[For several weeks, I made arrangements for Shooby to appear on Ken Freedman's Wednesday morning WFMU program. The interview was contingent on Shooby's health on the planned date. He was scheduled for minor surgery on the preceding Tuesday, but it was postponed, so he indicated he was prepared to visit the station. The radio interview would be filmed by Doug Stone, who directed the BJ Snowden documentary, Angel of Love, and co-produced the outsider media cult film How's Your News. Stone and his cameraman Phil O'Brien also captured footage of Taylor at the nursing home before and after the radio appearance.]
The Big Day.
Doug and Phil videotaped Shooby's triumphant departure from the nursing home, during which Taylor invoked God and Jesus numerous times in an impromptu benediction-cum-victory speech. The staff added their blessings for the impending interview, and bid him bon voyage.
While driving to the studio, I tuned in WFMU. Through the static (my aerial is a bent coat hanger), Shooby heard Freedman air his recording of "Tico Tico." Taylor smiled with dignified satisfaction, as if beholding a radiant sunrise.
When Shooby arrived at the station, it marked the first time in his life he'd been invited on radio, and the first time he'd been interviewed anywhere. He bore a particular grudge against Newark jazz outlet WBGO; he claimed that after speaking to an air staffer, they would not respond to his tape submission. Now, after years of rejection, scorn, frustration, and non-recognition, he felt vindicated.
>> The WFMU Program - Shooby speaks: Listen to interview & newly-discovered music here! (RealAudio)
We listened to Taylor's recordings, asked questions, fielded listener phone calls, and applied the Smithsonian luster. During the interview, I ran down the medical litany: the stroke in '94; the heart attacks; the thrice-weekly dialysis. No one knows Taylor's chances of making it to age 74, so I urged listeners to pay birthday (Sept. 19) respects to an American original by mailing cards and letters c/o the station. Learning that he has fans all over the world has been the greatest late-life gift, and he is very, very proud.
I followed Ken on the air at noon, so Doug and Phil drove Shooby back to the nursing home, where they filmed another half-hour in the dining room. Doug hopes to provide some rough edited footage in a couple of months, and plans a documentary. He intends to track down the Live at the Apollo TV performance by Taylor that several people claim exists.
The Outsider Music List is buzzing about the interview. They've posted links and are quoting their favorite sound bites.
Wednesday, August 28, 2002
Monday, August 19, 2002
Chapter 5: August 19, 2002
Went to visit Shooby to return his cassettes and pay my respects. He offered to take me out for lunch. I wasn't hungry, but didn't want to refuse his obvious generosity and desire to hit the streets. He wore a sports cap with "Canada" across the brow. Got it from his nurse, Conserve, who had recently vacationed up north. He liked Conserve, who entered the room during our conversation to change the bedding for Shooby's roommate.
Shoob took his wheelchair, but refused to sit in it -- he pushed it for balance, shuffling slowly down the hall. He chatted jovially with staff and other residents in the corridors. I signed him out at the 3rd floor desk, and we took the elevator down to the admissions floor. He waited while I fetched the car, standing dutifully behind his wheelchair as if pushing an imaginary patient. I drove up and he gingerly climbed in the front seat, while I collapsed the wheelchair, swung it in the trunk and hooked bungees. Shooby instructed me to drive to Broad Street, Newark, to a particular eatery a block or two from his apartment building.
In the car, he asked if he could smoke. No problem, I told him. I was surprised that he indulged. Said he only did so outside the nursing home.
We parked in a commercial lot and crossed the street to Palace Fried Chicken (cor. Broad and Chestnut), a cheap & dirty fast food joint with fluorescent lighting, plastic booths, and protective Plexiglas separating customers from counter help. The illuminated wall menu above the counter displayed color-faded photos of burgers, hot dogs, fried chicken, corn on the cob, mozzarella sticks, whiting sandwiches, hot wings, cheese steaks, and gyros. Nothing looked appealing -- seafoam green was the dominant color in these pics -- so I ordered a side of slaw and bottled water. Shooby ordered a gigantic cheeseburger, of which he only took three bites during our subsequent conversation. The slaw looked older than Taylor's shoes, and was about as appetizing.
He talks loud, and without self-consciousness. He's naturally boastful, and proud. "I want to be heard. That's the show business."
"Music is where I'm at," he exclaimed. Helps him find redemption. "Salvation," he noted. "But the most important thing is serving Jesus." He used to scat along with spirituals because he "felt it."
Taylor attended the Hartnett Music School (or National Music Studios -- 8th and 46th Street?) under the GI Bill. Studied with a voice coach. He tried writing music in school, but didn't stick with it. His thing was scatting. One time after work, he was walking up the front steps of the school. "Climbing the stairs, I could feel it. Those guys were wailing, man! I went into the room where the guys were jamming. I started scatting." His voice teacher heard him, and warned her charge that singing like that would "ruin your voice." But Shooby realized he could express himself better by scatting than by singing. "It was the right decision," he pointed out. "You have the evidence."
He used to tip the scale at 230, now weighs 160. But all that heft didn't help "the power of the singing," he said. "It's the feeling."
Was his son musical? "He tried bongos, but that was a long time ago."
After 21 years with the Post Office, he stopped working in the 1960s or '70s after getting hurt on the job (details unexplained). He still collects a pension. "The Post Office was good to me. I could've been fired." He confessed to having had a temper. "I blowed up on the job. They grabbed me and held me down. They wanted to know what was wrong with me. I learned I was going to a therapist. 'William H. Taylor -- he's a patient of ours.' I was messin' up things. I went in the big boss's office. I wanted a transfer, but they didn't want to give me one. They liked me and wanted me to stay. But I wanted to make 30 years. I blowed up to call attention to myself. It was a stupid thing to do. I was seeing a therapist."
Why was he seeing a therapist?
"Emotional problems." Once a month. "Not fights. I didn't run away from anyone. But I wasn't a fighter -- I was a lover!" The intro line, "You lied -- you bitch!" before his recording over the Ink Spots' "You Were Only Fooling," he said emerged because, "I was Romeo with the ladies." He often alludes to females who "won't leave [him] alone." He elaborated on his whoremongering: "I always paid for it. You find 'em all over. Not just in Harlem -- downtown, the Bronx -- come on, man!" Now that's over because, "I'm seeking God. I was trying all the time for God. I'm still trying."
He recorded at a studio on 48th Street, but cannot recall the name. "They moved to 49th Street. Now he [the owner]'s in a new building."
He took the cheeseburger, shuffled back to the window and asked the server to pack it for the road. We slowly made our way across the busy, mid-afternoon Broad Street traffic, and drove back to the nursing home.
Shoob took his wheelchair, but refused to sit in it -- he pushed it for balance, shuffling slowly down the hall. He chatted jovially with staff and other residents in the corridors. I signed him out at the 3rd floor desk, and we took the elevator down to the admissions floor. He waited while I fetched the car, standing dutifully behind his wheelchair as if pushing an imaginary patient. I drove up and he gingerly climbed in the front seat, while I collapsed the wheelchair, swung it in the trunk and hooked bungees. Shooby instructed me to drive to Broad Street, Newark, to a particular eatery a block or two from his apartment building.
In the car, he asked if he could smoke. No problem, I told him. I was surprised that he indulged. Said he only did so outside the nursing home.
We parked in a commercial lot and crossed the street to Palace Fried Chicken (cor. Broad and Chestnut), a cheap & dirty fast food joint with fluorescent lighting, plastic booths, and protective Plexiglas separating customers from counter help. The illuminated wall menu above the counter displayed color-faded photos of burgers, hot dogs, fried chicken, corn on the cob, mozzarella sticks, whiting sandwiches, hot wings, cheese steaks, and gyros. Nothing looked appealing -- seafoam green was the dominant color in these pics -- so I ordered a side of slaw and bottled water. Shooby ordered a gigantic cheeseburger, of which he only took three bites during our subsequent conversation. The slaw looked older than Taylor's shoes, and was about as appetizing.
He talks loud, and without self-consciousness. He's naturally boastful, and proud. "I want to be heard. That's the show business."
"Music is where I'm at," he exclaimed. Helps him find redemption. "Salvation," he noted. "But the most important thing is serving Jesus." He used to scat along with spirituals because he "felt it."
Taylor attended the Hartnett Music School (or National Music Studios -- 8th and 46th Street?) under the GI Bill. Studied with a voice coach. He tried writing music in school, but didn't stick with it. His thing was scatting. One time after work, he was walking up the front steps of the school. "Climbing the stairs, I could feel it. Those guys were wailing, man! I went into the room where the guys were jamming. I started scatting." His voice teacher heard him, and warned her charge that singing like that would "ruin your voice." But Shooby realized he could express himself better by scatting than by singing. "It was the right decision," he pointed out. "You have the evidence."
He used to tip the scale at 230, now weighs 160. But all that heft didn't help "the power of the singing," he said. "It's the feeling."
Was his son musical? "He tried bongos, but that was a long time ago."
After 21 years with the Post Office, he stopped working in the 1960s or '70s after getting hurt on the job (details unexplained). He still collects a pension. "The Post Office was good to me. I could've been fired." He confessed to having had a temper. "I blowed up on the job. They grabbed me and held me down. They wanted to know what was wrong with me. I learned I was going to a therapist. 'William H. Taylor -- he's a patient of ours.' I was messin' up things. I went in the big boss's office. I wanted a transfer, but they didn't want to give me one. They liked me and wanted me to stay. But I wanted to make 30 years. I blowed up to call attention to myself. It was a stupid thing to do. I was seeing a therapist."
Why was he seeing a therapist?
"Emotional problems." Once a month. "Not fights. I didn't run away from anyone. But I wasn't a fighter -- I was a lover!" The intro line, "You lied -- you bitch!" before his recording over the Ink Spots' "You Were Only Fooling," he said emerged because, "I was Romeo with the ladies." He often alludes to females who "won't leave [him] alone." He elaborated on his whoremongering: "I always paid for it. You find 'em all over. Not just in Harlem -- downtown, the Bronx -- come on, man!" Now that's over because, "I'm seeking God. I was trying all the time for God. I'm still trying."
He recorded at a studio on 48th Street, but cannot recall the name. "They moved to 49th Street. Now he [the owner]'s in a new building."
He took the cheeseburger, shuffled back to the window and asked the server to pack it for the road. We slowly made our way across the busy, mid-afternoon Broad Street traffic, and drove back to the nursing home.
Wednesday, August 14, 2002
Chapter 4: August 14, 2002
Spoke with Gloria MacMurray ("like Fred," she said), the receptionist at Shooby's nursing home. Explained our plans to film and interview Shooby, and wanted to make sure our repeated visits wouldn't intrude on the residents and staff. She passed along everything to Veronica Anonyuo, the facility's Head of Social Services, who said they're cool with what we're doing, and that no letter of intent would be necessary. Gloria reiterated that no cameras are allowed upstairs, but that we could film downstairs as long as Taylor agrees, and that taking him out of the facility with his permission is permitted.
Sunday, August 11, 2002
Chapter 3: August 11, 2002
Visited Shooby for a couple of hours with my buddy Jeff Winner. This time, the front desk didn't confiscate our equipment -- or even ask to see it. They let us go upstairs with unchecked bags.
Found Shooby in bed, under headphones attached to a Walkman, listening to a tape of himself. From a prone position, he welcomed us brashly with handshakes, while keeping the headphones on. He'd been to church that morning.
He told us that he'd taken a fall recently and hurt himself. He remained in bed on his back while conversing.
Recorded him on DAT for about 45 minutes. Mostly autobiography. He rambled, wasn't very focused.
"When I lived in Harlem, I used to go down to Battery Park and scat -- to anyone who would listen, but mostly for myself. Summer and winter. For winter, I'd wear long johns. They had a McDonald's and a deli nearby, and they got to know me. During winter, I'd get warmed up, get a sandwich, then I'd come back out and scat til I got cold again."
More: "I don't love Jersey. The reason I moved to New Jersey was, I used to stay at the Robert Treat Hotel [in downtown Newark] under the name 'William H. Taylor.' I gave the proprietor a sample of my music, and he was intrigued. He said, 'What kind of language is that?' I said, 'It's scat! Something I feel, something I can do'."
Said he'd recorded in at least two studios, but couldn't remember their names. Wasn't sure if Angel Sound was one of them.
Gave Taylor a print of a beautiful 8"x10" of himself, beaming a big smile, sitting in his wheelchair in the courtyard outside his Newark apartment building, with the American flag waving nearby. Asked him to autograph ten copies of that pic. He sat up to do so, but it was a painstaking routine, requiring two minutes to sign his name to each photo (about 20 minutes total). Jeff held the photos in place, while I spoke to staff at the third floor front desk.
Gave Shooby a CDR of three songs from the cassette I'd borrowed. The jewel case was adorned with a photo taken in his apartment last visit.
He offered to lend two more tapes -- including the one he refused to part with last time -- in exchange for the one returned. However, he'd given the second tape to the downstairs daytime receptionist (Gloria MacMurray), who, by the time I went looking for her, had left for the day. The second shift receptionist called MacMurray at home, and MacMurray said she had the tape ("Got it right here. It says 'Scooby' [sic] Taylor."). She offered it to me in the interest of preserving Taylor's work, and said to drive by her apartment in East Orange afterwards to pick it up.
We listened to a tape. Some great stuff -- a weird country song, jazz jams with an organist (he couldn't remember who -- turned out to be Charles Earland), a great scat workout with his hero Babs Gonzales, a male-female vocal duet, many more country tunes, some gospel, and a funky Miles Davis number. Very good audio fidelity.
Shooby re-emphasized, "I was a fornicator. But I was a good fornicator." (Jeff later observed that it adds new meaning to "The Human Horn.") Shooby again stressed that he doesn't do that kind of thing anymore.
Made plans to visit him on Friday August 30 with filmmaker Doug Stone. Shooby told us he has dialysis treatment on Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday. I also expressed my hope to bring him down to WFMU for an on-air interview later in the month.
After our visit, Jeff and I drove to East Orange to pick up the second tape at MacMurray's. She said she didn't need it back, and that we should "give it to Mr. Taylor." Very nice lady.
Found Shooby in bed, under headphones attached to a Walkman, listening to a tape of himself. From a prone position, he welcomed us brashly with handshakes, while keeping the headphones on. He'd been to church that morning.
He told us that he'd taken a fall recently and hurt himself. He remained in bed on his back while conversing.
Recorded him on DAT for about 45 minutes. Mostly autobiography. He rambled, wasn't very focused.
"When I lived in Harlem, I used to go down to Battery Park and scat -- to anyone who would listen, but mostly for myself. Summer and winter. For winter, I'd wear long johns. They had a McDonald's and a deli nearby, and they got to know me. During winter, I'd get warmed up, get a sandwich, then I'd come back out and scat til I got cold again."
More: "I don't love Jersey. The reason I moved to New Jersey was, I used to stay at the Robert Treat Hotel [in downtown Newark] under the name 'William H. Taylor.' I gave the proprietor a sample of my music, and he was intrigued. He said, 'What kind of language is that?' I said, 'It's scat! Something I feel, something I can do'."
Said he'd recorded in at least two studios, but couldn't remember their names. Wasn't sure if Angel Sound was one of them.
Gave Taylor a print of a beautiful 8"x10" of himself, beaming a big smile, sitting in his wheelchair in the courtyard outside his Newark apartment building, with the American flag waving nearby. Asked him to autograph ten copies of that pic. He sat up to do so, but it was a painstaking routine, requiring two minutes to sign his name to each photo (about 20 minutes total). Jeff held the photos in place, while I spoke to staff at the third floor front desk.
Gave Shooby a CDR of three songs from the cassette I'd borrowed. The jewel case was adorned with a photo taken in his apartment last visit.
He offered to lend two more tapes -- including the one he refused to part with last time -- in exchange for the one returned. However, he'd given the second tape to the downstairs daytime receptionist (Gloria MacMurray), who, by the time I went looking for her, had left for the day. The second shift receptionist called MacMurray at home, and MacMurray said she had the tape ("Got it right here. It says 'Scooby' [sic] Taylor."). She offered it to me in the interest of preserving Taylor's work, and said to drive by her apartment in East Orange afterwards to pick it up.
We listened to a tape. Some great stuff -- a weird country song, jazz jams with an organist (he couldn't remember who -- turned out to be Charles Earland), a great scat workout with his hero Babs Gonzales, a male-female vocal duet, many more country tunes, some gospel, and a funky Miles Davis number. Very good audio fidelity.
Shooby re-emphasized, "I was a fornicator. But I was a good fornicator." (Jeff later observed that it adds new meaning to "The Human Horn.") Shooby again stressed that he doesn't do that kind of thing anymore.
Made plans to visit him on Friday August 30 with filmmaker Doug Stone. Shooby told us he has dialysis treatment on Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday. I also expressed my hope to bring him down to WFMU for an on-air interview later in the month.
After our visit, Jeff and I drove to East Orange to pick up the second tape at MacMurray's. She said she didn't need it back, and that we should "give it to Mr. Taylor." Very nice lady.
Monday, August 5, 2002
Chapter 2: August 5, 2002
Spoke with Shooby on the phone.
A propos of nothing, he exclaimed: "That tape with Dexter Gordon -- that's a masterpiece!"
Said he tried calling Rick twice yesterday, but got a recorded message intoning, "The party you are calling has a blocked number." He didn't know why that happened, because he always pays his phone bills. "I love paying bills," he proclaimed.
Said he would be in physical therapy today, and his son would visit later.
I had shipped him my book Songs in the Key of Z. He enjoyed his chapter, though he identified two erroneous pieces of information. Understandable, I conceded, since we didn't have him to fact-check before publication.
1) BOOK: "Shooby apparently is -- or was -- a resident of Brooklyn." This was based on a (faulty) recollection by Craig Bradley, one of the studio engineers present at Taylor's Angel Sound sessions.
SHOOBY corrects: "I lived in Harlem my entire life. I am a New Yorker!" (He was actually born in Pennsylvania.)
2) BOOK: Bradley is quoted as saying, "He once told me he got beat up by a woman in a laundromat for being a little too forward. She smacked him around."
SHOOBY clarifies: "The woman attacked me, and I lowered the boom on her. So they called for an ambulance on her. They took her to Harlem Hospital for stitches. They arrested both of us. I said I didn't want to press charges, unless she did. She didn't press charges, so I didn't press charges."
He reiterated that he was grateful to us for helping to preserve his music.
A propos of nothing, he exclaimed: "That tape with Dexter Gordon -- that's a masterpiece!"
Said he tried calling Rick twice yesterday, but got a recorded message intoning, "The party you are calling has a blocked number." He didn't know why that happened, because he always pays his phone bills. "I love paying bills," he proclaimed.
Said he would be in physical therapy today, and his son would visit later.
I had shipped him my book Songs in the Key of Z. He enjoyed his chapter, though he identified two erroneous pieces of information. Understandable, I conceded, since we didn't have him to fact-check before publication.
1) BOOK: "Shooby apparently is -- or was -- a resident of Brooklyn." This was based on a (faulty) recollection by Craig Bradley, one of the studio engineers present at Taylor's Angel Sound sessions.
SHOOBY corrects: "I lived in Harlem my entire life. I am a New Yorker!" (He was actually born in Pennsylvania.)
2) BOOK: Bradley is quoted as saying, "He once told me he got beat up by a woman in a laundromat for being a little too forward. She smacked him around."
SHOOBY clarifies: "The woman attacked me, and I lowered the boom on her. So they called for an ambulance on her. They took her to Harlem Hospital for stitches. They arrested both of us. I said I didn't want to press charges, unless she did. She didn't press charges, so I didn't press charges."
He reiterated that he was grateful to us for helping to preserve his music.
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