As it turned out, we couldn’t change the date but we were thrilled that Eileen Ford’s other choice, the Four Tops, were available; what could be more all-American and wholesome than hearing the sounds of “Sugar Pie Honey Bunch?” Jerry Ford was the onstage Master of Ceremonies for the evening and the models surrounding him were the hottest new faces on the scene. The crowd went crazy when he crowned Tricia Helfer, Ford’s New Face Of The Eighties. (Tricia is still as beautiful as ever. Check her out in Battlestar Galactica and the 2013 series Killer Women.) Frankie Crocker then took the stage to wild applause and introduced the Four Tops who hit the stage singing “Baby I Need Your Loving;” they brought the house down and followed with “Standing In The Shadows Of Love” and “Reach Out, I’ll Be There.” Levi Stubbs, the lead singer, one of the greatest voices ever in R&B music, tore it up.
Everything was picture-perfect—until the party inadvertently moved into the basement. Based upon the document I signed with the ABC, I could lose my liquor license over this potential misunderstanding. I could see the headline: “Parties In The Basement—Business as Usual at Studio 54.” That’s all the State Liquor Authority and ABC would have to hear.
The Four Tops had just finished their performance. They were using my office as a Green Room, and it was packed to capacity. So I snuck out and headed down to the basement, taking Levi, Lawrence, Duke, and Obie—all Four Tops—with me. Along the way, Nile Rogers and then Frankie Crocker joined us with several beautiful women in tow. I figured it would be quiet down there. Wrong. Keith Richards and Ronnie Wood were heading up the stairs as we were heading down the stairs and once The Stones saw The Tops it was “party time.” Years later when I read Life by Keith Richards, he summed it up best with this reference to himself, Mick, Charlie, and Bill, on their first US road tour back in 1964: “We waited for each new release by The Temptations and the Four Tops to keep us going while we were on the road. Motown was our food, on the road and off, we just wanted to be black motherfuckers.”
So there we were in the basement of Studio 54, and as I looked around, it definitely did look like I was hosting a party in the basement. At first, busboys were running back and forth under the dance floor, trying to avoid the crowd, saving time bringing drinks to the VIPs upstairs, but soon they were bringing drinks to us in the basement. Models were everywhere, giggling and dancing, everyone had a drink in hand, and chairs were already set up for us. We had used the area earlier as a dressing room for the band and it was all quite comfortable. There was a lot of hand-slapping, laughing, champagne, and cocaine. Had I been raided, it would have looked like I was “operating a VIP lounge” in the basement. I had to make a move. I told security to clear all guests out my office, the stairs, and every nook and cranny leading to my office, and I was finally able to move the party out of the basement and to my office upstairs.
As nervous as I had been, I should emphasize that it was moments like this that made it all worthwhile. I was spending time with people I held in high esteem. Nile Rodgers is a genius, from his early productions with Chic and David Bowie, to his more current work with Daft Punk and Pharrell on “Get Lucky.” The sound of my youth was Levi Stubbs and the Four Tops, Frankie Crocker on the radio, and The Rolling Stones. They were all there, taking such obvious delight in each other’s company, doing lines and talking trash…and it was all happening right here, at my club. The State Liquor Authority would never have believed that I didn’t plan this. I respected my agreement with the State Liquor Authority, and I abided by the rules, but on this night and at that point in the game my attitude was “fuck it, this is my club” and I took another hit of coke. Since that night, the Four Tops, Frankie Crocker, and The Rolling Stones have all been inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.
Chapter Nineteen:
Walk on the Wild Side
My foray into the world of R&B music continued when Denise Chatman walked into Studio 54 late one night wearing a formal gown and a big smile and asked me if I would work with her on a party for Marvin Gaye, who had just released the very, very hot “Sexual Healing.” I said, “Yes, of course! Let’s do it.” She had just come from the annual T. J. Martell Foundation Dinner at The Waldorf Astoria, where Walter Yetnikoff, President of CBS Records, was holding court with Morris Levy and friends. Walter asked Denise to help him plan something special for Marvin Gaye at Studio 54 in celebration of “Sexual Healing” and Marvin’s week of sold-out performances at Radio City Music Hall. Walter was thrilled with “Sexual Healing,” but irate after listening to the new tracks Marvin had just finished recording for his new album release. The title track was origianlly named “Sanctified Pussy.” Marvin reasoned that if a James Bond film could succeed at the box office with a character named Pussy Galore he could do the same. Marvin was highly intelligent but there was no reasoning with him when he was eating cocaine for breakfast.
I was ecstatic at the thought of a party at Studio 54 for Marvin Gaye, but Denise told me that Walter Yetnikoff confirmed what she already knew, having met with Marvin when she worked at Salsoul Records—the man was charming but oh so difficult. Even though he was back living in the USA after ducking the IRS for several years (his IRS debt is now settled) and freed from his contract with Motown and had a new recording contract with Columbia Records, and even with the smash hit “Sexual Healing,” Marvin was as troubled as ever—coked-up and out of it, twenty-four seven.
This was to be Walter’s party for Marvin, but Walter had a record company to run, and so it was up to Columbia Records’ Amy Strauss, manager of Artist Functions at Columbia Records, and Denise to put it all together.
Locking in a date was every bit the nightmare Denise predicted it would be, but she knew she had my support. Marvin would agree to a date and then cancel it the following day, creating havoc on our event schedule at Studio. At one point I had to send Denise down to the Virgin Islands to relax. Shay Knuth and Shelley Tupper joined her. I arranged some excursions and snorkeling time for them on The Calypso, the Jacques Cousteau boat. The girls played in the sun during the day and at night the phone calls continued between Denise and Amy. After several months of back and forth with Marvin, nothing had been finalized.
And then it all came together—the date was agreed upon.
I was in my Jacuzzi when my assistant, Victoria Leacock, knocked on the door. “Denise wants you to know, Mick Jagger just called her for the guest list, he’ll be there. He wants Marvin to know.” Word had leaked out about the party, but Columbia Records wanted to keep it intimate. Was I surprised that Mick Jagger had personally called to be placed on the guest list for a party honoring Marvin Gaye? Hell no. Mick, Keith, and the other Stones were steeped in R&B. The number one single from their 1965 album was “Little Red Rooster,” written by Willie Dixon and previously recorded by Howlin’ Wolf in 1961. Since the age of ten, they all knew everything there was to know about America’s rhythm and blues artists. To the Rolling Stones, Marvin Gaye was a god.
The “behind the scenes” planning at Studio was always a challenge in an effort to be creative, and the Marvin Gaye party was no different. Columbia Records came up with a brilliant idea that was sure to please Marvin. A few months back, on February 13, 1983, Marvin sang the National Anthem at the NBA All-Star Game, hosted by the LA Lakers in Los Angeles. He sang it with a simple drum track, in his inimitable style, and he brought the house down. It was one of his proudest moments. And so on the night of May 16, 1983 Marvin Gaye entered Studio 54, and as he walked the long, beautiful mirrored entryway into the main room, DJ Leroy Washington cut the music and blasted Marvin singing the National Anthem, which was simultaneously visible on all the video monitors and the huge screen over the dance floor. Tall, dark, and handsome, wearing sunglasses and looking every bit of the rock and roll royalty that he was, Marvin Gaye entered the main room of Studio 54 to wild applause. After some time spent saying hello to friends and the record/radio industry people in attendance, Walter Yetnikoff and his gi
rlfriend Boom Boom, Marvin Gaye and Mick Jagger disappeared into my office. At one point Marvin made an appearance from the second-floor balcony outside my office that looked out over the dance floor and the entire club. It was a moment to remember for those who experienced it—he truly was a musical genius. He was the voice for a generation; the haunting and timeless “What’s Goin’ On” is as relevant today as it was in 1971 when it consumed America’s airwaves, heard everywhere—college campuses, office buildings, car radios, and the battlefields of Vietnam.
Marvin Gaye and Mick Jagger spent most of the night holding court behind closed doors, as royalty are known to do.
Studio 54 would go on to present some of the most diverse and exciting music ever staged at the club. When Denise took a call from Eric Kronfeld, who represented Lou Reed, she could hardly contain herself. After all, this was the cofounder of The Velvet Underground. She thought having Lou Reed perform at Studio would be over the top, while I thought it might be too over the top. We’d never done an advance-sale event before, and I was nervous when she asked—no, begged—for my approval. Essentially, I’d be agreeing to close my doors to the regular clientele without any guarantee. Would Lou Reed’s crowd come to Studio? I wasn’t sure, but I finally agreed to give it a shot. Lou Reed Live at Studio 54 sold out in three hours. The night of the performance, I stood there listening to Lou Reed sing “Walk On The Wild Side,” and it all made perfect sense to me. The song is his affectionate salute to the misfits, hustlers, and transvestites who once inhabited the orbit of Andy Warhol. Lou Reed will be missed. His words will forever remind me that, once past the red velvet rope, Studio 54 was a definite walk on the wild side.
Henry Eshelman, Director of our Mailroom Operations, was on top of it when he asked me for permission to book the Beastie Boys at Studio 54 for another advanced-sale event. I had not heard of them, but I trusted Henry; plus, the success of Lou Reed at Studio 54 inspired me to be more open about the genres of music to consider. I was totally unprepared for this group of three white Jewish kids from New York City, and in that I learned a valuable lesson. Keep your mind open to the power of another beat. Our crowd went insane and so did I. I couldn’t sit down. I was hooked on this new sound, a harbinger of things to come when, twelve years later, I would present rap and hip hop at The Century Club in Los Angeles.
In the years that I owned Studio 54, we presented some of the most diverse and exciting music ever staged at the club. Some of the acts performed on the dance floor during TV productions. Earth, Wind & Fire; Joni Mitchell; The Sugarhill Gang; Teddy Pendergrass; and everyone’s favorite on The Match Game, Charles Nelson Reilly, stand out in my memory. Others performed from the spectacular and versatile moving bridge twenty feet high in the air above the dance floor, spanning the entire length of the dance area. It could be moved stage front and stage rear. It was constructed of steel and strong enough to safely accommodate one hundred screaming, dancing, jumping people, powered by a motor and operated by our tech crew. There was an entrance to the bridge directly outside my office door on the second-floor landing, so my office often functioned as a green room. When visiting artists came off the bridge or stage after a performance, it was my pleasure to make them feel welcome and comfortable. I usually had coke, champagne, and Quaaludes waiting—whatever their pleasure—for them and their entourage of friends to enjoy. In an effort to promote their records and careers, many appeared without compensation, so this was my way of showing a little gratitude for their performances—plus, I got to hang out with many interesting and talented people.
The bridge served as a concert stage for the beautiful Laura Branigan, who was proudly showcased by the great Ahmet Ertegun, chief of Atlantic Records. The Weather Girls, aka Two Tons o’ Fun, brought the house down when my good friend, songwriter Paul Jabara (“Enough is Enough” and “Last Dance”), directed and choreographed the girls and a slew of dancers for the debut of his and Paul Shaffer’s now-iconic disco song “It’s Raining Men.” The Studio 54 Sunday night gay crowd went wild upon hearing it for the first time. Disco queen Gloria Gaynor entertained us royally from her perch on the bridge, singing “I Will Survive,” her ever-popular number one record from Billboard’s Hot 100 chart in 1978.
To this day, it still irks Tom Moulton that some DJs take the credit for breaking “I Will Survive” and making it a number one record. I will set the record straight here and now with the following quote from Tom:
I was in the booth at Studio 54 when Richie Kaczor first played the 12” of ‘I Will Survive’ and they all walked off the dance floor. Richie stuck with it and over the course of a few weeks it caught on. Richie liked it when no one else was into a record. It was the B side of ‘Substitute’ and that’s the one Polydor was pushing. Richie can take full credit for the success of ‘I Will Survive.’
Studio 54 provided a new venue for The Harris Sisters and their band, Hibiscus and The Screaming Violets. I remember at one of their performances, Hibiscus and George Harris III (brother of the Harris Sisters) descended from the ceiling on a swing, joining his sisters on the moving bridge, which scared the shit out of all of them as it lurched forward and backward. The Screaming Violets were dressed in purple sequined gowns, purple marabou jackets, and four-inch spiked heels. The crowd loved it.
Other entertainers who performed for us included Tito Puente, who caused a commotion like no other in a packed-to-the-rafters house one night. The crowd demanded encore after encore of his Latin rhythms and percussion, and Tito obliged them, playing with that unforgettable smile on his face. K. C. and the Sunshine Band were so hugely popular, it didn’t matter which night it was, as were The Village People whenever they performed—people screaming for more “YMCA.” Everyone loved Cyndi Lauper, a hometown Brooklyn girl, beloved by New Yorkers especially when MTV always had her in heavy rotation with video hits like “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun.” Flock of Seagulls performed at a private party and the club was packed with invited guests, much to the dismay of the crowd outside that couldn’t be admitted. Duran Duran created an Elvis-style girl pandemonium when they performed to a packed Studio 54. Bobby Brown and New Edition packed the house with very young girls, each one in possession of a flawless fake ID, and Boy George and Culture Club agreed to appear but only if Frankie Crocker would introduce them. Grace Jones was so loved by all that no one ever missed one of her appearances or performances at Studio.
KISS performed live for an unforgettable 1982 New Year’s Eve event that was simulcast in Italy for the San Remo Film Festival. Talk about wild happenings. We had a stage set up for their performance, and it was quite a challenge controlling the fans, both male and female, who were, and still are, obsessed with them. Studio was a scene that night and Gene Simmons and Paul Stanley were forced to hang in my office to escape the crowds below. They were warm and friendly and we had a good time. Somehow fans figured out they were in my office on the second floor and managed to find a ladder and tried climbing up, hoping to get in or have a peek at the dynamic duo. We had to post security at the base of the fire escape to prevent fans from climbing up the five stories to the Rubber Room door, hoping to get in.
Madonna, then a virtual unknown, appeared on The Bridge in 1983 to perform “Holiday,” as Halston, Steve Rubell, Billy Smith, and Seymour Stein of Sire Records watched from the second-floor landing. Earlier on the day of her performance at Studio, I witnessed firsthand the beginning of her diva behavior. I was walking across the back of the dance floor by the famous brick wall heading to a meeting in my partner Stanley Tate’s office when I heard, “Well, where the fuck is he then? I’m waitin’ here for close to forty minutes already.” It was Madonna, a nobody, complaining that Frankie Crocker, the number one radio programmer in the US, was keeping her waiting. She’d arrived at the appointed time to do her sound check—nothing was happening and she was pissed. She was probably tired, as Billy Smith who’d arranged for her to sing that night told me he’d found her downstairs in a makeshift dressing
room, where she’d spent most of the afternoon sleeping before her performance.
This was before the British accent and platinum records, but she was already in possession of the diva attitude—from birth, probably. But on that afternoon, as I watched this scene go down, the chutzpah—the balls—of an unknown was thrilling. I was secretly hoping that Frankie Crocker would show up and I could watch two divas go at it. After her performance that evening, local radio station Z100 added “Holiday” to the playlist, as did WBLS. In a matter of months Madonna would release her first album, which would go on to sell five million copies that year. She was on her way.
As time went on, Studio 54 was more in tune with the 1980s and doing better financially. It was time to relax, have a good time, and get really fucked up.
There was still some semblance of a relationship with Laurie Lister at the beginning of my reign at Studio 54 but my behavior was taking its toll, and then I crossed a line and did something on that past New Year’s Eve that delivered the definitive blow to any hope she may have had that I was going to straighten up and behave like a mensch. I was en route from Miami to New York City on New Year’s Eve day, with Dodi Fayed on his private jet. Dodi loved Quaaludes, good quality coke, and hot women, and he always had plenty of all three. We were celebrating the critical acclaim of “Chariots Of Fire,” for which Dodi had an executive producer credit and which went on to win the Oscar for Best Picture in 1982. We were being entertained by some very attractive “hot to trot” flight attendants. I lost track of what day it was, forgot about my plans for later that evening with Laurie, and partied through the night in a suite at the Plaza Hotel with Dodi. After that, Laurie decided to move on and forget about me. I wish I could remember some of the details of that night. I know it was one hell of party, but I remember nothing, only the consequence I suffered—losing a truly incredible woman who I had been crazy about.
Inside Studio 54 Page 18
