Larry Morgan remembers Casey
Aug 2, 2014 18:45:16 GMT -5
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Dale Latimer, 1finemrg, and 1 more like this
Post by BrettVW on Aug 2, 2014 18:45:16 GMT -5
This is from Larry's FB page actually written the day after Casey passed but I just saw it today. Very nice piece
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I wasn't sure I was going to post this - so much of it felt so personal. But after watching the outpouring of response today - from Brian Wilson to B.B. King to Paul Stanley of KISS to Elton John to...well...everybody - I decided to share. Please forgive the verboseness...
Like millions of people worldwide, I was saddened to hear of the passing of Casey Kasem. People point to individuals they consider the “voice of their generation” – anybody from Bob Dylan to J.D. Salinger may receive that moniker, depending on your age and influences. I most certainly would say that Casey was the voice of mine.
Like those millions of others I was glued to the radio every weekend to hear the stories and which song was where on the chart. Somehow it all seemed so important to me. And in that now-distant pre-internet age, it was often the best, sometimes only, source of information about the people who made the music. And d**ned if that Long Distance Dedication didn’t cause a lump-in-the-throat or a tear-in-the-eye every time. What made it most compelling, though, was that voice…that cadence…that delivery. Casey most certainly hadn’t invented the concept of a music countdown, but he sure as hell perfected it. Somehow he (and his hard-working staff) found a way to make that parade of forty hits compelling and listenable – and managed to do so week after week.
Like a smaller but still substantial group of people worldwide, my first job in radio involved Casey. Through a series of random events too convoluted to go into here, I managed to snag a weekend shift at Top Forty KOZA-AM – a station I had been listening to as long as I could remember. I would not be hired as an announcer – I was too green for that – but I would be running six hours of prerecorded shows then have the honor of shutting down the power at midnight on Sunday until they fired the transmitter back up on Monday morning at 5:30am.
So here’s a fifteen-year-old kid, too young to even drive myself to the station waaay over in a remote part of town, left ALONE and “in charge.” Yikes. Right before 6pm I would cue up the first hour of American Top 40 on a record. My memory was that there were a LOT of commercial breaks, and in West Texas on a Sunday night I don’t know that I had a lot of commercials to run. Sometimes the race to cue up the next segment was not a race I won. And there were more than a few times, especially early on, that had you been listening you would have heard the countdown slightly out of order that week. Oops.
One of my most vivid early radio memories inadvertently involves Casey. As I said, there were a lot of commercial breaks back then, so the segments were quite short. Finally there was a part of the countdown with three songs back to back – more than enough time, I thought, to relieve the call of nature that (with all apologies to Casey) was “dropping to #2.”
Apparently my exit from the air studio was the opportunity the cleaning woman was waiting for to go in and tidy up and dust around the control board. Suddenly in the midst of me…er…taking care of business, a loud rapping came on the bathroom door. “The record stopped! The record stopped!” she shouted. I had to quickly scramble to postpone my current efforts and raced back into the studio where the needle sat on the turntable mid-disc which was no longer revolving. Apparently in her over-exuberant cleaning she had managed to hit the tiny, little red button that shut the turntable off. My only thought was to immediately hit the little green button that got it going again. So what audiences heard that night was Casey telling a fascinating story about their favorite artist until his voice suddenly sloooowed down to a deep baritone and ground to a halt – until maybe a minute or so later when his voice wound back up to normal again and resumed the countdown. It’s a memory that haunts me to this day – to the amusement of everyone else I tell it to. Including, at one point, The Man himself.
And that’s because, like a somewhat smaller group of lucky industry professionals, I later had the distinct privilege of actually working with him.
It was almost 20 years later – I had finished film school at USC, stumbled back into radio in L.A., moved around the country, gotten married, had a child, then ended up back in Southern California with some old friends who had started Premiere Radio Networks. I had just been elevated to a VP position by the great Kraig Kitchin at a time when the company began the process of integrating and absorbing other radio syndicators, including the one that distributed Casey’s countdown. It was almost an offhand comment; “Larry, we’re giving you American Top 40.” The next thing I know I am walking into the room as the executive in charge of production for perhaps the most popular radio show of all time. Yikes, again.
In a way I guess I could have been considered one of Casey’s bosses – but there was nothing I could possibly have said or done to improve what was already a perfect thing. The team was a well-oiled machine. The writers, producers and engineers had all been working with Casey for enough time that they had it down to a science. And Casey, always the perfectionist, not only drove himself to make everything was exactly right, he also trusted his people to let him know when something didn’t work. I was shocked when his excellent producer, Lorre Crimi, would stop him and almost reprimand him and have him do something over. But Casey wasn’t insulted – he was grateful. Everyone in that room, and everyone that touched it, knew what Casey meant to the world, and it was their charge to not only produce a highly entertaining show, but also to protect his legacy. The most I could do as a “suit” was offer support and encouragement.
It wasn’t lost on me the full circle my radio career had taken at that point – from running Casey’s show on a piece of cheap vinyl in a small market in Texas to working one-on-one with the man.
And the man was professional…gracious…engaging…dedicated; he was all the things you imagined and wanted him to be from the voice that you heard. I mean, this was not just the voice of my childhood because of AT40, and not just because he was also the voice behind the perennial hippie Shaggy from “Scooby-Doo.” As a seriously devoted cartoon-lover, I couldn’t help but notice that Casey’s voice was everywhere! No matter how different the character, that unmistakable timbre was present in what seemed like every one of my favorite Saturday morning entertainments; as Robin in “The Batman/Superman Hour”, in “Josie & The girl thingycats”, in “Hong Kong Phooey.” Anybody remember the “Hot Wheels” cartoon based on the popular Mattel toy line? I do. And Casey’s voice was there. And here I was someone who had become an, admittedly, peripheral part of his universe, but still a part nonetheless. I was constantly amazed that he would ask MY opinion of anything he was doing – but he genuinely wanted to know that what he was doing was as good as it could be. And somehow to him my opinion mattered.
Some random thoughts from this time:
- The R&R convention at the Beverly Hilton where Casey attended a cocktail reception around the outdoor pool. One after the other Casey was approached by program directors and personalities from all parts of the country, markets of all sizes, to reverently thank him for inspiring them, to tell them how much they admired him and, like me, to tell Casey that running his countdown was the first job they ever had in “fill-in-the-blank market” in “so-and-so year.” Casey listened to every story intently, shook every hand warmly, accepted every compliment graciously and seemed moved genuinely.
- At one point someone within the company had the fairly brilliant idea of rereleasing the original American Top 40 shows from the 70s and 80s in their entirety with new intros from Casey. It was roundly embraced by stations everywhere but became a bit of a tough production chore. Many of the master reels from those years had started to deteriorate somewhat so we found someone who knew how to “bake” them – literally the act of putting them in an oven and heating them at just the right temperature and for just the right amount of time in order to release the tape from its now-sticky state and slowly, carefully, master them digitally onto compact disc. After the show had been launched, and much to my surprise, Casey took me aside one day and started talking about, of all things, the “Snuggles the Dead Dog” incident. Casey was well aware of the now notorious outtake that had somehow escaped the studio from back-in-the-day when his temper had flared up over having to do a Long Distance Dedication to a now-deceased family pet after coming out of an up-tempo record. Even before the proliferation of viral sensations on the web, this audio had been passed around for years, most prominently finding a regular spotlight on Howard Stern’s syndicated show time and time again. As embarrassed as he was that the audio was still out there, he saw an opportunity to bring some attention to the retro shows by promoting the episode that aired on the radio with the Snuggles dedication. Everybody knew about the in-studio blowup, he said, but wouldn’t people like to hear the way it actually sounded in the final version of the countdown? I actually thought that was brilliant, and went about starting the process of creating a trade ad to drum up some attention, but ultimately Casey backed away from the idea. No, he thought – that would bring attention to it for the wrong reason. Let’s just put it out there and if anyone notices, so be it. We respected his wishes on that one, but I still kinda wish we had done it. (Casey confided something to me about the Snuggles thing in hindsight; he was truly embarrassed, not that the audio had gone out into the world, but that he had treated people he worked with in such a disrespectful way. He said that after that he looked inward to try and understand what it was about himself that made him so enraged…and to be sure to never feel that way again, either professionally and personally. I can honestly say I never saw him get angry or raise his voice, ever.)
- After recording the show we would eat all together sometimes at a Lebanese restaurant called Carnival in Sherman Oaks. I swear, Casey was like a Jewish mother, pushing more and more food in front of me, trying to get me try this, taste that, telling me what was good, etc. He was treated like royalty there. It’s still around, on Woodman just north of Ventura. It’s really good and, like Casey did, it’s pretty easy to eat vegetarian there.
- In 2001 I was working on a “mockumentary” with my good friend and co-worker James Arnold Taylor called “The Comedy Team of Pete & James” that took place in the stand-up comedy world, except the duo breaks up and one goes on to be super famous while the other struggles to get laughs with the exact same material. James and I called in every favor with every person of any prominence we knew; Jimmy Kimmel and Adam Carolla did a scene together, the Improv’s original owner Budd Friedman appeared in it. I even got Casey to do a voiceover bit about how a song from a fictional soundtrack of the movie starring the character of Pete had gone to #1. Casey agreed and knocked it out of the park, giving it the same energy and enthusiasm that he would his countdown session. Not many people have seen the film, but I will always be able to say I made a movie with Casey Kasem.
- One day early in my tenure with the countdown their regular announcer who did wraparound intros and outros for the show was unavailable for some reason. Knowing I had a background in radio and voice work, the team pushed me into the studio to be a temporary replacement. Imagine my nerves knowing that I was about to voice something in front of the great Casey Kasem. For a third time; yikes! The opening words were simply “And now…” – and what followed would be the lead-in to the opening of the countdown. I did a take or two and I could see Casey wasn’t completely happy. Mostly with the way I was saying “And now…” He wanted it big, powerful…majestic. He did it himself; “And noooowwww…” he said. “And noooowwww…” I repeated. Nope. Still not right. We went back and forth a few more times. “And nowwwww…” And NOWWWW…” No. Not quite. Almost. It would have been comical (and I saw a few snickers from the production team through the glass) if I hadn’t been mortified. Finally at the point where I felt like I had been a complete failure in front of one of my radio heroes, I finally got it. “Yeah! That’s it! Good!” he said. Two words…that to my ear may not have seemed that important. But that was Casey’s work ethic; every word would have impact. And the wrong one, the wrong inflection, the wrong order of those words would just be…well, not right. This moment taught me a lot. People like Casey are born with a certain something that can’t be learned, whether it’s talent or a great voice. But to achieve something special, to create something that is meaningful – that takes work. And you should never settle until you know you did it right.
- One night I remember particularly; it was in Dallas at a big gathering of Clear Channel managers. Casey was there to be honored with a lifetime achievement award, and he seemed nervous. He had worked out a few words to say – despite having talked to millions of people around the world for years and years, the one thing he didn’t like to go on and on about was himself. He accepted the award, spoke briefly, thanked everyone for their kindness and was offstage quickly. People were shaking his hand, thanking him for being there and a music act took the stage to perform. Casey came over to me; “So, Larry…do you think was that okay?” Casey Kasem. Asking ME if he had done a good job. “Yes,” I said. “It was perfect.” He nodded and seemed to be relieved.
I can’t say that I knew him well – I don’t know that you could say we were friends – but Casey feels like he’s been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. The fact that I got to know him even a little, work with him for a while, and see the kind of person he was is something I will always treasure. What I saw was someone with true talent matched only by his humility. I saw dedication to his craft and to the people he worked with. I saw a genuine elation for the successes of his children and fatherly concern when they fell short. I saw someone who found a way to do something that brought him joy – but that joy only was attainable because he was able to share that something with the world.
It may be a while before I can truly mourn Casey – he is still very much a part of my life. For several years now I have been voicing the intros and outros of the Classic AT40 70s ad 80s shows that air nationally every weekend and on Casey’s very own American Top 40 channel on iHeartRadio. In fact, just a few minutes ago I finished with this weeks copy. The first two words I read: “And now…”
I did it until I got it right.
Thank you, Casey.
--------
I wasn't sure I was going to post this - so much of it felt so personal. But after watching the outpouring of response today - from Brian Wilson to B.B. King to Paul Stanley of KISS to Elton John to...well...everybody - I decided to share. Please forgive the verboseness...
Like millions of people worldwide, I was saddened to hear of the passing of Casey Kasem. People point to individuals they consider the “voice of their generation” – anybody from Bob Dylan to J.D. Salinger may receive that moniker, depending on your age and influences. I most certainly would say that Casey was the voice of mine.
Like those millions of others I was glued to the radio every weekend to hear the stories and which song was where on the chart. Somehow it all seemed so important to me. And in that now-distant pre-internet age, it was often the best, sometimes only, source of information about the people who made the music. And d**ned if that Long Distance Dedication didn’t cause a lump-in-the-throat or a tear-in-the-eye every time. What made it most compelling, though, was that voice…that cadence…that delivery. Casey most certainly hadn’t invented the concept of a music countdown, but he sure as hell perfected it. Somehow he (and his hard-working staff) found a way to make that parade of forty hits compelling and listenable – and managed to do so week after week.
Like a smaller but still substantial group of people worldwide, my first job in radio involved Casey. Through a series of random events too convoluted to go into here, I managed to snag a weekend shift at Top Forty KOZA-AM – a station I had been listening to as long as I could remember. I would not be hired as an announcer – I was too green for that – but I would be running six hours of prerecorded shows then have the honor of shutting down the power at midnight on Sunday until they fired the transmitter back up on Monday morning at 5:30am.
So here’s a fifteen-year-old kid, too young to even drive myself to the station waaay over in a remote part of town, left ALONE and “in charge.” Yikes. Right before 6pm I would cue up the first hour of American Top 40 on a record. My memory was that there were a LOT of commercial breaks, and in West Texas on a Sunday night I don’t know that I had a lot of commercials to run. Sometimes the race to cue up the next segment was not a race I won. And there were more than a few times, especially early on, that had you been listening you would have heard the countdown slightly out of order that week. Oops.
One of my most vivid early radio memories inadvertently involves Casey. As I said, there were a lot of commercial breaks back then, so the segments were quite short. Finally there was a part of the countdown with three songs back to back – more than enough time, I thought, to relieve the call of nature that (with all apologies to Casey) was “dropping to #2.”
Apparently my exit from the air studio was the opportunity the cleaning woman was waiting for to go in and tidy up and dust around the control board. Suddenly in the midst of me…er…taking care of business, a loud rapping came on the bathroom door. “The record stopped! The record stopped!” she shouted. I had to quickly scramble to postpone my current efforts and raced back into the studio where the needle sat on the turntable mid-disc which was no longer revolving. Apparently in her over-exuberant cleaning she had managed to hit the tiny, little red button that shut the turntable off. My only thought was to immediately hit the little green button that got it going again. So what audiences heard that night was Casey telling a fascinating story about their favorite artist until his voice suddenly sloooowed down to a deep baritone and ground to a halt – until maybe a minute or so later when his voice wound back up to normal again and resumed the countdown. It’s a memory that haunts me to this day – to the amusement of everyone else I tell it to. Including, at one point, The Man himself.
And that’s because, like a somewhat smaller group of lucky industry professionals, I later had the distinct privilege of actually working with him.
It was almost 20 years later – I had finished film school at USC, stumbled back into radio in L.A., moved around the country, gotten married, had a child, then ended up back in Southern California with some old friends who had started Premiere Radio Networks. I had just been elevated to a VP position by the great Kraig Kitchin at a time when the company began the process of integrating and absorbing other radio syndicators, including the one that distributed Casey’s countdown. It was almost an offhand comment; “Larry, we’re giving you American Top 40.” The next thing I know I am walking into the room as the executive in charge of production for perhaps the most popular radio show of all time. Yikes, again.
In a way I guess I could have been considered one of Casey’s bosses – but there was nothing I could possibly have said or done to improve what was already a perfect thing. The team was a well-oiled machine. The writers, producers and engineers had all been working with Casey for enough time that they had it down to a science. And Casey, always the perfectionist, not only drove himself to make everything was exactly right, he also trusted his people to let him know when something didn’t work. I was shocked when his excellent producer, Lorre Crimi, would stop him and almost reprimand him and have him do something over. But Casey wasn’t insulted – he was grateful. Everyone in that room, and everyone that touched it, knew what Casey meant to the world, and it was their charge to not only produce a highly entertaining show, but also to protect his legacy. The most I could do as a “suit” was offer support and encouragement.
It wasn’t lost on me the full circle my radio career had taken at that point – from running Casey’s show on a piece of cheap vinyl in a small market in Texas to working one-on-one with the man.
And the man was professional…gracious…engaging…dedicated; he was all the things you imagined and wanted him to be from the voice that you heard. I mean, this was not just the voice of my childhood because of AT40, and not just because he was also the voice behind the perennial hippie Shaggy from “Scooby-Doo.” As a seriously devoted cartoon-lover, I couldn’t help but notice that Casey’s voice was everywhere! No matter how different the character, that unmistakable timbre was present in what seemed like every one of my favorite Saturday morning entertainments; as Robin in “The Batman/Superman Hour”, in “Josie & The girl thingycats”, in “Hong Kong Phooey.” Anybody remember the “Hot Wheels” cartoon based on the popular Mattel toy line? I do. And Casey’s voice was there. And here I was someone who had become an, admittedly, peripheral part of his universe, but still a part nonetheless. I was constantly amazed that he would ask MY opinion of anything he was doing – but he genuinely wanted to know that what he was doing was as good as it could be. And somehow to him my opinion mattered.
Some random thoughts from this time:
- The R&R convention at the Beverly Hilton where Casey attended a cocktail reception around the outdoor pool. One after the other Casey was approached by program directors and personalities from all parts of the country, markets of all sizes, to reverently thank him for inspiring them, to tell them how much they admired him and, like me, to tell Casey that running his countdown was the first job they ever had in “fill-in-the-blank market” in “so-and-so year.” Casey listened to every story intently, shook every hand warmly, accepted every compliment graciously and seemed moved genuinely.
- At one point someone within the company had the fairly brilliant idea of rereleasing the original American Top 40 shows from the 70s and 80s in their entirety with new intros from Casey. It was roundly embraced by stations everywhere but became a bit of a tough production chore. Many of the master reels from those years had started to deteriorate somewhat so we found someone who knew how to “bake” them – literally the act of putting them in an oven and heating them at just the right temperature and for just the right amount of time in order to release the tape from its now-sticky state and slowly, carefully, master them digitally onto compact disc. After the show had been launched, and much to my surprise, Casey took me aside one day and started talking about, of all things, the “Snuggles the Dead Dog” incident. Casey was well aware of the now notorious outtake that had somehow escaped the studio from back-in-the-day when his temper had flared up over having to do a Long Distance Dedication to a now-deceased family pet after coming out of an up-tempo record. Even before the proliferation of viral sensations on the web, this audio had been passed around for years, most prominently finding a regular spotlight on Howard Stern’s syndicated show time and time again. As embarrassed as he was that the audio was still out there, he saw an opportunity to bring some attention to the retro shows by promoting the episode that aired on the radio with the Snuggles dedication. Everybody knew about the in-studio blowup, he said, but wouldn’t people like to hear the way it actually sounded in the final version of the countdown? I actually thought that was brilliant, and went about starting the process of creating a trade ad to drum up some attention, but ultimately Casey backed away from the idea. No, he thought – that would bring attention to it for the wrong reason. Let’s just put it out there and if anyone notices, so be it. We respected his wishes on that one, but I still kinda wish we had done it. (Casey confided something to me about the Snuggles thing in hindsight; he was truly embarrassed, not that the audio had gone out into the world, but that he had treated people he worked with in such a disrespectful way. He said that after that he looked inward to try and understand what it was about himself that made him so enraged…and to be sure to never feel that way again, either professionally and personally. I can honestly say I never saw him get angry or raise his voice, ever.)
- After recording the show we would eat all together sometimes at a Lebanese restaurant called Carnival in Sherman Oaks. I swear, Casey was like a Jewish mother, pushing more and more food in front of me, trying to get me try this, taste that, telling me what was good, etc. He was treated like royalty there. It’s still around, on Woodman just north of Ventura. It’s really good and, like Casey did, it’s pretty easy to eat vegetarian there.
- In 2001 I was working on a “mockumentary” with my good friend and co-worker James Arnold Taylor called “The Comedy Team of Pete & James” that took place in the stand-up comedy world, except the duo breaks up and one goes on to be super famous while the other struggles to get laughs with the exact same material. James and I called in every favor with every person of any prominence we knew; Jimmy Kimmel and Adam Carolla did a scene together, the Improv’s original owner Budd Friedman appeared in it. I even got Casey to do a voiceover bit about how a song from a fictional soundtrack of the movie starring the character of Pete had gone to #1. Casey agreed and knocked it out of the park, giving it the same energy and enthusiasm that he would his countdown session. Not many people have seen the film, but I will always be able to say I made a movie with Casey Kasem.
- One day early in my tenure with the countdown their regular announcer who did wraparound intros and outros for the show was unavailable for some reason. Knowing I had a background in radio and voice work, the team pushed me into the studio to be a temporary replacement. Imagine my nerves knowing that I was about to voice something in front of the great Casey Kasem. For a third time; yikes! The opening words were simply “And now…” – and what followed would be the lead-in to the opening of the countdown. I did a take or two and I could see Casey wasn’t completely happy. Mostly with the way I was saying “And now…” He wanted it big, powerful…majestic. He did it himself; “And noooowwww…” he said. “And noooowwww…” I repeated. Nope. Still not right. We went back and forth a few more times. “And nowwwww…” And NOWWWW…” No. Not quite. Almost. It would have been comical (and I saw a few snickers from the production team through the glass) if I hadn’t been mortified. Finally at the point where I felt like I had been a complete failure in front of one of my radio heroes, I finally got it. “Yeah! That’s it! Good!” he said. Two words…that to my ear may not have seemed that important. But that was Casey’s work ethic; every word would have impact. And the wrong one, the wrong inflection, the wrong order of those words would just be…well, not right. This moment taught me a lot. People like Casey are born with a certain something that can’t be learned, whether it’s talent or a great voice. But to achieve something special, to create something that is meaningful – that takes work. And you should never settle until you know you did it right.
- One night I remember particularly; it was in Dallas at a big gathering of Clear Channel managers. Casey was there to be honored with a lifetime achievement award, and he seemed nervous. He had worked out a few words to say – despite having talked to millions of people around the world for years and years, the one thing he didn’t like to go on and on about was himself. He accepted the award, spoke briefly, thanked everyone for their kindness and was offstage quickly. People were shaking his hand, thanking him for being there and a music act took the stage to perform. Casey came over to me; “So, Larry…do you think was that okay?” Casey Kasem. Asking ME if he had done a good job. “Yes,” I said. “It was perfect.” He nodded and seemed to be relieved.
I can’t say that I knew him well – I don’t know that you could say we were friends – but Casey feels like he’s been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. The fact that I got to know him even a little, work with him for a while, and see the kind of person he was is something I will always treasure. What I saw was someone with true talent matched only by his humility. I saw dedication to his craft and to the people he worked with. I saw a genuine elation for the successes of his children and fatherly concern when they fell short. I saw someone who found a way to do something that brought him joy – but that joy only was attainable because he was able to share that something with the world.
It may be a while before I can truly mourn Casey – he is still very much a part of my life. For several years now I have been voicing the intros and outros of the Classic AT40 70s ad 80s shows that air nationally every weekend and on Casey’s very own American Top 40 channel on iHeartRadio. In fact, just a few minutes ago I finished with this weeks copy. The first two words I read: “And now…”
I did it until I got it right.
Thank you, Casey.
