."

The feeling of a live session

was unlike anything else

because you'd hear it back

instantly, and there it was.

And it was either magic

or it wasn't magic.

And I never will forget,

when I drove to Las Vegas,

on the marquee, it says,

"Nancy Sinatra

With Hal Blaine On Drums."

This big marquee

all over the thing,

at Caesars Palace.

Now, he's making

like $2,500 a week.

Now, Irv Cottler's work

with Frank, the father,

he's making $750 a week.

- And I...

- Who said life was fair?

Oh, my God in hell...

And then, all of a sudden,

here's this "Hal Blaine."

And I just laughed.

"Hal Blaine"

all over the Caesar's marquee.

- It was great.

- What a gig.

You got to get it when you can.

I didn't realize it until later,

but New Orleans was a great town

for a musician to grow up in.

My brother and I were 12 and 13,

and we already had gigs

on the Mardi Gras floats.

Not gigs, one gig.

My mother was a singer

and a pianist.

And the city was raging with

soldiers, sailors, and marines

coming through there to get

shipped out to World War II.

And the clubs

in the French Quarter,

they were making a lot of money

and they were hiring

a lot of bands.

My mother had a job

in the afternoon

playing and singing a matinee,

and my father had a night gig.

And I think it was the first

time in their life

that they were fully employed

as musicians.

I went to a black

Catholic high school,

and all the public schools

were segregated.

I couldn't wait to get away.

My brother and I

soon established a band,

you know. He played piano.

He mostly played blues

and boogie and...

We wanted to play be-bop,

but really,

nobody wanted to hear it.

People always tell me

how great I was and, you know,

"That boy's really

going places," and...

of course I believed that.

In 1954, my brother and I

moved down to Los Angeles

and proceeded to starve

around town for about two years,

made all the jam sessions.

That's what you do

when you're new in town.

And that sooner or later

gets you work

because the band leaders

come to the jam sessions

looking for horn players

or rhythm players.

And that's where they found 'em,

at the jam sessions.

The rock and roll thing

was getting really big,

and they needed

the kind of horn I play.

So it was really being

in the right place

at the right time.

Particularly when I got

on the Merv Griffin Show,

which started

at 3:
00 in the afternoon.

Well, that's the time

my kids came home from school.

And it ended at 8:30 at night,

and I'd get home maybe 9:30.

Well, that's the time

my kids would go to bed.

Many days, I didn't see my kids.

I'm a better grandfather

than I was a father.

That's great.

Oh, amazing.

I remember taking this picture.

I took it through a record,

through a 45.

These were all yours.

Hey, that's nice.

Yeah.

The first band I had

was just an experiment.

We opened the show

for Dave Brubeck,

and people went crazy for the...

our, you know, half hour set,

however long we played.

And I remember coming offstage,

and Paul Desmond was...

was standing off to the side.

And as I passed him,

he was scratching his head,

and said, "I don't know

what I just heard,

but I think I like it."

That was the first cue I had

that maybe we were

on to something.

A jazz musician loved it...

or liked it.

The first date I ever did

for Herb Alpert,

Shorty Rogers called me up

and says,

"Bill, would you do me a favor?"

He says, "There's a guy,

he's a friend of mine."

He says, "He's a trumpet player

and he doesn't have any money.

Would you do it

as a favor for me?"

I said, "Sure, I'll do it."

Herb gave us each 15 bucks.

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