Chicapah By 1978 Gino Vannelli and his brother Joe were the only ones left from the lineup that recorded the outstanding “Storm at Sunup” album three years earlier. Their ambitious but unbalanced follow up, “Gist of the Gemini,” was a step backwards so it wasn’t surprising that they hired a host of new faces for 1977’s “Pauper in Paradise.” Both of those discs featured adventurous forays into the world of progressive rock; “War Suite” on the former and the fifteen-minute long title cut that had the much respected jazz arranger Don Sebesky scoring and conducting the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra on the latter. I suspect that it was Gino’s Broadway-styled vocal delivery and his gaudy, flamboyant and very macho stage presence that prevented him from being accepted/welcomed into the prog nation and I think the brothers Vannelli finally accepted that as an unalterable fact as the 70s were entering the final stretch. With Gino (the “Canadian Elvis”) not getting any younger they realized that their most favorable chance for gaining wider recognition rested in their emphasizing the more accessible, jazz-influenced R&B side of their sound, even if it meant alienating young fans like myself who preferred their progressive rock angle. The result was the platinum-selling “Brother to Brother.”

I was a starving musician working part-time for peanuts at “Platterpuss Records” in Redondo Beach when this LP was released so I don’t know if I bought it out of curiosity or swiped it outright on principle but I do remember that I considered the music contained in it to be a blatant sellout to commercialism and rarely gave it a spin in the decades that followed. Recently I dusted it off, gave it a few unbiased listens and was pleasantly surprised to find that it wasn’t nearly as detestable as I originally deemed it to be. It’s actually quite good. It faithfully adhered to and met the high standards of aural fidelity that made his first 5 albums stand out from the herd, the musicianship is impeccable and Joe’s continued insistence on utilizing every state-of-the-art innovation in the field of synthesizers and keyboards in the process of creating their music hadn’t waned one iota. Fortunately they didn’t abandon their love and respect for jazz when they jettisoned most of their prog wardrobe so there’s a lot to be happy about while taking in what the Vannelli-led ensemble presents on “Brother to Brother.” I’m always pleased when I realize that I was wrong about a record and can enjoy it anew decades down the line.

The powerful, dynamic opening for “Appaloosa” leads to an energetic, funky R&B feel and I’m glad to report that, considering how impressive a drummer Graham Lear was on the earlier LPs, the acquisition of Mark Craney didn’t herald a degradation in that vital department. You can still tell it’s a Vannelli family production because the towering chorus is so over-the-top in a show tune kind of way but with Gino that just comes with the territory. He is who he is. Guitarist Carlos Rios is a major contributor throughout the record and his hot solo on this cut is an eye-opener. “The River Must Flow” has a rhythmic contemporary pop groove that’s brightly peppered with lively percussion outbursts courtesy of Manuel Badrena and Rios turns in another aggressive, jazzy guitar ride. “I Just Wanna Stop,” (written by the other Vannelli brother, Ross) tapped directly into the smooth, stress-relieving AOR universe that was really coming into its own at that time. It’s a decently composed and very catchy tune, though, and its notable success (it reached #4 on Billboard’s Top 100 chart) at last gave Gino the widespread attention/recognition that he’d sought for years. Guest artist Ernie Watts’ saxophone lead is fittingly soulful and effective. Brother Ross also penned the next song, “Love & Emotion,” a driving Bee Gees type of track with hard-hitting accents and a fiery guitar solo from Carlos. The drums are kept up front in the mix, keeping the tune from being too laid back, and Gino’s crooning is not as overwhelming, allowing the music to wrap around his voice more comfortably. These two noticeably improved aspects of the production made not only this particular number work better but the album as a whole.

The addition of Jimmy Haslip’s electric bass (they usually relied on Leon Gaer’s synth lines to provide that service) on “Feel Like Flying” introduces a different aura into the proceedings. Gino’s well-constructed chord progression, Victor Feldman’s subtle vibraphone and Watts’ classy sax ride all lock this song firmly in the jazz-related category. I only wish Gino and his eager-to-please female background chorale would’ve reined it in just a hair or two. They get a little too boisterous toward the end and become a distraction. “Brother to Brother” marks the apex of the album. The incredible tightness of the rhythm section of Craney and Haslip really stands out in this fast-paced, 7+ minute song and the intriguing middle segment is reminiscent of the adventure-filled extravaganzas Gino and his former gang were into years previously on epic tunes like “Storm at Sunup.” Rios’ extended guitar lead is exceptional, Joe’s layered synthesizers and keyboards nudge the track into prog and jazz/rock fusion territory for a while and Mark furiously plays his ass off on the drum kit from start to finish.

“Wheels of Life” follows. While it’s nothing more than a lush R&B ballad at its core I gotta hand it to the boys for not letting it get sappy. It seems they always had the theatrical aspect in the back of their minds because the chorus builds to huge dimensions twice, giving Gino the opportunity for posing dramatically when he took it to the concert stage. It doesn’t ruin the song but it’s obvious what they were up to. “The Evil Eye” is the album’s only true rocker and, in his defense, Gino relaxes just enough to have some fun with it and not take himself so seriously. It’s nothing out of the ordinary but Carlos’ fiery shredding on the fretboard is well worth tuning in for. The closer, “People I Belong To,” while it avoids being labeled as filler material, is the runt of the litter. It owns a flowing vibe similar to “I Just Wanna Stop” but the tune isn’t nearly as memorable because it lacks that all-important hook.

Due to the upturn in popularity and mass exposure that this record instigated, from here on out Gino Vannelli would stay with taking the safer approach and carve out a comfortable niche for himself in the middle of the adult-oriented road. His days of being a bold pioneer who boldly combined rock, jazz, prog and pop together were behind him but I will never disparage the man for accepting his appointed lot in the musical landscape and doing what he needed to survive. He and his brother Joe were instrumental in making synthesizers a normal fixture in the genre of jazz/pop and they should be commended for their spunk and forward-looking audacity. They, in their small way, made a difference.

Chicapah The adage “you can’t judge a book by looking at the cover” is never more appropriate and fitting than when discussing the jazz-related merits of Gino Vannelli. Many of his LP illustrations (and none more so than this one) are so embarrassingly macho that they not only border on but blatantly cross over into the realm of the absurd. Maybe the fact that he’s a “northern boy” conceived and reared in Canada explains his need to exaggerate his chick magnet persona to the nth degree. I really don’t know. I never saw Neil Young or any of the dudes in Rush baring their furry chest hair while glaring menacingly like a feral moose in rut, standing guard over his latest flimsily-clad female conquest as Gino does on the front of “Storm at Sunup.” Maybe he just had an overactive libido and/or low self-esteem. Whatever the reason for his silly posturing, it’s ridiculous enough to force me to keep the album sleeve out of sight so I’m able to enjoy the excellent music without bursting into laughter.

The fact is that the two Vannelli brothers and their revolutionary band were often extraordinary and quite daring in the early stages of Gino’s career. Joe Vannelli and Richard Baker didn’t just toss in samples of the newest state-of-the-art synthesizer technology; they made it the very foundation of their musical identity. On the album that preceded this one in ’74, the remarkable “Powerful People,” the group eschewed guitars altogether and relied solely on keyboards, drums and percussion to assemble the record’s formidable wall of sound. For “Storm at Sunup” they relaxed their defiant stance against stringed instruments and real horns a bit yet still they restricted them to making brief cameo appearances in a few of the cuts. Most of the music you hear on this disc was generated through Joe and Richard’s painstakingly layering synthesizer notes to manufacture a cohesive tapestry (the advent of polyphonic synths was in its embryonic stage in the mid 70s) and the result was nothing short of breathtaking. Graham Lear’s top-notch drumming and John J. Mandel’s fiery percussion warrant a considerable amount of admiration, as well. And once you learn to ignore Gino’s inane chauvinism you’ll have to admit that, in the role of the band’s only songwriter and vocalist, there’s obviously more to his talent than what so grossly assails the eye.

The album starts with a hint of obligatory synthetic thunder rolling in the distance followed by a dramatic, Broadway-style vocal-over-electric-piano introduction wherein Gino informs the lucky lady who was the most recent recipient of his lust that “if I could choose I’d calm this dawn/but the storm is me, insensible and free/now that you know I’ve come here to go/you’re suddenly sad you’ve been mine.” (I didn’t make that up. Lyrics were never Vannelli’s strongest suit.) Next comes several waves of lush, synthesizer-generated orchestration that crash repeatedly over Graham’s dynamic drumming before the band suddenly accelerates to warp speed. Joe delivers some jazzy electric piano while sprinting atop the dizzying tempo before guest Jerome Richardson rips into an exhilarating soprano saxophone ride. During all this pay close attention to Baker’s fantastic synth bass runs. They’re spectacular. The song’s ending is as grandiose as its entrance but they cleverly let a sustained note rise and linger as if suspended in air and it leads right into Lear’s drum intro to the strong Latin rock beat that drives the impressive “Love Me Now.” The tune sports an ultra-tight track, a delightfully unconventional chord progression and absolutely stunning synths. Word-wise, Gino continues his womanizing ways. “Yes, I know how much you need me/but I just patronize with this affair/’cause all my life I’ve needed to be/a man with a mind full of craves,” he callously confesses. I hope he has sought therapy by now.

“Mama Coco” is a Brazilian-tinted, rocking barnburner of a song that possesses a superb jazz atmosphere. Graham’s drums and Mandel’s percussion are particularly pleasing and guest guitarist Jay Graydon’s exuberant contributions give the number an electrified kick in the pants that jolts it into overdrive. The title is rather self-explanatory as to the subject matter but try not to choke on your Chablis when you hear Vannelli sing “Mama Coco, feed me woman food.” Don’t say I didn’t warn you. “Father and Son” is a jazzy ballad delivered sans drums or percussion of any kind. Gino does a decent job of vocalizing but this sentimental address to his daddy clearly shows that, without his crackerjack band, he’s just another, albeit boisterous and flashy, cocktail lounge crooner. At nearly eight minutes in length, “Where Am I Going” qualifies as the album’s most involved and multi-faceted cut. It, of course, is arranged with a theatrical flair in mind but by now that’s to be expected. Another compelling Latin groove propels this number that graciously allows Lear’s drums to shine brightly while Vannelli sings “losing directions from growing infections/poisoned desires of reaping life so young.” (A little too much personal information, perhaps?) The track drops into a luxurious interlude midway through before the group literally explodes into another fast-paced segment where Jay shreds on his fretboard impressively and the band’s hard accentuations stimulate your nerve endings. They wind up back in the samba room where they prepare you for the pompous, overdone climax that’s a wonder to behold.

“Keep On Walking” is a torch song ballad that’s unexpectedly unpretentious. Gino’s words tell us that he has yet to find his soul mate but his “…faith in (her) reality keeps me hanging on.” In the meantime he’ll recklessly sow every wild seed he’s got left in his pouch, thank you very much. The star attraction of the tune is Joe and Richard’s deep synthesized string orchestration that’s beautifully dense and awe-inspiring, especially for that era. “Love Is A Night” is next, a funky rocker with captivating keyboard effects that push the group’s jazzy agenda. Graham’s skillful drumming grabs the spotlight once again for most of the song but the huge (and I mean HUGE) synthesizers in the spectacular instrumental movement are a prog rock lover’s wet dream. Since he sings “love is a night/who really cares if it’s wrong or it’s right/and all that I know/you’ve been some life and love on the road,” any girl that foolishly succumbed to his quasi-masculine charms had been duly forewarned. “Gettin’ High” is the closer, an abrupt change of scenery in that it’s a laid-back venture into light jazz territory. Richardson’s tenor sax ride is sufficiently sleazy and the band’s quick dash into percussion land makes for a surprisingly unconventional detour. And lyrically it would seem there’s hope for our boy yet. “I was a buckin’ bronco bomb/I loved me a billion black and blue eyed blondes/I never thought I could change/yep, sure is pretty strange/I got a babe of my own,” he sings. How fortunate for her!

This was Gino Vannelli’s finest hour. Little by little on his subsequent records he and Joe veered their sound away from the progressive jazz/rock vibe that made his music so invigorating and gradually ingratiated themselves to a more contemporary and mainstream clientele. But for a few years in the mid 70s his albums and live shows were not to be missed. In concert the group would knock the walls down with power and pizzazz and, despite what you may think of his flamboyant image and mannerisms, no one in the audience could take their eyes off of Gino. Personally I would’ve suggested a haircut, a dialing back of the unchecked, testosterone-fueled machismo crap, shirts that would button down the front and a pair of loose-fitting corduroys but that’s just me. Maybe it was his gauche, in-your-face presence that made him stick out to the average Jack & Jill, thus giving him a marketable edge over the dull-by-comparison competition. Kinda like running a 4-star restaurant but having to put a guy wearing a chicken costume out on the curb to attract business. But in my case, and for a lot of my musician buddies, it was and still is the high-quality music he wrote and that his gifted cohorts expanded on using their exploratory, jazz-influenced talents that makes me want to pull this album out and play it from time to time. This is primo stuff.

Chicapah In November of 1974 my ultra-cute girlfriend and I were lucky enough to get tickets to see Stevie Wonder in concert at Dallas’ Memorial Auditorium. We knew we’d get our money’s worth from the headliner (Stevie played for well over 2 hours) but what we didn’t expect was to be blown away by the opening act. Gino Vannelli’s song, “People Gotta Move,” had been getting substantial airplay on the local FM stations but this was the first time any of us in the audience were able to put a face on the voice. Unknown artists sharing the bill with superstars like Wonder are fortunate if they don’t get booed off the stage, much less be remembered the following day, but Gino and his killer band put on such an energetic, tight show that they were impossible to forget. Other than Vannelli’s emphatic posturing while commanding the stage like a buff and bushy-haired Canadian Elvis, the group’s economy-sized setup of two keyboard rigs, drum kit and percussion station was something no one was used to seeing. Especially when that sparse arsenal was able to generate such an amazing, room-filling and gut-punching sound. We all were duly impressed.

Gino and his brother Joe were raised on a diet of traditional jazz (their dad was a big band musician) but found it tough going to get their jazz/pop creations noticed. They got their big break when they camped outside of Herb Alpert’s gate in L.A. and begged him to give their demo a listen. Evidently Herb liked their stuff and their gumption because two months later they were signed to his label, A&M Records, and shortly after that their debut was released. The first album didn’t exactly set the world afire but it did let them get their feet wet. “Powerful People” was their sophomore effort yet there was no jinx affixed to this baby. Any recording that made your stereo sound like a million bucks as this one did had a distinct advantage over the thousands of albums released every year and if it contained several competent tunes its chances of garnering some attention were better than average. Synthesizers were still considered to be more in the category of fancy gadgets than legitimate instruments in that era but the way that Joe and his keyboard cohort Richard Baker were using them in conjunction with standard piano and organ fare gave the group an edge that few of the others had. Keep in mind that polyphonic synths were as yet non-existent in ’74 so the dense wall of sound being manufactured throughout the record had to be painstakingly stacked and layered piece-by-piece, one note at a time. No easy feat.

There’s no better way to open an album than with a barnburner like “People Gotta Move.” A bright, phased electric piano chording over hot drums and percussion grabs your ear immediately while Gino forcefully urges us with “People come on and do it right/shake your behinds like dynamite/chuck all your worries and toss your thighs/to be tame is a pain when you realize/you gotta move.” Well, why the hell not? The startling sound of sharp synthesized horns was quite novel and Vannelli’s unique vocal style made this memorable song intensely likeable the first time you heard it. “Lady” is next and it’s a safe, contemporary ballad that’s not particularly remarkable except for Joe’s jazzy electric piano solo and the overall depth of field he and Richard achieve. They pick the pace back up with “Son of a New York Gun.” A jazzy shuffle throbs underneath this electrifying number that steadily gathers kinetic momentum as it rolls down the road. Joe’s piano ride is excellent but once again it’s the slick synthesized horns that really made this music stand out from the herd. They segue right into “Jack Miraculous,” a Hammond organ-heavy tune that sports a zippy jazz motif wherein drummer Graham Lear displays his acumen on the tubs. Joe’s ARP synthesizer solo sizzles and Gino gets to show off a surprisingly wide range in his voice. “Jo Jo” is a sad and drastically slower R&B-flavored ballad that’s rather average but it stays within the bounds of the overall sophisticated atmosphere the album constantly projects.

“Powerful People” is the longest cut as well as being the most dramatic. It begins as a dynamic jazz/rock anthem with a dense ocean of synthesizers serving as a backdrop to Gino’s passionate singing. He pleads for mankind to take a firm stand against air and water polluters (an enormous concern in the 70s) with lines like “Look at the powerful people/stealing the sun from the day/wish I could do something about it/when all I can do is to pray.” In the middle section the group jumps into a fast-moving shuffle where their jazz roots surface again. Baker’s snarling B3 ride is exceptional and the cool big band ending is fantastic. For the tame “Felicia” a smooth Latin beat supplies some needed variety but, in their defense, they don’t stand pat as they coerce the track to transition upward for the vibrant instrumental segment. “The Work Verse” is an inspiring ballad that starts small with only Gino’s voice and Joe’s electric piano. The subtle synths patiently grow to gargantuan dimensions as he belts out poignant lyrics about a man needing to remain vital and relevant. “I’ve gotta sweat once more/till my bones feel sore/I tell you why/’cause I’m a front row ticket/to a nothin’ show/I’ve gotta crash this prison/and not let go/my heart’s on a sun cloud/screamin’ for progress/’cause I want… work,” he croons. The song’s crystalline finale is appropriately moving. The runt of the litter, “Poor Happy Jimmy” (a tribute to Jim Croce), brings up the rear. Its rhythm is sort of a light samba but it’s a little bit too AOR in its approach for me to endorse so it’s a minor disappointment. They would’ve done well to go out with a bang.

While Gino didn’t ever become a household name across the North American continent I can testify that in North Texas (and in many other metropolitan areas, I’m sure) he caught on big time. This album was a great introduction for an audience that was obviously ripe for his somewhat over-the-top, highly-theatrical style and he consistently sold out medium-sized venues in Dallas for many years running in the mid-70s. “Powerful People” possesses a pervasive jazz aura that further proved synthesizer technology was now a viable asset, wholly compatible with the then-contemporary blending of jazz, pop and rock, a hybrid genre of music that was gaining a foothold in the public’s musical tastes. The Vannelli brothers were on a mission to write and deliver jazz-inflected pop with state-of-the-art technology in the forefront while entertaining their audiences with bold, dazzling Las Vegas-worthy showmanship. It was a stupendously courageous undertaking that was difficult to ignore and “Powerful People” successfully captures that innovative spirit.