Street Player

by Danny Seraphine

  As always, to make the right decision it was important that I hear the soundtrack before picking up the phone and calling anyone. If the music didn’t blow me away, I wouldn’t be able to devote myself to the project. When they sent me a tape of the orchestration, which was written by the great Indian composer A. R. Rahman, I was thrilled and couldn’t wait to get started. I called many of the same investors I had approached to back Brooklyn. I figured if it worked once, it would work twice. And in the end it did.

  I regularly traveled to New York City to meet with the show’s producers and possible investors. I was still running away from my destiny in many ways, but my Broadway work was serving as a good tonic. It kept me close to music. I needed new projects to occupy my time so I wouldn’t have to confront the larger personal issues looming over my head. Just because I was avoiding my problems, however, didn’t mean they couldn’t somehow find me.

  One morning I came walking out of a restaurant during one of my trips to New York City and suddenly found myself face-to-face with Robert outside on the sidewalk. Needless to say, I was caught completely off guard. We had run into each other once at a benefit for Beach Boy Carl Wilson shortly after I moved back to California, but there were a lot of people around and we hadn’t said much to each other. Before I knew it, Robert and I were giving each other a friendly hug.

  “How are you doing?” I asked, trying to hide my nervousness.

  “Pretty good, man,” Robert answered. “It’s great to see you, Danny.”

  “Yeah,” I told him. “It’s nice to see you too.”

  Our small talk was painful. I sensed my emotions building and my heart rate picking up. I don’t know what was coming over me, but I had to get out of there right away. The levee was going to break.

  “Listen, why don’t I give you my cell phone number?” Robert said.

  My hand was already beginning to shake as I typed his number into my phone. “Okay, man, I’ve got to go,” I told him quickly. “Good seeing you.”

  Robert could see there was something wrong. A concerned expression swept across his face as we parted ways. I took off walking in the opposite direction as fast as I could. At the end of the block, I rounded the corner and ducked into an alley. Suddenly my legs buckled and I collapsed against a section of chain-link fence. All the emotion I held back over the years flooded to the surface. I hadn’t cried that hard since my mother had passed away. I clung to the fence tightly until I was able to regain my balance and stand back up on my feet.

  The outburst left me shaken. It took me another few minutes to get my head straight. I called Rebecca and told her about what had happened. She said she had never heard me that distraught before.

  Will I ever be able to put this behind me? I wondered. There had never been any type of resolution. Every time I put some distance between the band and myself, all my pain popped back up again. There would never be any relief until all of us could get together and put the past behind us. But I didn’t know if I would ever see that happen.

  A few days before Thanksgiving in 2005, I was talking on the phone with my close friend Peter Fish when he brought up a topic I hadn’t thought about in a long time.

  “Listen,” Peter told me. “The other day I was thinking about how amazing the early Chicago Transit Authority material is. What if we put a band together?”

  I mulled Peter’s idea over.

  “Don’t say yes and don’t say no right now,” he continued, “but I’ve been thinking that before I die, I want to be in a band with you. You are too talented a musician not to be playing.”

  I was more than flattered by Peter’s words. I told him it meant a lot to hear that level of praise coming from him. Over the years, there were many friends and business associates who’d started asking why I wasn’t playing drums anymore. A vague interest in putting together another band had been floating around in the back of my mind for years, but my heart was never into it. I told Peter I needed to woodshed to see if I could whip my drumming chops back into shape. I didn’t want to be seen as a guy who should have stayed retired. Over the course of the next two weeks, I practiced tirelessly in the garage at my house in Northridge and studied with a renowned teacher and old friend, Joe Porcaro (father of the late founding member of Toto and drumming legend Jeff Porcaro). My family and friends gave their unconditional support. Everyone was happy to see me playing drums again. When I was physically and mentally ready, I called Peter back and told him I was in.

  We hatched a plan to do a rock/big band album covering some of the best songs from the early years of CTA. Now we only had to find other talented musicians who were as excited about doing the project.

  At the same time, Don Lombardi, the owner and founder of DW Drums, had also been urging me to get back to playing again. Don was always a close friend and a big advocate of my drumming style. I had been endorsing his company’s drums and equipment since the mid-1980s. He couldn’t understand why I wasn’t at least traveling around the country doing drum clinics.

  When I told Don about the project idea Peter and I had come up with, he was very supportive. He arranged a jam session with a group of other musicians at drummer extraordinaire Gregg Bissonette’s house in Thousand Oaks, not far from where I lived. Gregg is a world-class drummer who has had a successful career playing with big acts like David Lee Roth, Toto, Don Henley, Carlos Santana, and Ringo Starr. That evening in his rehearsal space we were joined by bassist Bob Birch, who had been playing with Elton John for thirteen years, and a tremendously talented guitarist named Marc Bonilla. They had all grown up on Chicago’s early music, so I spent the first few hours sitting around telling them band stories about being out on the road. For the rest of the night, we jammed together. We didn’t worry about arrangements or sound levels; we simply let the music flow. There was no denying the immediate musical connection between Marc and me. I hadn’t experienced anything like it since my days of playing with Terry. The rehearsal was an awakening. Playing with highly talented musicians stirred up emotions and feelings I hadn’t experienced in years.

  At the end of the day, Marc and I talked about a plan to put something serious together in order to play some rock clubs in Los Angeles. As soon as I got home, I called up Peter Fish in New York to see if he wanted in on what we were putting together. He told me to let him know as things developed. It was building inside of me—the same sense of expectation I experienced when Walt and I were putting the Big Thing together back in the early days.

  A few weeks later, Marc called to ask if I wanted to participate in a fund-raiser that was being put together in Phoenix to help a photojournalist who had worked for Modern Drummer magazine. When the organizers, close friends Danny Zelisko and drummer Troy Luccketta from the band Tesla, also called to ask if I would perform at the benefit, I couldn’t say no.

  Later that day, Marc called me. “Why don’t we get the guys together and learn ‘Make Me Smile,’ ‘25 or 6 to 4,’ and ‘I’m a Man’?” he told me. “I’ve got a bunch of ideas about playing the horn parts on guitar and synthesizer.”

  With Marc, Peter, and I in on the project, we needed to round out our lineup. Marc recommended a friend of his, an exceptional bass player by the name of Mick Mahan, and had another musician, Ed Roth, in mind to play keyboards. After we ran through a few rehearsals to learn the arrangements of the old CTA songs, we felt we were ready.

  The fund-raiser in Phoenix was packed with talented musicians from all over the country. Luckily, we ran into Larry Braggs, lead singer of the outstanding group Tower of Power, who was there performing with another drumming legend and friend of mine, David Garibaldi. Larry volunteered to sing lead vocal on “I’m a Man” and “25 or 6 to 4” for us. Part of me was horrified to take the stage in front of the full theater, and the other part couldn’t wait to get up there and play. Fortunately, our rehearsals paid off.

  After finishing “25 or 6 to 4,” we walked to the front of the stage and took a quick bow. When I picked my head back up, the entire
place was standing and applauding. The audience’s wild reaction hit us hard. After being lost for so many years, it was as if I had come home again.

  I fell down into a chair back in the dressing room and toweled off. I was dripping with sweat and my heart was still racing. My thoughts flashed back to the first big show I played with Jimmy Ford and the Executives at the Civic Arena in Pittsburgh. I began laughing and couldn’t wipe the grin off of my face.

  And then it hit me. For the first time in as long as I could remember, I had gotten off on the music. I was high.

  At that exact moment, I knew what I needed to do; put a band together of the same cloth as the original CTA—a skilled group made up of the best musicians around.

  After getting back to Los Angeles, we locked in our lineup: Larry Braggs on vocals, Marc Bonilla on lead guitar, Mick Mahan on bass, and Ed Roth and Peter Fish on keyboards. We had the bases covered musically. But what will we call ourselves? I wondered. And then it came to me . . . CTA. But it couldn’t stand for Chicago Transit Authority. All of us were living in California . . . what about California Transit Authority? The name made sense to everyone.

  The group name was a fitting acknowledgment of the original CTA days. Besides, I was starting over again like I had when I moved out to Hollywood in the summer of 1968. The group is a revisiting of the old Chicago Transit Authority music, a sound that has always defined me. It’s a fresh beginning and another opportunity to prove myself.

  We continued to rehearse and eventually put together a seventy-minute set that included a variety of early CTA tracks like “Colour My World,” “Make Me Smile,” “25 or 6 to 4,” and “South California Purples.” Marc came up with an innovative rock/big band arrangement of an old Cannonball Adderley song called “Something Different,” doing a faithful interpretation with guitars instead of horns. Finally, the band played our first official gig at the Canyon Club in Agoura Hills, California, in January 2006 and never looked back.

  When I found out I was set to be one of the featured drummers at the 2006 Modern Drummer Festival at the New Jersey Center for the Performing Arts, I was absolutely thrilled. The organizers explained that I would be joining a lineup of legendary drummers like Stewart Copeland, Steve Smith, and Thomas Lang on the bill. The band and I played a powerful set in front of every major drummer in the world. We received a standing ovation and I considered the performance one of the defining moments of my life. The drummers of the world had welcomed me back with open arms. A great weight had been lifted off of my shoulders and an overwhelming sense of redemption had set in. And to think I was supposedly let go from Chicago for my poor playing. From that point on, I vowed never to take my talent for granted again.

  Next, the new CTA recorded on and off for nine months at the Green Room in Van Nuys in hopes of putting an album together. Going back into the studio was a strange experience. Although I had produced other artists on and off over the past seventeen years, I hadn’t played and recorded my own material. There was a high standard set in my mind and I initially put a lot of unnecessary pressure on myself. Luckily, I settled down very quickly. Once we hit our stride, the band started killing it in the studio. The sound engineer, Marc Greene, helped us get the old-school type of sound we were looking for.

  I leaned on many friends and business contacts in order to come up with the money to finance recording the CD. People came through in the clutch and invested out of their deep respect for me. I didn’t come to them as a fast-talking car salesman type of guy. I gave them the honest truth, and people could feel my passion for the project. I will be forever grateful for their support.

  In the end, the hard work paid off, and on August 14, 2007, California Transit Authority released our first studio record, fittingly titled Full Circle.

  Since the day we started, every day has been an uphill climb to try and establish the new band. I may have initially come back to music to play drums, but I have found myself wearing many other hats: manager, promotion man, road manager—you name it and I’ll do it. It’s certainly another case of “be careful what you wish for.” I wanted to get back into playing in a working band again, and boy did I ever! Working is the key word! At the same time, I also realize the band can be a big part of my life, but I will not let it become my life. I’ve already made that mistake once and don’t intend to do it again.

  It isn’t realistic to compare the current status of the new band with the astonishing success of Chicago, but unfortunately it is my natural tendency. I can’t overlook what I have been accustomed to throughout my career. The days of overwhelming popularity and international superstardom are over, but California Transit Authority still has the ability be successful in its own way.

  Fortunately, we have gotten a great response for Full Circle and there’s a buzz building about our live performances. Robert Lamm even called me shortly after we released our album to tell me he was thrilled we were doing reworked versions of his songs “25 or 6 to 4” and “South California Purples.” I was thankful for Robert’s support, because not many bands would take the risk of redoing those songs. I enjoy being around all the fans again. Actually, I consider them more like friends than fans. Many of them have been with me since the early days and have told me how happy they are to have me back playing. That alone makes it all worthwhile.

  Epilogue

  Looking back, I realize I had a problem with my temper, and I am probably more paranoid than I should be. But I will never apologize or make excuses for following my instincts over the years. They are all I have had to rely on since my days of running the streets of Chicago. Act first and ask questions later. Hesitate for a moment too long in the old neighborhood and you would pay for it. I didn’t make it as far as I did by being passive and docile. I’ve never been a yes-man for anyone. The rest of the guys in Chicago had a difficult time understanding my behavior sometimes, because none of them came from a background like mine. They grew up in the quiet suburbs outside of the city and never ran from shotgun-wielding members of gangs, eluding bullets and buckshot.

  From the beginning, I was always the drummer, the backbone of the operation. It was my job to keep everyone in time and in balance. I set the pace and carried it through until the end no matter what. It may have not been the right way, but it was the only way I knew. Over the course of my life, I will be the first to admit I have been guilty of being overly aggressive in dealing with people. It’s something I still struggle with today. My fiery Italian personality has made me in certain situations and broken me in others. I believe in karma and I could have handled things differently when the band got rid of Laudir de Oliveira and Donnie Dacus. I could have approached my power play against Jack Goudie a little differently. It’s taken me a long time to understand that I’ve been the master of my own destruction.

  As I’ve grown older, I have made major strides in my life, but I am still a work in progress. Like Pete always said, “Lose your head and your ass will follow.” It’s true. I have always been more of a lover than a fighter, but it took a long time for me to get it through my head. Luckily, I had great teachers to guide me along the way, like Bob Tilles, Chuck Flores, and both Papa Jos—Jo Jones and Joe Porcaro. I learned as much about life from them as I did about drumming.

  At sixty-two years old, I can still see the flame out there in the distance, but instead of running, these days I walk toward it.

  Above all, I couldn’t be more proud of my music career and the legacy Chicago left behind. I’m honored to have been part of a truly golden era in music and lived to tell the story. So many people didn’t make it along the way. More than anything, I’m happy to still be playing the music that has been inside of me since the afternoons of banging on my mom’s pots and pans on our kitchen floor back in Chicago.

  Many nights, I lie quietly in bed and thank God for the tremendous good fortune I have had throughout my life. I know my mom and dad are up there somewhere rooting me on. And Terry is up there too, smiling down on me as I play in a band he help
ed inspire. He’s a big part of the reason I go out there and perform night after night. I do it for Terry and all the fans who still remember the early days of CTA and our contribution to music. I also do it for my family, who have always been there to support me. They give me the strength to get out of bed in the morning and try to enjoy every moment of life. And I want to continue to make them proud.

  Even though the cowardly way I was fired from the band has hovered over me like a black cloud since 1990, it was merely an unfortunate end to an unbelievably joyful period in my life. It doesn’t erase the remarkable life I’ve led. There isn’t a person in the world who can take my achievements away. Hopefully, one day my former bandmates and I will be able to reconcile and put our differences behind us. Until that time comes, I can only remain optimistic and go about my business.

  Whenever fans today come up and ask, “Hey, are you guys ever going to get back together again?” I look at them and say, “If there is one thing I have learned, it’s never say never.”

  Acknowledgments

  First and foremost, to My Sweet Lord—who has given me such an incredible and interesting life. You have always taken care of me, no matter what.

  I’d like to acknowledge the following people for the profound impact they’ve all had on my life, whether positive or negative. They helped shape who I am today.

  To Adam Mitchell, thanks for your patience with my ADD and crazy lifestyle. You made writing this book an incredibly positive and cathartic experience.

  To Alan Nevins—this book would not have happened without your persistence and belief in my story. Thank you.

  To Bill Denton, Don Lombardi, Ken Kleinberg, Danny Zelisko, Rich “G-man” Goins, Jimmy “the Count” Pacifico, Jim and Stevie Cummings, Kirk and Grace Eberl, Bill Grimes, Iris Smith, Larry Walker, and Larry Thomas for their undying friendship and support with my current and hopefully future endeavors.