In this episode of Rock is Lit, Stephen Shaiken delves into the inspiration behind his rock novel, ‘Queensborough Rock’, sharing how the music, culture, and grit of the late ‘60s and early ‘70s shaped the story. The bulk of the episode features a captivating reading from the novel, immersing listeners in a time when the music industry was as tough and unpredictable as the city itself.
Stephen Shaiken was born and raised in New York City. He spent over three decades as a criminal defense lawyer in San Francisco. Before he became a lawyer, he earned an MA in Creative Writing from San Francisco State University. These days he splits his time between Bangkok, Thailand and Tampa, Florida.
Stephen writes short stories in several genres, some of which can be read on his blog, http://www.stephenshaiken.com/. He has written three novels that he describes as “exotic noir thrillers” in the NJA Series, featuring American expat lawyer Glenn Murray Cohen: ‘Bangkok Shadows’, ‘Bangkok Whispers’, and ‘Bangkok Blues’, all available on Amazon as an E book or in paperback. A fourth book in the series is forthcoming.
Stephen released ‘Queensborough Rock’ in November 2022. Its genre is historical fiction, but the soul is rock ‘n’ roll. The story is set in 1971. Young Jack Bernstein is a struggling rock ‘n’ roll manager in New York City. Instead of a fancy office in Manhattan, a flashy car and backstage passes, he operates out of a basement apartment in working-class Queens, driving a cranky eight-year-old Volvo as he trolls third-string venues for hidden talent. Jack finances a demo tape for his top talent by borrowing from a loan shark and pawning a friend’s guitar. When the tape fails to land a deal, Jack’s last hope is an offer from a friendly Queens mobster. New York City in the late ‘60s and early ‘70s comes alive with all its intensity.
MUSIC IN THE EPISODE IN ORDER OF APPEARANCE:
- Rock is Lit theme music
- [Guitar Instrumental Beat] Sad Rock [Free Use Music] Punch Deck—“I Can’t Stop”
- “Scarborough Fair” by Simon & Garfunkel
- “Bridge Over Troubled Water” by Simon & Garfunkel
- “The Boxer” by Simon & Garfunkel
- [Guitar Instrumental Beat] Sad Rock [Free Use Music] Punch Deck—“I Can’t Stop”
- Rock is Lit theme music
LINKS:
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Stephen Shaiken’s website: https://stephenshaiken.com/
Stephen Shaiken on Facebook: @StephenShaiken
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With Amex Gold, you can experience the gold standard. You get access to exceptional dining, plus four times membership rewards points on eligible dining purchases. That's the powerful backing of American Express. Terms apply, cap applies, learn more at americanexpress.com/withamex. This is the sound of your ride home with Dad, after he caught evaping. Awkward, isn't it? Most Vapes contain seriously addictive levels of nicotine and disappointment. Know the real cost of Vapes, brought to you by the FDA. Listen in, Starbucks. It's a great day for coffee. Rock is lit. Rock is lit. Rock is lit. Rock is lit. You're listening to rock is lit with Christy Halberg. Rock is lit. Rock is lit. Hey there, lit listeners. Welcome to season four of rock is lit. The first podcast devoted to rock novels and also the 2024 American writing awards podcast of the year in the categories of music and arts. Rock is lit is a proud member of the Pantheon podcast network. Hey, I'm John Stewart and you're listening to the Pantheon network. Rock is lit is hosted, executive produced, and edited by me, Christy Alexander Halberg, author of my own rock novel, searching for Jimmy Page. Big shout out to this season's incredible team. Social media intern Keedling Clats and our three production interns, Major Lagulin, Tyler Elcock, and The Air Lower. This season we're shaking things up with a fresh new format. Instead of our usual author interviews, we'll be rolling out a weekly reading series, giving you a deeper dive into the world of rock novels through curated readings and literary explorations. To keep up with all things rock is lit, follow me on Twitter, Instagram, and YouTube at Christy Halberg and @rockislitpodcast on Instagram. For more info, head to Christy AlexanderHahlberg.com. Got a rock novel you'd like to see featured? Drop me a line at Christy AlexanderHahlberg@gmail.com. I'd love to hear from you. If you're enjoying the show, please subscribe, leave a comment, and give us a five-star rating on your favorite podcast platform. Wyatt, the Rock is lit mascot tonight. Thank you for your support. ♪ ♪ ♪ Are you going to Scarborough Fair? ♪ ♪ Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme ♪ I'm a retired criminal defense lawyer. I was born in New York City, where I attended Stuyvesant High School, Queens College, and eventually Brooklyn Law School. Before law school, I spent three years out on the West Coast, where I got a master's degree in creative writing at San Francisco State University. My dreams of being a writer were put off for a very long time when I embarked upon a 40-year career as a criminal defense lawyer, starting out in Brooklyn, New York with the Legal Aid Society, and spending the rest of my career in San Francisco. I didn't start writing again until after I retired in 2015. At that time, my wife had just survived a third bout with cancer, stage four, and it was a miracle. That was 2015. There's been no problem since then, but we both decided it was time to try something new. So, we left our nice home in Marin County, California, and spent the next three and a half years living in Bangkok, Thailand, where it was wonderful. I started writing again, joining a fabulous writer's group called Keybanger's Bangkok, which you can read about if you want to go to my personal webpage, my books at www.steefinshakin.com S-T-E-P-H-E-N-S-H-A-I-K-E-N. You can also get an idea of what Expat Life in Bangkok is like by reading any of the five NJA Club series novels I've published on Amazon, starting in 2018. The first one is called Bangkok Shadows, and the fifth one is called Bangkok Circles. The protagonist is a American criminal lawyer from San Francisco named Glenn Marie Cohn. I've been told that he bears somewhat of a resemblance to his author. I describe them as exotic noir thrillers, and you can check them out yourself on Amazon or by going to my webpage. I have a sixth one coming out later this year. I've also written an historical novel called Queensborough Rock, based very loosely on my experiences as a would-be rock and roll manager in New York City around 1970. If you're a fan of classic rock or the '60s, I think you'll like that book very much. Now, why did I decide to write this historical novel, Queensborough Rock, which is the subject of today's podcast, and that is because one day in 2021, I was rummaging around some boxes that I had never opened ever since we left California, stored them while we were in Bangkok, and then transferred our lives to Tampa, Florida, where we lived very happily when we're not back in Thailand visiting. Amidst the memorabilia and old tax records, I found a manuscript that I had started writing in 1972, right after my stint as a would-be rock manager came to an end, and I wrote what probably was about five or six chapters, maybe about 40 or 50 pages, and actually I enjoyed reading it, and it brought back pleasant memories. I decided I'd finish it. Fifty years had passed. I'd totally changed. It was no way of knowing whether any memories I recalled were actually accurate anymore, and they were all going to be filtered through the biases and prejudices that we all carry with us. Well, this is fiction, right? I had the background, I had the basic storyline and the basic characters, and the role of a fiction writer is not to record and record like an investigative journalist, but basically to make things up that we find plausible, that we like reading, and that move us very much, and that was what I wanted to accomplish. Now, picking up a novel 50 years later is no easy task. The language has changed. The way people talk today is not the same as they spoke in the late '60s, and if you're going to write an historical novel, you have to do it in such a way that people understand what you're talking about, things that come to mind easily for you might not be so clear to people that didn't live through the era. That means a lot of research. If you're going to say a band played at a certain venue on a certain date, you better get it right, because let me tell you, the kind of people that like to read novels about rock and roll in the '60s, they know this stuff, and if you get it wrong, they'll let you know. I'm proud to say I didn't get it wrong. The novel is about a young man's attempt to make it in the music business, but it's also about music, rock and roll, and life in the '60s. We touch upon all of the things that we live through in that era, from race relations to the arousing awareness of people of different sexual orientations, having the same rights as the rest of the world, to people protesting the war, attitudes about drugs and sex, it all comes out because that's the way it was. The other thing that makes this very interesting is it's a rock and roll novel that is primarily set in the outer boroughs. Most of the rock books and rock stories and rock movies take place, some of the big cities, New York, San Francisco, LA, but this is about the roots of rock and roll, and I remind some of my readers that Queens, the outer borough of New York City where most of the action takes place, is not a stranger to rock and roll. Queens has given us the Shangri-Laz, my boyfriend's back, it gave us Simon and Garfunkel, it gave us Leslie West of Mountain, it also gave us Jerry Seinfeld. So the idea that the only music of the era came out of Manhattan is simply false, the people in the outer boroughs were struggling to make it in the big city, to play at the venues that are now famous, Max's Kansas City, the Electric Circus, the Fillmore East, they're all in the book by the way, but they start out playing in grubby little bars and coffee shops and Queens and Nassau County. If you like rock and roll, you'll really love this, that's what I really want to impart. The hardest part about writing the book was trying to get back into the groove that I was in when I started in 1971, now eventually that became impossible because writing is a senior citizen, you have a view of the world you didn't have when you were 21 or 22, but I managed to mesh them fairly successfully, I think. There was a lot of research involved, I told you, you have to verify every date, you have to make sure that if you have someone listening to a record album, it actually was released at the time that you say they were listening to it. Despite the fact that this was more work than say writing a series where I know Thailand off the top of my head, it's all recent stuff, if I want to throw into little history, it's once in a while, it's a quick interesting research. This meant checking out every single fact, it's a little tedious but well, well worth it because it gave me a chance to tell a story that I wanted to tell, which is what was it like really to live in that era and what was the music world really like and what were the people really like. I was fortunate to be able to base characters on people I knew. Ed Stern, the lead guitarist is based on a fellow I knew named David Greenberg conumed from California my early days. He was one of the best guitarist I've ever encountered. Yala had was based on a guy I actually managed a wonderful fellow named Gabriel Halpern became one of the leading yoga instructors in the world and is still a wonderful and fine musician. I still think about and play his songs on my own guitar all the time. Tennessee Eddy, I made up using an amalgamation of all the southern defendants that I represented when I was a criminal lawyer and the African American characters, all of them were based on musicians I knew and worked with. Anyway, I hope you'll grab that book and read it and enjoy it and if you do let the podcast know how you feel and let me know how you feel. Thank you very much and thank you for listening. When you're weary, feeling small, when tears are in your eyes, I'll drive them all. Queensborough Rock by Stephen Shaken. Chapter 1 January 1971 The receptionist at Loona Records summoned Bernstein with a wave of her hand. She was petite and pretty, long brown hair complimenting her soft dark features. Bernstein smiled, hoping for a friendly response. "Mr. Schwartz will see you now," was all she said. Bernstein shrugged and asked where to find his office. "Down the hall, fourth door to your right," she instructed, rising from her desk as she pointed to the imposing mahogany door behind her. Bernstein caught a glimpse of her thigh as he walked to the door. The bright green and yellow pastel colors of her skirt contrasted with the cool dark blue of the reception area. The walls, the furniture, the carpet, even the fluorescent lighting was of that same color. Bernstein associated the color blue with sadness and pain, mostly because those were the most common themes of his favorite music, named after the color. The color blue would normally be of no consequence, except Bernstein considered it an auspicious sign for a meeting of such enormous consequence. Bernstein passed through the door and ambled down the long hallway. The carpeting was still blue, but the walls and lighting were white. Doors were evenly spaced along both walls of the corridor, glass-covered albums by lunis top stars hung between the doors. Most had gone platinum. The fourth door on the left displayed a large plaque reading, D. Schwartz's artists and repertoire. Bernstein knocked and waited. The lock clipped and the door opened slightly. "Come on in," a slightly high-pitched male voice called out. Bernstein pushed the door and entered. He found himself in a large office, mercifully devoid of blue. Bernstein considered this to be a good sign. A few overstuffed chairs and a huge pillowed couch was scattered about, following no particular style or design. Two large windows looked out on the Manhattan skyline from 35 floors up. A shelf ran the length of the inside ledge, holding an amplifier, turntable and tape deck. A large oak desk sat in front of the windows facing the door. The desk was cluttered with record albums, some sticking out from sleeves or covers. An assortment of magazines, stray papers, empty coffee cups, and strange gadgets of varying sizes filled most of the remaining space. Bernstein spotted his tape amidst the confusion. He recognized his handwriting on the exposed paper label. Duke Schwartz, head A&R man for Luda Records and one of the most influential people in the business, sat behind the desk. His job was to decide which artists won the brass ring of a recording contract with one of the largest and most important record labels in the world. Schwartz squinted at Bernstein as if trying to decide if he recognized him. Bernstein stared back without needing to squint or sort through his memory bank. Bernstein knew if he had ever met Schwartz, he would never forget him. Schwartz emerged from behind his desk and lunged at Bernstein, a heavy hand extended. Bernstein felt its claminess as he shook at the same time studying the animated, rolly-poly, 5'2" ball of flesh before him. Bernstein at 5'8" and average height at best stood almost a head taller. Duke's clothing ensemble was at least five years behind the times and evidence no more strategy than his furniture arrangement. Green and white polka dot shirt with an oversized white collar, white leather vest open and showing his recruiting belly, green and gray striped bell bottoms, and black patent leather boots. Several rings holding large stones of different colors graced his thick fingers. Duke Schwartz, he announced in that high-pitched voice, really glad to know you. Bernstein discreetly wiped his hand along the side of his pants. Jack Bernstein, he said, smiling and hoping it didn't look like he was laughing. Schwartz went back to his seat and told Bernstein to pull up a chair. As soon as Bernstein was seated, Schwartz asked what he could do for him. Bernstein hadn't considered the possibility Schwartz wouldn't remember why he agreed to see him. As he sat there adorned on him, men like Schwartz made their fortunes through endless meetings with people who had something they wanted to sell. There were too many to keep track of. Bernstein was just one little man on a conveyor belt running past big men like Duke Schwartz. Big and influence anyway. Men with Schwartz's power just sat behind their desks, listening to tapes as promoters quivered before them. This is what they mean by the pitch. Bernstein thought. Bernstein wanted to tell Duke he had it within his power to make Gala head a star with the fame and fortune spilling over to Bernstein as well. As an old agent once told him, money and power, the vitamins and nutrients of the music business, Duke Schwartz had an abundance of each dispense as he saw fit. Bernstein also wanted to explain how he had put every pen he had into the studio tape and on top of that had begged, borrowed, and even pawned a friend's guitar. Those loans had to be repaid sooner rather than later. Point shops had a buyback deadline after which the guitar could be sold. That would not be easy to explain to his friend. Missing a payment to a loan shark would be even more problematic. Striking out with Gala head was not an option. Of course he said none of this. Record label executives heard such stories every day and had survived the same to get where they were. Bernstein knew it was suicide to beg or plead. A manager or agent who has faith in their talent never does. The folks at the top treat the folks at the bottom like the hired health at best. At worst they get treated like indentured servants, maybe even slaves. Bernstein regularly assured himself that when he made it he wouldn't treat anyone that way. Bernstein explained why he was there. A certain respected studio engineer hired for Gala head's tape suggested after the mixing that Bernstein called Luna and asked to see Schwartz, "Tell him I sent you and I guarantee you get a hearing." The engineer had assured Bernstein as they smoked a joint to celebrate the final edit. "I've sent them a whole bunch of artists they signed." Schwartz nodded as if to signal, "Yes, now I remember." The engineer had called and Duke's secretary made the appointment with his approval. Bernstein pointed to the tape. "Ah yes, the tape!" Schwartz cried as if it were the first time it ever seen one. He moved over to the tape deck on the shelf by the window and told Bernstein to join him. "Just watch this critter swallow the tape!" he squealed as he placed Bernstein's tape on the spindle of a wall and sack real-to-real tape recorder among the world's best and most expensive tape machines. Top of the line, Schwartz said, "For Bernstein it was more than a tape." "It was a labor of love, the magnetically reconstructed record of his dreams and hopes, the most important possession he ever owned. This moment was the culmination of all he had worked toward. Over the past three years he had been a manager. For Duke Schwartz it was just another day at the office." "Just place the reel on the deck, press the button and off we go," he shouted. He leaped back into his seat like a large fleshy frog, landing on his rump as the first notes sounded through the big speakers attached to the tape deck. "Whatever someone outside the music industry might think of Duke Schwartz the first time they met him, Bernstein knew the little round fellow was nobody's fool. He wouldn't be sitting in this office wielding such power if that were the case. The story of Luna Records was imprinted in the mind of every music industry professional and Duke Schwartz's role was hardly a secret. Luna Records was started by 18-year-old Bill Crumpert in his parents' garage in Newark, New Jersey. His first hire was Schwartz, his best friend since grade school. Elvis was in the army, Buddy Holly and Richie Valens had just been killed in a plane crash and the ever-changing world of music was wide open. The teenagers roamed the garden state, stalking the best groups at battles of the bands, signing them and recording them on a beat-up old four-track tape recorder, Crumpert bought cheap from a sole station that had been forced off the air to make way for another top 40 clone. Crumpert was the brains and motivating force behind the fledgling operation with the drive, business sense and brutal focus needed to succeed. In an industry so cutthroat, one rock crit it had opined, it makes piracy look humane. If Crumpert was the brains and the brawn, Schwartz was the ears. Since the time they were grade school kids, Schwartz had never failed to pick the next number one hit. Crumpert relied on Schwartz to tell him who was really the best and most popular band at any battle and which bands they caught at clubs were worth their time. Neither Crumpert nor Schwartz cared about anything other than whether they could land the band or recording contract. Crumpert was an energetic and compelling figure who persuaded wealthy investors to loan him the money needed to stay afloat in the early days. He wisely gave them interest bearing notes secured by future royalties on any Luna artists which he paid in full, keeping ownership of Luna to himself alone though many suspected Duke had a small piece as well. Suppliers were cajoled to advance credit and most importantly Crumpert persuaded several established groups their destiny lied in abandoning their major labels and getting on board with a nascent operation, one in the process of leaving its garage for a small office in a strip mall above a pizza parlor. They did so because it was Crumpert and it proved a wise move for all of them. From those humble beginnings, Luna enjoyed ongoing moves to more impressive quarters, finally settling into this battery of offices high above Broadway in the music district. The 35th floor was where the decisions were made, where Crumpert ruled his universe with the aid of Duke Schwartz's ears. On the floor below the corporate suites was a spanking new 32-track recording studio. Every artist, producer and engineer dreamed of working in that studio, where Luna Records pumped out a steady stream of bread-winning singles and albums that made them a force to be reckoned with. Duke Schwartz held Bernstein's fate in his pudgy little hands. Bernstein knew this and he also knew Galahad's music for a little similarity to Schwartz's tastes. Luna did have some acts under contract of whom Bernstein approved but their empire was founded by a large catalog of what Bernstein termed "rock choir boys", clean, well-produced, non-controversial pop music with an audience that potentially included anyone whose musical appreciation was frozen at the age of 12. Their bread and butter was usually called bubble gum music, but Luna also had some genuinely talented musicians. Luna didn't hold talent against an artist, so long as they made money, it was just a fact of life, talent didn't always translate into sales, just as sales were not always indicative of talent. Luna's artists were played on AM bands across America and on turntables in every city, town and village. They didn't include stars like Jim Morrison, arrested for exposure on stage, or groups promoting use of any drug. If there was ever a trace of a political message, Prumpered and Schwartz made sure it was scrubbed. Schwartz had no musical background, played no instrument, lacked any knowledge of studio production, and had no idea how to promote a group. What Schwartz possessed was an uncanny, intuitive insight into which groups would capture that top 40 market. He instinctively recognized who would succeed and thus was worth Luna's time and money. It was an established myth in the business that Schwartz would listen to a song and decide right on the spot whether the artist made the cut. But Bernstein sensed it was no myth. Schwartz referred those groups to Bill Crumpert, who had the final say in making them rich and famous. Crumpert was unconcerned he was gambling on the word of a man who could not discern a Gregorian chant from Dixie land jazz. He knew Schwartz was almost never wrong. Bernstein silently prayed Schwartz would listen to the tape with full concentration so he would feel Galahad's voice merge with the melody and his lyrics. The kind of music Schwartz was most familiar with did not require such close attention as its listeners didn't demand much out of a song other than a catchy tune and easy to remember words. The first song was "I'll Dream Tonight", a soothing melodic piece, a good solid composition, tasteful and thoughtful while sustaining a rhythm and melody with commercial potential. He glanced in Schwartz's direction, searching for some reaction. He was disappointed when halfway through the song's second verse Schwartz reached into a desk drawer and pulled out a small box which fell to the floor. Schwartz followed it, dropping to his knees and scrambling across the rug like a crab. "Let's play marbles," he squealed. "Just pick this set up in Hollywood. Kurt Neal Young has a set and I just had to get one. He reached into the box and withdrew a plastic case of marbles and several small cups of varying colors. He set the cups on their sides in a wide circle on the floor so they looked like the entrances to the blink and tunnel but miniaturized. A small ramp was molded into the bottom of the cups to allow marbles to roll in. Schwartz arranged the cups. "Choose your marble," Schwartz ordered as he held out the small box. Inside were four sets of marbles of different colors, somewhat larger than the one's Bernstein recalled playing with as a child. They looked more like semi-precious stones than cheap glass marbles. He doubted they were cheap. Bernstein feigned debating which color to choose, settling on turquoise. Schwartz plucked them from the box just as the instrumental break began. Bernstein felt his stomach spiraling. Schwartz did not appear to be paying attention to Galahad's vocals or the backup band's tight playing, especially Ed Stern's soaring leads. He prayed again for a sign of acknowledgement from the fudgy powerhouse. Bernstein was not religious and rarely prayed, but this was an exceptional circumstance. He wanted to leave the building with a contract not a debt load he couldn't manage. It was starting to look like that might require divine intervention. Schwartz snatched an amber set of marbles. He looked up at Bernstein who followed on his knees. Schwartz set up his marbles in groups of two or three between cups, hoping to curry favor. Bernstein did the same. The idea is to knock the other guy's marbles all over the place while shooting your own into the cup. You get two shots every turn, one to do each. Got it? Bernstein hoped it looked like he was paying attention as he envisioned his time and his money floating around the circle. Galahad and him disappearing into the ether where failed bands and managers dissolve. He made half-hearted efforts to play the game as "I'll Dream Tonight" yielded to cosmic ways Bernstein's least favorite of Galahad's songs. Cosmic ways was a quasi-spiritual number. Bernstein believed we're disappointed those looking for spiritual music or to draw no one else into its orbit. It was too slow, too preachy, too irrelevant for rock fans. Managers and artists constantly argued over what to record and in what order. The conflicts usually entail the manager's need to bring in money versus the artist's desire to express their feelings. Galahad refused to set foot in the studio with cosmic ways, wasn't included in place second. Bernstein feared no one would listen to the remaining songs after hearing cosmic ways. He considered having the order of songs rearranged on a separate tape and playing that one for interested parties, but he had heard too many stories of artists accusing their managers of mishandling their career or worse, betraying them. He was well aware that there were no secrets in the music industry. Bernstein knew how strongly Galahad felt about the song and its message and resigned himself to exceeding to his client's stubborn insistence. As the producer he worked with the engineer and Ed Stern to create a final version of cosmic ways that emphasized Galahad's voice and Stern's blues-based emotive guitar work, all three thought they made a silk purse out of a sow's ear with the song, but Schwartz would decide. Bernstein's search dupes face for a hint. "You shoot again," was all he got. Bernstein pinged a few more, flicking his index finger off his thumb as he'd done as a young boy, playing on the streets and playgrounds of queens. "Maybe it's better that I distract him while this one plays," he thought. A few more marble shots later, cosmic ways ended and the third song began. An upbeat blues rock number, Stern's strat, lead paying homage to his hero, Muddy Waters. Duke hummed the tune of Loona's latest bubblegum millionaire as he eyed his next shot. After 20 seconds Bernstein knew he had either lost Duke or the garish music maven had already decided to recommend signing Galahad. "Somehow, I don't think so," Bernstein thought. The third song yielded to the last and then the tape was silent. Bernstein explained how much he enjoyed sporting with Duke, but he had an appointment back in Queens to hear a new band with a hot reputation and he wanted to sign them before someone else did. "I've got to have some clients beside Galahad," he hoped Duke, who started his career in a similar way would understand. Bernstein added he'd appreciate Schwartz's on the spot appraisal. They walked back to Schwartz's desk and sat. Schwartz deliberated for a moment, stubby fingers curled and pressed against his temples. Elbows propped on the desk. "You're a nice guy and I'd like to see him make it," he said. His hands dropped from his head and reached into a drawer for a bag of candy. He often wanted Bernstein to accept it, though he rarely ate candy. It didn't sound bad. Actually, the first song was really good, but I've got 45 years and Galahad ain't 45 music. It's a different league and I'm not safe playing there. Sort of rock, folk, and blues mixed together with some other stuff I just don't understand. So I can't sign off on it, but it's too interesting to just toss aside. What I will do is send it on to Bill, which I usually don't do if I pass, and believe me, if he likes it, you've got it made." Bernstein nodded, like a stay of execution he thought. "Now I ain't promising you anything," Schwartz added, his voice more reserved, "and leads us to say, if during the course of your wanderings you come across a band you think might be for me, give me a call. I'll make it worth you while." Bernstein rose, torn between despair over the debts and the hot guitar, and relieved that the final word would not come from this amiable clown with enormous power. They shook farewell, and Bernstein scraped a finger on one of the rocks on Schwartz's fingers. As he walked back along the corridor, he realized Luna had one copy, ocean records and another they had been sitting on for weeks, and Bernstein had a copy at home. The master was still at the studio where it was safe and could be copied again for a small price. Schwartz struggled to shake the thought that if things didn't go well with Bill Crumpert, even a small price would be out of reach. Soon Bernstein was back in the reception area. The pretty receptionist paid him no heed as he walked fast. She was speaking to a young man with long black hair and a ratty brown corduroy jacket. Her voice was sweeter than it had been to him. "Maybe she likes long, straight hair better than my Jufro," he thought. "Mr. Schwartz will see you now," she said. "Down the hall. Fourth door to your right." Chapter 2 Bernstein hurried the three blocks to the parking lot. While waiting for a light, he asked a fellow pedestrian for the time. He had six minutes before he would owe another hour. "Should be no problem," he thought. These days, even that small amount of money made a difference. He sprinted the last block and avoided the extra hours charged by less than a minute. Good thing my parents told me to never smoke cigarettes. Managing Galahad was a full-time project. Bernstein thought about the calls he had to make, hoping some would lead to paying gigs. He thought of the next day, when he would be at the library all morning, searching the newspapers and telephone directories of Queens and Nassau for any clubs or coffee shops he hadn't seen before. It was tedious boring work, but no one else was doing the same, plumbing the depths of Queens and Nassau, for bands under the radar of the big music machines in Manhattan. I better start doing more plumbing, Bernstein's thought. There were several known instances of such discoveries. Fellow Queens College graduate Paul Simon and Queens native Leslie West of Mountain being the most renowned. They say a load is gross in the mud, and let's not forget truffles live in dirt and get sniffed out by pigs. He liked to say, when former girlfriend Jennifer questioned his strategy and suggested taking a more traditional job. No way was his inevitable response. They broke up almost a year ago, and he hadn't found anyone else. Bernstein's Black 1963 Volvo stood out among Cadillacs, Lincoln's Corvettes, and foreign cars favored by the music business executives and lawyers, whose offices filled the towering building in this section of Manhattan. He got behind his steering wheel and started the engine. The choke was as temperamental as always, but the cost started on the second attempt. First time this heap fails me will be the last, he told himself. But then how would I get around? Bernstein knew buying a car was out of the question. He had no money and owed enough to buy two decent cars. Funding Galahad, especially the tape, had drained Bernstein of almost all his savings. Managing Galahad took all his time and caused him to give up managing other acts. Everything was rotting on Galahad getting a record contract with its royalties and concert tours. And it's all in the hands of an idiot like Duke Schwartz. Bernstein had heard a lot of good things about Bill Crumpert, but maybe it was wrong. How sharp can he be if his right-hand man is a clown, a clown who doesn't know good music when it smacks him in the face, and who holds my entire future in his hands? I am just a poor boy though my story is seldom told. I ask quality of existence, for a pocket full of mumble such a promise stands. All lies in chess still a man hears what he wants to hear and disregards the rest. Thanks for tuning in Lit listeners. If you enjoyed the show, please subscribe and leave a rating and comment on Good Pods and Apple Podcasts, links in the show notes. Wyatt, the Rock Is Lit mascot and I really appreciate your support. Until next time, keep rockin' and readin' and gettin' lit. Rock Is Lit.
In this episode of Rock is Lit, Stephen Shaiken delves into the inspiration behind his rock novel, ‘Queensborough Rock’, sharing how the music, culture, and grit of the late ‘60s and early ‘70s shaped the story. The bulk of the episode features a captivating reading from the novel, immersing listeners in a time when the music industry was as tough and unpredictable as the city itself.
Stephen Shaiken was born and raised in New York City. He spent over three decades as a criminal defense lawyer in San Francisco. Before he became a lawyer, he earned an MA in Creative Writing from San Francisco State University. These days he splits his time between Bangkok, Thailand and Tampa, Florida.
Stephen writes short stories in several genres, some of which can be read on his blog, http://www.stephenshaiken.com/. He has written three novels that he describes as “exotic noir thrillers” in the NJA Series, featuring American expat lawyer Glenn Murray Cohen: ‘Bangkok Shadows’, ‘Bangkok Whispers’, and ‘Bangkok Blues’, all available on Amazon as an E book or in paperback. A fourth book in the series is forthcoming.
Stephen released ‘Queensborough Rock’ in November 2022. Its genre is historical fiction, but the soul is rock ‘n’ roll. The story is set in 1971. Young Jack Bernstein is a struggling rock ‘n’ roll manager in New York City. Instead of a fancy office in Manhattan, a flashy car and backstage passes, he operates out of a basement apartment in working-class Queens, driving a cranky eight-year-old Volvo as he trolls third-string venues for hidden talent. Jack finances a demo tape for his top talent by borrowing from a loan shark and pawning a friend’s guitar. When the tape fails to land a deal, Jack’s last hope is an offer from a friendly Queens mobster. New York City in the late ‘60s and early ‘70s comes alive with all its intensity.
MUSIC IN THE EPISODE IN ORDER OF APPEARANCE:
Rock is Lit theme music
[Guitar Instrumental Beat] Sad Rock [Free Use Music] Punch Deck—“I Can’t Stop”
“Scarborough Fair” by Simon & Garfunkel
“Bridge Over Troubled Water” by Simon & Garfunkel
“The Boxer” by Simon & Garfunkel
[Guitar Instrumental Beat] Sad Rock [Free Use Music] Punch Deck—“I Can’t Stop”
Rock is Lit theme music
LINKS:
Leave a rating and comment for Rock is Lit on Goodpods: https://goodpods.com/podcasts/rock-is-lit-212451
Leave a rating and comment for Rock is Lit on Apple Podcasts: https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/rock-is-lit/id1642987350
Stephen Shaiken’s website: https://stephenshaiken.com/
Stephen Shaiken on Facebook: @StephenShaiken
Christy Alexander Hallberg’s website: https://www.christyalexanderhallberg.com/rockislit
Christy Alexander Hallberg on Instagram, Twitter, YouTube: @ChristyHallberg
Rock is Lit on Instagram: @rockislitpodcast
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