Pop's unsung heroes in the spotlight

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26 Jun, 2015 04:03 AM8 mins to read

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The Wrecking Crew pictured in a session for Phil Spector.

A fascinating new documentary reveals the unknown players behind an entire era's worth of hit songs

For Denny Tedesco, "labour of love" doesn't quite cover it.

He has worked on his documentary The Wrecking Crew - a look back at how a bunch of Los Angeles' top session musicians in the 1960s and 1970s were the unsung heroes of so much pop history - for nearly 20 years.

It all started out as a tribute to his guitarist father Tommy Tedesco when he was diagnosed with terminal cancer in the mid 90s.

But it turned into an rock-archaeological odyssey. One of gathering interviews, digging for footage, negotiating the usage rights and fees to the more than 100 songs that appear in the fascinating finally finished film.

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"People say 'labour of love'," laughs Tedesco from his home in Los Angeles, "and to me that means yeah, you're on your own. Good luck'."

The Wrecking Crew was the name given to the conglomeration of musicians, which, as the American music business shifted from New York to the West Coast in the early 1960s, became the backbone of the LA studio scene.

They were mostly jazz or classically trained. But as rock'n'roll took over, they went where the money was. And they became the players behind the increasingly adventurous pop productions from the likes of Beach Boy Brian Wilson or Phil Spector, whose "Wall of Sound" they laid the bricks for on tracks like River Deep, Mountain High.

They played for everyone from The Chipmunks to the Sinatras - Frank and Nancy. Dean Martin too. They were the band the Monkees - and a bunch of other pretend groups - weren't.

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Dean Martin in the studio with Glen Campbell (right).

Wilson is the first interviewee to appear in Tedesco's movie: "The Wrecking Crew was the focal point of the music" he says of the men and women who helped make his Good Vibrations a pop symphony, "they were the ones with all the spirit and all the know-how. Especially for rock and roll music."

No, there's no Phil Spector interview. Tedesco did try, right up until the very week in 2003 that the infamous producer shot and killed actress Lana Clarkson. He says he's glad now that the reclusive Spector said no.

Guitarist Tommy Tedesco in his Wrecking Crew days.

The film focuses on eight core members of the Crew, all musician's musicians like his father, drummer Hal Blaine, bassist Carole Kaye, guitarist Al Casey, drummer Earl Palmer, bassist Joe Osborn, and keyboardist Don Randi.

Some of them are interviewed individually or participate in roundtable discussions about the good old days in the hit factories of LA.

There are also interviews with others of the loose conglomeration of Wrecking Crew musicians. Some eventually found fame on their own, like guitarist turned country pop star Glen Campbell and session man turned solo singer-songwriter Leon Russell.

Tedesco says Russell was the last man to agree to an interview before he finally wrapped the film which had gone through a haphazard financial backing ranging from maxed-out credit cards to Kickstarter crowd-funding.

"Finally in 2006 my wife was concerned we had made the most expensive home movie ever. We had nothing to show for it and what we had was interviews on tapes ... so that is when we turned to donations and the past four years we have been doing donations and we have gone as far as we can go."

But if it's taken it's own good time to finish, the movie seems to have arrived at a good time. There's been a run of behind-the-scenes rock history docos in recent times - 20 Feet From Stardom, Muscle Shoals and Standing in the Shadows of Motown.

And The Wrecking Crew also arrives just as Love and Mercy - the drama about Brian Wilson at his artistic peak and its aftermath - hits cinemas.

"It took 19 years to make this picture and finally get this thing out there and I couldn't get better timing. It's not like we planned it like. I wish we could say 'yeah we are in cahoots with Brian Wilson'."

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The film captures the bumper years where the likes of drummer Blaine could boast he played on six Record of the Year Grammy winners in a row and could afford a Rolls Royce, to sometime in the 70s where in-demand players like him just weren't in as much demand any more. The music industry had become dominated by bands who played their own stuff.

"My dad was thrilled to be able to make a living at guitar. To make a living at an instrument puts you in a small minority. But to record as many hits as they did, they were even part of a smaller minority."

"So when years pass by and you still have your chops as a musician and you're wondering why no one is calling, I think it takes its toll. Everyone has it in every career. Sometimes you last longer than others and some take it better than others.

"My father always said he was like a baseball player. You have your time in the minors, you make it to the majors and then you slowly move on out while the new guys come in. That's how he broke in. It's part of the cycle."

Brian Wilson and Hal Blaine in the studio.

Finding footage of the Crew in action was its own challenge. Especially as it would turn up in some odd places.

"I kept asking Hal did anybody have any movie pictures -- 16mm or 8mm and he had all the stills. He loved his cameras.

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"And he said 'there was that one time when there was a party and I took an 8mm camera and I shot all the guys messing around in the studio and I went home and cut it between a porno. I think I got it somewhere ...'

"He sent me this 8mm reel and it is too brittle to put in a projector and I can't take it to one of those places which transfers home movies because it's porn. So I take it to a late night lab and sure enough, in between the portion of my father walking into the studio and Glen peeking around a corner, there's a 1950s 8mm porno. Really grainy and hardcore. But you know what? I got what we needed."

As for getting the rights to the songs, Tedesco doesn't begrudge the record labels and publishers and musicians union for creating the biggest demand on his budget.

Some like trumpeter turned record label tycoon Herb Alpert - The Wrecking Crew were effectively his Tijuana Brass - and Nancy Sinatra gave him the use of their tracks for free. As for the rest, he says he was given "amazing rates".

But he felt he had to have snatches of the 100 or songs to make the point of the story he was telling -- these guys played on all these songs. They helped make the songs what they are, whether it was Carol Kaye coming up for the bassline for The Beat Goes On or Blaine bashing chains on the studio floor for the epic ending of Bridge Over Troubled Water.

"It was really about the idea there was so much music. It wasn't the price it was the quantity. People said 'why don't you just bring it down to 20 songs instead of 100 songs?'

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"Because you can't tell that story without them."