Eulogy For P.F. Sloan, by Paul Zollo

Their first success was a song he wrote with Harry Belafonte in mind, “Kick That Little Foot, Sally Ann.” Harry didn’t record it, though – Screen Gems didn’t like it, but a little company right next door needed songs. They were always begging for songs and told to go away.

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One day, as Phil related, they cornered him in the elevator with a hooker. A Big hooker – about 300 pounds, he said. She lifted up her dress and the guys said, “You give us a song and this is all yours.” Phil said, I’ll give you a song but forget the lady.”

That song was cut by their artist Round Robin – arranged and produced by the late Jack Nitzche. “It went up the charts,” Phil said, “and all of a sudden Steve and I are hit songwriters.”

Of course it set the pattern – the industry first saying no, but then a song breaks through anyway – in spite of the resistance.

Phil was not only a great songwriter – but very soulful singer, as well now know – and excellent guitarist. So the demos he would make of the songs he wrote with Steve Barri were great. So great, in fact, that some of them became hits. The first records by the Grass Roots were demos by Phil. With his voice singing lead!

When Jay Lasker realized it was a hit – and offers for performances were flooding in – he had Phil’s voice wiped off the tapes. An existing band – The 13th Floor – were brought in – renamed The Grass Roots – and did the performances. But the Grass Roots was Phil – his songs, his soul, his spirit, his style, his singing even.

And they took that away from him.

Had he not already been crazy, this would have done it.

He was often called wrong – and attacked for his wrongness – when he was right. The most egregious example of which is when he was at Screen Gems, and with his excess energy, when not writing songs he was employed as an A&R man. This kid had a nose for what was new, and that asked him to scout new acts, and look out for new talent. He was good at it.

One day he got a package from the UK, wrapped in high quality brown paper, from a man named Brian Epstein. Inside were four acetates from his band called The Beatles, with the songs “Please Please Me,” “Thank You Girl,” “Love Me Do,” and “From Me To You.”

Phil listened to “Please Please Me” first. “The hairs on the back of my neck stood up,” he said. “Up to then I didn’t even know I had hair on the back of his neck.”

He listened to all four songs. Being Phil, he knew what he had. The next day he brought them to Lou Adler and told him his outlandish prediction: that this group from the U.K. was going to be bigger than Elvis.

Bigger than Elvis! Up to then, it didn’t get bigger than Elvis. Ever. That was a phenomenon which far outshone any other.

Adler listened. He was unimpressed. “Two guys doing a bad impression of The Everly Brothers,” he said. He threw the acetates in the trash.

Phil remained calm. He offered Adler his week’s salary for the acetates. At that moment, Lou had second thoughts. Told Phil to get the wrapping paper, and called up Brian Epstein in London, and made a connection. The Beatles were on EMI in the U.K., owned here by Capitol. But Capitol had no interest in a band from England. Their success then were with solo acts – like an Elvis, or Sinatra. Not a band.

So Adler made a deal with Jay Lasker at Vee-Jay and convinced him to put out the Beatles,  because, as he said, “I got this kid here who believes they will be as big as Elvis.”

Vee-Jay went for it. They put out “Love Me Do.” And it bombed. Radio would not play it. Everyone blamed P.F. Sloan.

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