Crash-Course, No. 10: Daryl Hall & John Oates. Not Hall & Oates. A Little Respect.

It's still a stupid question.

Personal
If you grew up in the early 80s, you couldn’t avoid these two. At the same time, I might have bit a few dance moves from “You Make My Dreams.” It is very, very hard to lose the rhythm on that one.

A Little History
Daryl Hall and John Oates met very accidentally in Philadelphia, PA. Fate still had to throw them together at a late-1960s “battle of the bands” kind of event at the Adelphi Theater. They showed up separately, Hall with The Temptones and Oates for The Masters. When gunshots chased people from the event, Hall and Oates bumped into one another in an alley, introduced themselves, realized they shared enough inspirations and influences and, by every account I read, the rest was history.

They roomed together at Temple University, then various places across Philadelphia. One key person noticed them early – Tony Mottola, the managerial legend (who later married/managed Mariah Carey) – and they became his first act, and he their first manager. Atlantic signed them before they found their feet musically, or maybe just before they had the status to push-back. Atlantic connected them to producers, and fairly big ones (Todd Rundgren, I recognize, Arif Mardin, I don’t), and they churned out an album per year: Whole Oats (1972), Abandoned Luncheonette (1973), and War Babies (1974). The sound bounced between folk (B-side of Whole Oats, especially), soul, pop, and, by the time Rundgren got his hands in their production on War Babies, something closer to rock even...(gasp) hard rock. Nothing charted in the Atlantic years (“She’s Gone” did all right, and Minneapolis/St. Paul liked ‘em), and Atlantic dropped them after both they, and their fans couldn’t figure out what to make of War Babies. In an infamous-to-anyone-who’s-read-it Rolling Stone article in 1985, Oates offered this thought:

“That was our first test right there. It would have been easy to make Abandoned Luncheonette II. That would have set our entire career, but we didn’t do it. And people walked out of our concerts when we didn’t.”

When it comes to Hall & Oates, that sentence contains multitudes. Moving on…

They muddled through the late-70s – in disco’s shadow, in Wikipedia’s account, or recording and touring like madmen – even the infamous “chewing gum” promo that Mottola arranged in ’78 (see Rolling Stone), when they’d go play the auditorium of “high schools across America that sent in the most gum wrappers.” They did have their first real breakthrough at the beginning of those quiet years – “Sarah Smile,” their first No. 10 – which came off what some call “the Silver Album,” which was officially titled Daryl Hall & John Oates (1975). The cover art was significant as well (pictured above); designed by Pierre LaRoche, the creator of David Bowie’s Ziggy Stardust look, it started the long-lasting rumor that Hall and Oates were lovers (more on that later…).

The duo would release five more albums before the end of the 70s – four in studio, from Bigger Than Both of Us (1976), Beauty on a Back Street (1977), Along the Red Ledge (1978), and X-Static (1979), plus one live album (Livetime), mostly to kill off their remaining obligation to Atlantic (I think). For the record, Beauty on a Back Street is the only album Oates outright hates (and I don’t blame him). And, then, somewhat out of the blue, it all turned around.

“The markets for the [Pontiac] Fiero and for Hall and Oates are almost identical . . . They fit that very important lifestyle concept.”

I think that's both Mottola and perfect. Things took off for Hall & Oates when they decided to do their own recording and in their adopted home of New York City instead of Los Angeles. They brought in friends to help – including Hall’s girlfriend, Sara Allen, and her sister Janna – and, with Mottola still on-board, pretty much moved it all in-house. This is the Hall & Oates you know, the band who recorded hit after hit after hit after hit, and rolled their fame all the way up to headlining 1985’s Live Aid mega-concert. (And that show had some big names: "Dylan, Madonna, Neil Young, Duran Duran … the list went on and on," marvels Oates.) First came Voices (1980) (“Kiss Is on My List,” “Make My Dreams Come True,” to the very, tres 80s “United State,” and the regrettable “Africa”), then Private Eyes (1981) (title track, the legendary “I Can’t Go for That (No Can Do)” (solid crossover appeal), “Did It in a Minute,” the political “Mano a Mano,” also, an Oates lead vocal...noted without commentary), H2O (which I honestly don’t know beyond, uh, “Maneater”).

Daryl Hall were John Oates were huge in their time – even if their time and the sound they made famous took a while to come. About that, the author(s) of their Wikipedia page described it like so: “fusion of their doo-wop and soul roots with New Wave energy and hard rock grit.” Call your own shot on that one, but, during those few golden years, Hall & Oates made themselves the most successful recording duo of all time (yes, counting Simon & Garfunkel). With the passage of years, it takes a little time to recall what everything else sounded like at the time, but they feel like a great frame of reference for their era. Between that and their factual success, it’s a bit funny and a little more unfair at how few people took them seriously at the time. I was too young at the time to back this up, but calling them the Nickelback of their time doesn’t feel unfair – i.e., the band that millions love, but no one talks about.

I referenced a Rolling Stone article up above, and the way that piece opens feels like a great way to end this section. Hall & Oates had come into MTV’s studios to take calls from fans, and it did not go well. From the piece, and for posterity:

“Calls are coming in rapidly, but the questions are no good. ‘Are John and Daryl really fags?’ seems to be a favorite inquiry.”

Hall, for his part, comes across as a bit of a madman in that one (by which I mean, it’s totally worth reading). And they didn’t lack for confidence. From Hall:

“I think we’re the Eighties Beatles. If we had been born twenty years earlier, maybe the world would have seen that. There’s something about our personalities that is very Lennon-and-McCartneyesque.”

While I don’t know enough about them to call that out of character, the later interviews I found (even one from the same time), suggests they played superstars for that Rolling Stone piece. And there’s one with Hall at the Apollo Theater in 2017, where he’s both charming and still excited to get on stage – that stage in particular. But one of my favorite quotes came from Oates in a 2017 interview with NME in which, with a retrospective on the way and a biography coming out, he reflected on his career:

“I began to recall things I hadn’t thought about. What I discovered: I found the ’70s and the process of becoming Hall & Oates much more interesting than talking about the ’80s and the big commercial success we had. I found the ’70s way more interesting and more exciting, more vivid in my mind. The ’80s, to me, were just a big blur.”

Fame, man. Is it ever worth it? (To the Hall & Oates in that Rolling Stone piece, it’s everything.)

Fun(?) Details (see below, first one)

- Hall’s answer about the “are they really fags” question was a doozy:

“The idea of sex with a man doesn’t turn me off, but I don’t express it. I satisfied my curiosity about that years ago. I had lots of sex between the ages of three or four and the time I was fourteen or fifteen. Strange experiences with older boys.”

- Mottola on their appeal:

“We span five radio formats – adult contemporary, dance, pop, AOR and R&B – and that’s the trick. That’s the modern business. And for Hall and Oates it’s golden. Golden. Because they span all formats.”

Also, the artists Mottola has managed is…significant.

- I remember receiving Big Bam Boom as a sell-out, but I always loved the line at the start of the video for “Out of Touch”: “I don’t care if you got no legs/dance on your knees.” Knowing where it came from makes me appreciate it a little more:

“Noted remix and hip-hop icon Arthur Baker worked very closely with the duo as a consultant, and produced dance remixes of four of the album's singles.”

Baker co-wrote “Dance on Your Knees” with Hall, and they gave the last four tracks on the album to Baker.

- “Hall & Oates” is not their preferred name (they pulled it from their mailbox at one of their apartments). The official name is Daryl Hall & John Oates, y’know, from the Silver Album.

- Hall resented having to compete with Wham!’s “Wake Me Up” for the No. 1 spot because he hates (or hated) that song.

- Oates would like to collaborate with Bruno Mars.

My favorite description of the week – and by a long shot:

“Subsequently, they became folkies, then doyens of blue-eyed R&B. They saw the New York Dolls and recall having their ‘minds blown’ when they supported David Bowie on his first Stateside Ziggy Stardust tour. Hall befriended Television's Tom Verlaine, and Oates hung around with Andy Warhol. They were the chicly radical Zeligs of pop.”

- To give Hall that last word on that Rolling Stone interview:

“I don't think I'm weird. But individualistic? I would put myself in that category, yeah. Very few people pay attention to the bullshit that comes out of Rolling Stone. I'm a nice guy. As long as you don't piss me off.”

Last Words After a Week of ‘Em

Put it this way, I respect Daryl Hall & John Oates enough to use their proper name. Moreover, for all the genres they dabbled in, they dabbled well. They handled all the writing throughout their career, and they put out their most popular work when they had the most control. Again, respect. And it was/is good work. I like most of their hits, and even rate some of them, but I’ve heard all of them enough to where I can’t tell where over-familiarity, even from over three decades ago, bred a little too much contempt. Again, these two were everywhere in the early 80s, aka, my personal peak (read: obsessive) MTV viewing period.

To give ‘em one sincere shout, I actually rate War Babies. On the one hand, small wonder my favorite album by anyone is the one everyone else hates (or hated), but it comes from an era/approach I love – i.e., 70s, dramatic, and risky. And they never stopped doing that either: Big Bam Boom posed a serious risk of alienating fans just as badly – and in their prime years – but they did it anyway. Back to War Babies, it’s not perfect – “Is It a Star” contains within its 4:41 run-time some of the worst excesses of the 70s (“70s Scenario” takes an uneven step up), but that B-side is damned solid in my book: “War Baby Son of Zorro,” “I’m Watching You (A Mutant Romance),” “Better Watch Your Back,” “Screaming Through December,” and “Johnny Gore and the ‘C’ Eaters.” Even the titles kick ass. Better still, it’s an actual album with an actual concept (even if I haven’t figured it out). A throwback in the best sense.

The Rest of the Playlist

I held on to a couple favorites from other (sigh) Daryl Hall & John Oates albums not mentioned above – e.g, “Fall in Philadelphia” and “Ennui on the Mountain.” As for the rest, it’s fairly heavy with stuff I picked up (gratefully) from other people – e.g., !!! (“Even When the Water’s Cold,” “Dancing Is the Best Revenge” (free drag-show prep in there, btw), “One Girl / One Boy,” and “Californiyeah”; electronic, danceable, yet enticingly spare), Jesca Hoop (“Simon Says” and “Memories Are Now”; electronic that sounds oddly acoustic), and single tracks by The Ghost Ease (“PJM”), The Delines (“The Imperial”) and Moonface (“Barbarian”; lots of piano and emotional exposure). The second biggest chunk of real estate was taken up by Ezra Furman, a fairly new artist (since 2013…I think?) in the garage/sleaze vein, an easy, long-standing favorite for me. Don’t be surprised to see me go deep on that guy. I’m confident I’ve left an odd (“Para el Amor: Cantar!”) or an end (‘ONCE UPON A TIME” (why all the caps?) by IDK, ft. Denzel Curry), but that’s enough for tonight.

After another week of sweating it, I feel good about it. The playlist turned out all right.