Street Player

by Danny Seraphine

  “Who do you think you are doing that stuff, man?” I yelled at Bobby. I reached back into the car and tried to grab hold of his jacket. I wanted to drag him out of the backseat and kick his ass right there in the middle of the street.

  “Take it easy, Danny,” Bobby told me. He slid across the seat out of my reach. The light turned green and cars started beeping their horns at me as I stood fuming at the intersection.

  My actions may have been over the top, but we couldn’t let another member of the group fall victim to the dark side of the rock-and-roll lifestyle. Our group had witnessed Terry’s tragic downfall and there was no way we were going to sit on our hands and watch Bobby piss it all away. We gave him an ultimatum—either he clean up his act or he was out of the band. As expected, he didn’t take the news well.

  “Fuck all of you, then,” Bobby shot back. “I don’t need this. I quit!”

  He stormed out of the room. When he came back a few minutes later, he completely broke down. I empathized with Bobby because I saw what he was going through out on the road. The band was willing to do whatever it took to help him get back on track.

  “I’m sorry,” Bobby told us. “I love you guys and I don’t know what I would do without the band.”

  I certainly felt the same way about him. We had been family for over thirteen years. The band hoped a trip to rehab would help get him healthy again.

  Lee’s low point coincided with Bobby’s trouble. Since Terry passed away, Lee had struggled to get himself together. He had looked up to Terry more than anyone else in the band and as a consequence had been drifting aimlessly since his death. But Lee witnessed what was going on with Bobby on a daily basis and it inspired him also to want to make some necessary changes to get his life back on track.

  On the whole, our group was on uneasy footing. As Bobby was going through his personal crisis and Lee was taking time to focus on his health, Peter made it no secret that he was becoming more and more restless with his position in the group. Not that any of us had to look hard to see it. In a magazine interview, he alluded to the fact that he wished another band—he might have even said the Eagles—would offer him a job. He had started work on a solo album and seemed to be putting all of his attention into his personal projects. He recorded and released a self-titled solo album, which sank like a stone due to lack of record company support. Warner Brothers wasn’t interested in promoting the record because they didn’t want it to interfere with their plans for Chicago.

  The castle was crumbling before my eyes. I hadn’t come this far to see everything fall away and disintegrate into nothing. No matter what the odds, Chicago had to march on.

  Despite the grueling amount of work involved to get our band back to where we needed to be, I still found the time to produce side projects once in a while. During one recording session, I came across a gifted singer named Bill Champlin. I had brought him in to lay down backing vocals with Peter on a demo I was putting together. From the moment Bill started singing, his vocal chops blew me away. His voice blended beautifully with Peter’s. Bill had a diverse range and a low-end tone the band had been desperately missing since we lost Terry. The gears began turning in my head.

  “What if we brought Bill in to lay down some vocals on the next album?” I asked the band. If there was an area where we were a little weak at the time, it was on R&B-style vocals. Bill was also a talented keyboard player, so he might also be able to add some dimension and support to Bobby’s playing as well. The rest of the guys agreed we should give it a try.

  To make room for Bill, something had to change. Since our music was becoming more pop-oriented, the band decided our journey with Laudir had run its course. We were evolving, but it was a shame to have to let him go. The group needed to streamline not only our sound, but also our lineup. It was a difficult situation, since Laudir and I had played a lot of good years together and grown very close, but the band felt we had to make room for Bill.

  With our new lineup in place, Chicago needed a strong presence in the studio on our next album, someone who could give us a real kick in the ass. I had the perfect candidate in mind—a very talented songwriter, musician, and producer named David Foster. David had achieved great success and notoriety playing alongside legends like John Lennon, Rod Stewart, and Diana Ross and produced big acts such as Sonny and Cher and Earth, Wind and Fire. I had wanted to bring him in to do Chicago XIV, but the rest of the band and record company had voted it down. This time around the guys were more receptive to the idea of having David produce. He was a huge fan of our early material and I had a feeling he would give us a new sense of confidence we had been desperately lacking.

  Our commercial appeal was dwindling and we needed to find a way to regain our audience’s confidence. Everyone was convinced that David was the ideal person for the job, but as we ventured into the studio, the band began getting messages back from the marketing department at Warner Brothers, who were always our main line of communication with the programmers at the radio stations. The word was that singles with horns were a thing of the past. Radio wouldn’t play any of the material. The feedback confused me. After all, we were a horn band! We always had been. It hadn’t hurt us before, so why would it now?

  To his credit, David helped us see there were other avenues for our music to explore. He breathed life into our songwriting and changed our signature sound to adapt to what was going on in the 1980s. David collaborated with many of the guys in the band, particularly Peter, and brought a fresh perspective and energy. He incorporated outside musicians, bringing in David Paich and Steve Lukather from Toto to write and add dimension to some of the tracks, such as the song “Waiting for You to Decide.” David wasn’t only there as a producer, he was a collaborator and fellow musician. He related to us on a different level than any producer the band worked with since Jimmy Guercio.

  Peter bonded with David especially well because musically they shared a great deal in common. At the time, they both leaned toward adult contemporary ballads, which were becoming known as “power ballads.” Their work on the single “Hard to Say I’m Sorry” was groundbreaking. When we brought the rough mix in to Howard and Irving, they were both knocked out by it.

  “That is a number one song,” Irving told us. “I will guarantee it.”

  He couldn’t have been more on the money. “Hard to Say I’m Sorry” rocketed up the charts and became our second No. 1 single in the United States. The album found its way into the Top 10. Up until then, everyone—and I mean everyone—thought Chicago was dead and buried. But nothing could have been further from the truth. After hitting the wall, we had rebounded once again. This was our third comeback. We had more lives than a cat.

  David Foster deserved all the credit in the world for inspiring us. He was a joy to work with in the studio and went above and beyond the band’s expectations. We might have been wandering further and further away from our jazz-fusion roots, but we were also expanding our horizons as musicians. With David’s help, we opened the band up to a younger generation of fans. Together, we achieved everything we set out to do with Chicago 16.

  While the band was in the studio working on the album, Bobby was able to find the help he needed and get healthy. Even though he barely played a lick on the record, he was paid a complete royalty and received a full credit. Some people might have wondered if it was justified, but in my mind there was no question. Bobby deserved it for all the years he had carried the band on his back with his songwriting. In the end, he came back from his stint in rehab a changed man and requested that everyone call him Robert from that day on. In my opinion, he earned that right. The old Bobby was gone and the new Robert was here to stay.

  Together we set back out on the road and continued to sell out the larger venues across the country, especially arenas and civic centers. It was obvious that a major shift had taken place within Chicago’s fan base. Our unbelievable commercial success added a new diversity to our shows. Suddenly, teenage girls rushed the stage screaming Pet
er’s name. It was like a flashback to the late sixties. On any given night, I looked out over the crowd from behind my drum kit and saw couples in their forties enjoying our music as much as couples in their teens or early twenties. There were actually teenyboppers at our shows!

  The soaring popularity of the singles changed Peter’s mind about leaving the band to pursue a solo career. Besides, the success of his songs pushed him to the forefront of Chicago anyway. The once faceless band now had a distinct face. None of us had been ready for it, including Peter. His songs were showcased during our shows because they were the big hits of the time. His identity became the band’s identity and there was no stopping it.

  Everything aside, it was satisfying to be back on top again. Chicago had literally risen from the dead. After Terry’s passing, we had struggled to find our footing over the course of Hot Streets and Chicago 13 and regain our confidence. It had been a hard road, but we had made it through to the other side. A lot of credit had to be given to Howard and Irving for coming through in the clutch. Irving followed through and delivered on every promise he made. He insisted he would get our music played on the radio, and did he ever! You couldn’t turn on a rock radio station in the summer of 1982 without hearing “Hard to Say I’m Sorry” or “Love Me Tomorrow.” Irving also promised he would never put the band out on the road simply to get a commission for himself. He and Howard made money when the band made money. It was an even and balanced business situation.

  The checks were larger than ever. As a result, I finally decided to build a house on my beachfront property in Hawaii. It had always been a place where Teddy and the kids loved to spend time. The neighborhood was full of celebrities like famous tennis player Billie Jean King, Glenn Frey from the Eagles, and Graham Nash from Crosby, Stills and Nash, to name a few. You never knew who you might bump into while you were walking along the beach. Billie Jean King’s husband, Larry, even let us use their tennis court whenever we wanted to. Teddy and the kids loved the house. I flew Krissy and Danielle out from Chicago as often as possible so we could spend time together. It was an ideal setting.

  When Teddy got pregnant again, I had our management schedule her due date in with the band’s obligations. We blocked out a two-week period so it wouldn’t interfere with Chicago’s touring. Since J.D.’s birth had gone off without a hitch, I figured it would be the same this time around. Well, think again. All seemed to be going as planned until Teddy’s due date came and went. After she saw her doctor, he told us it could take up to another two weeks for the baby to arrive. Either way, I wasn’t going to be able to join the band on the first few dates of our upcoming tour, so I was forced to bring in the well-known session drummer Carlos Vega to fill in. I gave the band the green light to leave without me.

  The next morning, I was stunned when Teddy said she was ready.

  “But what about the two weeks like the doctor said?” I asked her.

  “I know when this baby’s coming!” she yelled.

  I helped her into the car and we rushed to the hospital in Westlake. Once I got Teddy settled on a hospital bed with a nurse, I wanted to go back out to get my video camera. We both wanted to document the birth just as we had for J.D.’s.

  “I’ll be right back,” I told the nurse. “I need to go down to my car.”

  “You better run,” she said. “This baby is here.”

  I sprinted down the hallway and back out to the car. I grabbed my video camera and raced back up the elevator. After washing my hands, I put on a mask and ran into the delivery room. Moments later, I realized I wasn’t getting enough oxygen through the mask. Suddenly the room started spinning and I collapsed to the floor. I looked up to see Teddy peering over the side of the birthing chair looking down at me.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “Yeah, I think so,” I answered, staring up at her. “Make sure you push, honey,” I weakly added.

  I remained sitting on the floor as my baby daughter was born. I finally managed to pick myself up and hold her for the first time. Teddy and I decided to name her Taryn—Irish for “Earth Angel.”

  As usual, I had to leave the next day to meet up with the band on tour. It was such a sudden shift in plans that Carlos Vega didn’t end up playing a single gig.

  After Chicago’s recent spike in success, we found we were having trouble pinning David down to produce our follow-up record. His popularity had exploded and he was in high demand within the music industry. Everyone wanted to hire him and his magic touch. In my opinion, David lost sight of what we had accomplished together and put the band on the back burner in order to focus on some of his other projects. I didn’t keep my feelings a secret. We had made a ridiculously popular record together and suddenly he was too busy to return my calls? Some of it may have been my own general paranoia, but I genuinely felt slighted. Still, despite the friction, David finally agreed to produce our next album.

  Not long before the band was to go into the studio, Teddy was diagnosed with what the doctors believed were the early stages of Hodgkin’s disease. It was a complete surprise to both of us because there were no obvious symptoms. One of the doctors actually told her she might have ten years left to live if she was lucky. They said she needed to be put on medication and strongly suggested she take six weeks off to rest.

  Teddy agreed on the recovery time, but had no interest in taking the medicine they prescribed for her. Being strong-minded and spiritual, she decided to pursue other homeopathic options and completely changed her diet—no more sugar, caffeine, salt, or alcohol. Teddy was determined to rely on meditation and healing herbs to improve her health. She left the children with me in Westlake and flew out to our house in Hawaii with her sister to begin the rehabilitation process.

  I put in a call to David and told him about Teddy’s health issues. I asked if it would be possible to hold off recording my drum parts for a week to give me an opportunity to fly out to Hawaii to support Teddy. David was understanding and said it shouldn’t be a problem as long as I was back in a week or two to begin work. I told him to cut the tracks with a drum machine and then I would overdub the parts when I got back into town.

  Leaving the kids with family at my house in Westlake, I flew out to Hawaii to be with Teddy. Fortunately, the rest and relaxation did her a lot of good, and in no time, her health improved tremendously. It was a relief for both of us. Ten days later, I left Hawaii in good spirits and returned to Los Angeles. I couldn’t wait to join in on the recording sessions with the band, but on my first night back in town, I got a late phone call from my buddy Hawk.

  “I heard through the grapevine Jeff Porcaro is playing drums on your new record,” he said. “What’s going on?”

  I didn’t have an answer for him because it was news to me. Maybe Hawk had heard it wrong and gotten confused. At least I hoped that was the case.

  The next morning I drove down to the Record Plant in Hollywood to find out what was going on. When I got there, the band was listening to a playback of a song called “Stay the Night.” Hawk had heard it right. It was Jeff’s drumming on the tape.

  None of the guys looked too happy to see me. David’s sound engineer, Umberto, met me at the door full of excuses. He insisted that David had tried to contact me to let me know they were bringing Jeff in on drums. David said he needed him because Jeff had an early set of Simmons electronic drums they wanted to incorporate into a few songs.

  Did he think I was going to buy something like that?

  Everyone had left me out of the loop, and I was livid. The incident came at an especially bad time in my life when there was a possibility that Teddy could have cancer. Why would David do something like that to me? Band problems were the last thing I needed. My stress and anxiety over Teddy’s condition were overwhelming me, and on top of that I now had to deal with people in the band pulling shit behind my back. The rest of the guys couldn’t understand my anger. David had brought in other musicians to record guitar and piano parts in the past, but in my mind this was di
fferent. Although there had been percussionists, no other drummer had ever played on a Chicago song or album.

  I put my anger aside long enough to sit down behind my drum kit, but I was too distracted to concentrate on the music. My playing was all over the place and it was difficult to keep in time. The harder I tried, the worse it became. From my drum stool, I saw David frowning back at me behind the glass of the control room and discussing something with Umberto. I could only imagine what he was saying:

  Jeez, what’s wrong with Danny? He’s lost it.

  David had started incorporating electronic drum machines into the songs, and it totally threw me off. He insisted that I play along to a click track in order to stay in time. I couldn’t make it work no matter how hard I tried. I’d been playing drums since I was eight years old and had never played to a click track. It was turning into a nightmare.

  I called Howard later that night. “This guy is fucking with my livelihood,” I shouted into the phone. “Does he know I wouldn’t think twice about coming down there with a baseball bat and breaking his legs?”

  The pressure was causing me to crack. I channeled all of my anxiety over Teddy’s health issues into my conflict with David. Howard was taken aback by my outburst, but told me he would have a conversation with David to straighten everything out.

  Whether he said it as a joke or not, Peter actually told David to be careful with me, because I’d had guys killed before! Can you believe it? It must have been Peter’s attempt at dark humor, but David didn’t take it that way. He freaked out and locked me out of the studio the next day. After his initial panic, we eventually were able to talk it out and put our differences aside. We decided he would go easy on me and I would give the click track another try.

  The real problem was that my confidence in my abilities was shot. I was desperate and had no idea how to pull off any of the drum parts. I turned to our sound engineer, Umberto, for help. The band still needed drums on the song “You’re the Inspiration,” so we scheduled time in the studio with only the two of us so I could concentrate and lay down the track once and for all.