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TV-a-Go-Go

Rock on TV from American Bandstand to American Idol

Chicago Review Press Incorporated

Rock Around the Box

Proto TV Rock and the Order of St. Sullivan

"We gathered round to hear the sound comin' on the little screen / The grief had passed, the old men laughed, and all the girls screamed"

— John Fogerty ("I Saw It on TV

"Ladies and gentlemen," the gargoyle of an emcee announced to his rapt studio and vast TV audiences, "as everybody knows, whenever any new musical trend has evinced itself in the popular field, the first area to find out about it in advance is Harlem." His audiences had to wait a bit longer to learn the name of the Next Big Thing as the host's tongue got tangled in a string of his signature mala-propisms. "Roll ... rhythm and, uh ... rhythm and roll ... rhythm and color...." Finally, he managed to locate his desired phrase: "Rhythm and blues!"

The appellation Ed Sullivan stumbled upon with such difficulty that night — Sunday, November 20, 1955 — was incorrect. When that "wonderful folk-blues singer" Bo Diddley kicked off Sullivan's presentation of Dr. Jive's Apollo Theater — based musical revue, what he was playing was not R&B. Instead, Diddley was introducing rock 'n' roll to America's living rooms.

At its best, rock 'n' roll boils down the cultural miscegenation of American music to its most potent concentration. This perfectly describes the hypnotizing, pounding, rhythm-driven music that guitarist Diddley — along with drummer Clifton James, tuba-player-turned-maracas-genius Jerome Green, and second guitarist Bobby Parker — unleashed that night. During the 1950s many R&B artists had met the musical criteria for rock 'n' roll, but only a few grasped the intangible elements that marked its cross-pollination of R&B, hillbilly, blues, country, jazz, Irish music, boogie-woogie, and other folk sounds. Saturated with super-cool attitude, doing a sly, funky dance across the TV screen, and singing "Bo Diddley" — a theme song that balanced nursery rhyme innocence with dirty-joke naughtiness — Diddley on Sullivan made these intangibles downright tangible.

Honoring the ancestors more overtly than his peers, Bo's chanting praise songs incorporated a distinctly African beat. But he also sent a message to future long-haired metal guitarists, uncouth punks, and suburban garage rockers, announcing a new religion that involved the stroking worship of a phallic idol. Diddley spent the last fifty-five seconds of a performance that clocked in at less than two minutes intimately engaged with his guitar — a guitar with a distorted, damaged tone that sang like a human being in a voice simultaneously joyous and mournful. Diddley was rock 'n' roll's first guitar hero. He was no shredding Eddie Van Halen; his playing was minimalist and rudimentary. But that simplicity is part of rock's invitation to untrained teenagers, and when Diddley took his bow before giving up the stage to the purer R&B of Lavern Baker and the rest of Dr. Jive's all-stars, he had baptized network TV with rock 'n' roll. He wasn't the TV rock messiah; his appearance didn't cause the world to move. But his big beat presaged something grand on the horizon. In less than a year, everyone would understand.

* * *

Experimental TV stations were set up around the United States and TV sets were commercially available by the late 1930s. After a half-decade break in the 1940s when broadcasting was suspended during World War II, America was ready to suckle at the boob tube. In 1947 there were more than 100,000 TV sets in the United States, representing about 0.5 percent of the nation's homes. But within the next five years more than half of all American families adopted an idiot box. TV launched some of its most enduring shows immediately, and before the 1950s dawned viewers were chuckling with Howdy Doody (NBC, 1947 — 1960; syndicated, 1976), nodding along to Meet the Press (NBC, 1947 — present), and wondering why a tongue-tied, stone-faced gnome was hosting his own variety show, Toast of the Town, later called The Ed Sullivan Show (CBS, 1948 — 1971).

Music-themed shows were an important part of TV programming from the start. TV has always existed primarily to sell things (initially to sell TV sets themselves, as the first licensed network, Dumont, was owned by a TV manufacturer). But early TV cast itself as more than a tool for commerce. Bringing opera and classical music to the airwaves demonstrated that the medium could deliver high culture to the masses, and early viewers tuned in to shows like Chicago Symphony Chamber Orchestra (NBC, 1951 — 1952), Television Recital Hall (NBC, 1951 — 1954), Opera Cameos (Dumont, 1953 — 1955), Mantovani(NBC, 1958 — 1959), and even Opera vs. Jazz (ABC, 1953), which wasn't nearly as confrontational as it sounds. Even lowbrow music was packaged as culturally relevant, with semi-naughty entertainment presented in a historical context on Gay Nineties Review (ABC, 1948 — 1949), a vaudeville revival hosted by an octogenarian stage veteran, and Captain Billy's Mississippi Music Hall (CBS, 1948), another re-creation of nineteenth-century entertainment.

But these shows were not hits. The mainstream didn't want high culture. Early TV audiences reacted more positively to wrestling, boxing, roller derby, and cowboy movies than to operas, symphonies, plays, and orations. And when it came to music, Americans were strictly middlebrow. With the exception of Dumont, the TV networks had previously been radio networks, and many of the singing stars and musical shows they brought to the early airwaves had established themselves already as the bland, reliable favorites of America's housewives.

The Perry Como Show (NBC, 1948 — 1950, 1955 — 1963; CBS, 1950 — 1955) was a variety program hosted by barber-turned-singer Como, one of the most laid-back singers in pop history (on SCTV Eugene Levy parodied Como's undemonstrative style by presenting a faux Como TV special where the singer didn't get out of bed). Como had a pleasant voice that showed no grit and little emotion, and his program was as vanilla as his singing. But vanilla is a popular flavor, and America gladly traveled down the middle of the road with him. Though occasionally he would have some rocking guests (Hank Williams, Fats Domino, the Everly Brothers), the sublimely serene Como wasn't fond of rock 'n' roll (he seemed disgusted by Carl Perkins when Perkins performed "Blue Suede Shoes" on the show). But unlike some of his peers, he was unscathed by rock's onslaught and stayed his bland course, making TV specials until 1994.

Ted Mack's Original Amateur Hour (Dumont, 1947 — 1949; NBC, 1949 — 1954, 1957 — 1958; ABC, 1955 — 1957, 1960; CBS, 1959, 1960 — 1970; Family Channel, 1992) was not unlike today's American Idol, presenting up-and-coming performers and letting home viewers vote to determine a winner (albeit with postcards, not text messaging). Like American Idol, it showcased youngsters making dull, adult music that suppressed the combination of energy and innocence that makes teens interesting. One notable exception took place on September 9, 1956. Immediately following Elvis Presley's Ed Sullivan debut, the Amateur Hour welcomed the Rock 'n' Roll Trio. Johnny Burnette, Dorsey Burnette, and Paul Burlison were three of Memphis's most talented musicians and this TV exposure led to a record deal and an excellent (though poor-selling) album. But to neutralize the trio's driving rhythms, the episode also featured a number of typical Amateur Hour acts: a harpist, two classically trained vocalists, four vanilla pop acts, a yodeler, and a mime.

The show that best exemplified pre — rock 'n' roll music programming was Your Hit Parade (NBC, 1950 — 1958; CBS, 1958 — 1959, 1974). Each week the show's cast sang its interpretations of the country's seven top tunes (determined by a mysterious survey), plus a few familiar chestnuts. Eileen Wilson, Snooky Lanson, Dorothy Collins, and other well-scrubbed songbirds sang the compositions accompanied by an orchestra led by Raymond Scott (decades after his eccentric, visionary compositions with the Raymond Scott Quintette that Warner Brothers drew from to create the soundtracks to its most outrageous cartoons). Your Hit Parade was known for its army of dancers (including a young Bob Fosse), gaudy sets, and ornate costumes. Its elaborate production numbers created literal and fantasy interpretations of pleasant piffle like "Peter Cottontail," "Come On-A My House," "Glow Worm," "How Much Is That Doggy in the Window," and "The Ballad of Davy Crocket." If a song was on the charts week after week a new visual interpretation was required each time, leading to numerous incarnations of lushly choreographed hokum.

Your Hit Parade had been popular on radio since 1935, but by the mid-1950s popular music was taking a new direction. Fans were beginning to define "hits" as specific to certain artists, rather than as catchy song crafting. "In the record industry," NBC producer Parker Gibbs lamented to Billboard in 1957, "it is becoming more apparent that the interpretation of a song or the 'sound' of a record is the selling factor." So when it came time to give LaVern Baker's "Tweedlee Dee" and Elvis Presley's songs the Your Hit Parade treatment, the prim, pretty women in ball gowns and handsome Snookys in ties would no longer cut it.

* * *

By the mid-1950s the first wave of TV children, weaned on Howdy Doody's doings, were hitting their teen years. The spectacle of All Star Wrestling and the gut appeal of TV cowboys (and wild Indians) had primed them perfectly for the rock 'n' roll bands that began to get TV exposure. On the fateful Sunday when Bo beat on his musical phallus, a Pandora's box was opened and TV rock 'n' roll was born.

Critics, fans, and cultural scholars have cited all sorts of dates as the birth of rock 'n' roll, including the 1947 recording of Roy Brown's "Good Rockin' Tonight," Jackie Brenston and Ike Turner's 1951 "Rocket 88" recording session, and disk jockey Alan Freed's March 21, 1952, Moondog's Coronation Ball. That massive concert, featuring Paul "Hucklebuck" Williams, Screaming Jay Hawkins, and the Dominoes, was shut down by the fire marshals shortly after it began because thousands of young revelers nearly started a riot. The idea that rock 'n' roll was born out of a moment when upbeat R&B promoted by a jive-talking huckster moved a mighty mass of people to congregate and unleash the savage fury of youth is an appealing creation myth because it involves audience reception instead of artistic endeavor.

Frequently Elvis Presley is credited as the father of the movement (as in a recent Rolling Stone story entitled "Truck Driver Invents Rock & Roll"). Recognizing Presley's role as the beautiful white messenger who recontextualizes R&B as rock 'n' roll is legitimate (he really did do that), but certainly Presley's predecessors, black and white, made songs and records that sounded like rock 'n' roll. However, the phenomenon isn't just about the music. It is about kids exerting their wills in emotional and economic ways, leading America to become the youth- centered culture it remains today. For rock 'n' roll to be more than a cross-cultural musical footnote, there has to be the frenzy, and it has to be white girls with spending cash doing the frenzying. Marking rock 'n' roll's birth is not only about using aesthetic criteria to determine the sonic attributes of the genre, but, more importantly, it's also about recognizing the moments when certain audiences — those with access to money — embrace the music. Numerous factors (including postwar economics, the introduction of the 45-rpm record, and Moon-dog and his ilk spinning R&B records for white listeners) culminated in the mania that developed around Presley. Even when Presley's earliest records were released on the country music charts, the audience reaction indicated that something new was happening. Even on tour with Hank Snow, if you made blond girls in saddle shoes shake, rattle, and roll, you might be a rock 'n' roller.

It is this shift in reception that marks the beginning of rock 'n' roll. History can't consider even the rockingest, wildest R&B, honky-tonk, boogie-woogie, jump-blues, hillbilly, hot jazz, and backwoods musical messes anything but protorock leading up to the real thing. It is not simply a matter of race. Bill Haley and the Comets were a white jump- blues band that rocked. Bo Diddley is black, but the Ed Sullivan performance of "Bo Diddley," his breakthrough hit that cast a spell over black and white concertgoers around the country, was rock 'n' roll. Despite similarities, it wasn't quite jump blues or R&B. Five minutes after Bo left the stage Willis "Gator Tail" Jackson unleashed an insane performance that dwarfed Diddley's in terms of wildness. Jackson went totally ape-shit, playing breakneck-speed, honking, skronking saxophone while falling on the ground, jumping like a maniac, and making his horn sound like it was having a heart attack. But despite its fierceness and absurdity, Jackson's performance wasn't rock 'n' roll. It was manic hard bop with a coarse R&B twist, the kind of music that spent the late 1940s and early 1950s helping to lay a foundation for the rock to come.

The many variety shows on the air in the 1950s made wild R&B familiar to Middle America. African American proto-rock 'n' rollers were no strangers to TV. As early as 1949 Ed Sullivan welcomed R&B pioneers such as the Ravens, with their brilliant bass vocalist Jimmy Ricks, to his show. Louis Jordan, the man synonymous with jump blues (the rocking marriage of big band swing and R&B drive), appeared on TV several times, including dynamic performances on The Steve Allen Show (CBS, 1950 — 1952, 1967 — 1969; NBC, 1956 — 1960; ABC 1961; syndicated, 1962 — 1964, 1967 — 1969, 1976). Big Joe Turner, perhaps rock 'n' roll's most direct ancestor, did a spot on Showtime at the Apollo (syndicated, 1954), tearing up a wild version of "Shake, Rattle and Roll." And, with apologies to he of the Gator Tail, the wildest black act to make waves over the airwaves was the underrated proto-rock act known as the Treniers.

Formed at Alabama State University in 1939, the band was fronted by identical twins Claude and Cliff Trenier and anchored by the great saxophonist Don Hill. Claude and Cliff performed and recorded with Jimmie Lunceford and Charlie Mingus before establishing their own band as a popular nightclub act in the late 1940s. They gained a reputation as exciting performers, on par with Louis Jordan (as a stage act, if not musically), and when TV came calling they were ready. Throughout the 1950s and 1960s the Treniers appeared on more TV shows than any pre-Motown black group, including The Ed Sullivan Show, The Steve Allen Show, The Jackie Gleason Show (CBS, 1952 — 1959, 1961 — 1970), The Perry Como Show, The Colgate Comedy Hour (NBC, 1950 — 1955), The Jack Paar Show (CBS, 1953 — 1956; NBC, 1962 — 1965), The Tonight Show (NBC, 1954 — present), Ernie Kovacs (NBC, 1951 — 1952, 1955 — 1956; CBS, 1952 — 1953),The Red Skelton Show (NBC, 1951 — 1953, 1970 — 1971; CBS, 1953 — 1970), The Mike Douglas Show(syndicated, 1963 — 1982), The Dean Martin Show (NBC, 1965 — 1974), The Merv Griffin Show (NBC, 1962 — 1963; syndicated, 1965 — 1969, 1972 — 1986; CBS, 1969 — 1972), The Joey Bishop Show (ABC, 1967 — 1969), and numerous specials hosted by the likes of the Dorsey Brothers, Bing Crosby, and Paul Whiteman (on Whiteman's special they performed an outrageous fifteen-minute set).

The Treniers were in demand on TV for two reasons. They were well liked in the industry (Bill Cosby named the character Cliff Huxtable on The Cosby Show after Cliff Trenier) and, more importantly, they were incredibly entertaining. They were a flash act that specialized in dynamic, dazzling stage moves (both choreographed and improvised) and intensely energetic performances. The Treniers were models for both the cool choreography of the Temptations and the acrobatic dynamism of acts like James Brown and Jackie Wilson.

But they were acceptable on TV for a whole different reason. One key to differentiating proto-rock 'n' roll from rock 'n' roll is to gauge the public's reaction. The Treniers were handsome, especially the twins' dashing brother (and occasional lead singer) Milt. And though they kept their gyrations to a minimum on TV, their wild action-packed performances were full of the kind of virile, energetic abandon that so terrified parents when Elvis Presley came along. They wore their conked hair long (so it would come loose during jumps and leaps, a la Cab Calloway), and if there was any doubt about where they were coming from, one only had to look at their song titles: "It Rocks, It Rolls, It Swings," "Rockin' On Sunday Night," "Rock 'n' Roll Call," "Good Rockin' Tonight." When they performed their raucous "Rockin' Is Our Bizness" on a 1954 episode of Martin and Lewis's Colgate Comedy Hour, the ultra-kinetic seven-person act made their presence more intense by squeezing into a tight configuration as if they were being forced to play in a closet. Before breaking down into some nuttiness involving Dino and Jerry dancing with the boys, the highlight of the segment involved the Treniers' famous "bug dance." A harbinger of pop locking, the bug dance featured each member pretending to be attacked by an itchy bug, exploding into a spastic, staccato dance solo, complete with limbs whirling, hair flying, hips swiveling, and face convulsing. This was not Perry Como! The Treniers were a wild, sexy, crazed band that rocked and rolled!

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Excerpted from TV-a-Go-Go by Jake Austen. Copyright © 2005 Jake Austen. Excerpted by permission of Chicago Review Press Incorporated.
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