Many business-oriented individuals at record labels hold a magnifying glass to sales charts, scope cities to discover scenes, and explore those hotbeds to unearth potential trends. I wanted to discover new talent on my own, not follow the flock of A&R lemmings from one bidding war to the next. I wasn’t into fads or feeding frenzies. I wanted to find good musicians who wrote great songs, help them spread their wings, and sign them to a fair record deal that was a win/win for them and the label. Having played with hundreds of bands from various genres and seen firsthand what worked for them and what didn’t, I looked for artists with talent, charisma, strong melodies, and something that separated them from their peers, be it looks, attitude, or another element entirely.
Some of the acts I approached didn’t specifically know Simon Dupree & The Big Sound or Gentle Giant, but they knew I had been on their side of the business and understood how hard it was to write songs, record albums, tour, perform, self-promote, and survive on less money than many households allocate for pet food. That put us on the same team, more or less. Many of the bands I worked with appreciated that I didn’t come from an Ivy League college, didn’t have an MBA in marketing, and didn’t ascend the corporate ladder through family connections. I wasn’t a bean counter, and I didn’t think of artists as assembly line workers with products to sell.
About two weeks into my A&R gig, I was listening to a new Long Island-based rock station, The Apple WAPP FM 103.5, when I heard a song called ‘Runaway’ and couldn’t get the chorus out of my head.
‘Did you hear that?’ I asked Jerry. ‘Do you know this song?’
‘Not sure,’ he replied. ‘I wasn’t really paying attention.’
I called the radio station and found out the song was by a kid from Sayreville, New Jersey. His name was John Bongiovi, and soon, after he changed his name, everyone would know who he was. But that was a way down the road. First, I had to bring him into the PolyGram fold.
The story of ‘Runaway’ exemplifies John’s drive and determination to be a star. He wrote the song in 1980 and recorded it in 1981 at the Power Station, a New York recording studio where he swept floors and took out garbage in exchange for late-night recording time. ‘Runaway’ was one of eight tracks on The Power Station Demos, which was recorded with studio musicians and produced by John’s second cousin, Tony Bongiovi.
John sent The Power Station Demos to numerous record labels and management companies, most of whom threw it in the trash. So, he took another path. He told the story in 2018, during his induction into the Rock & Roll Hall Of Fame:
‘I thought, Who is the loneliest person in the music business? The DJ. There was a new station in NYC called WAPP. It was so new that there wasn’t even a receptionist, so I was able to walk in and get the attention of John Lassman and the DJ, Chip Hobart. I told them about the songs on the cassette and the frustration of not getting any label to listen to it. Chip did listen to it, and he told me he thought it should be included on their homegrown record of local original music.’
In addition to ‘Runaway,’ the compilation album New York Rocks: The Apple WAPP FM 103.5 included homegrown songs by Twisted Sister, DC Star, and seven more obscure artists. Hobart and Lassman liked ‘Runaway’ so much that they put it on the air, first late at night, then throughout the day. The station’s listeners responded well to it, and before he had bandmates or a group name, John Bongiovi had a regional hit.
I heard the song a few times on the radio and it always caught my ear, but I didn’t do anything about it. Then, one day, the head of our business affairs department, Ted Green, came into my office.
‘Derek, there’s an attorney from Philadelphia that’s called me a couple of times. He wants to speak to you.’
‘What about?’ I replied. I was never terribly excited to talk to lawyers.
‘He’s working with these guys to put a band together. They have a song on New York radio or something and a demo, and he wants to know if you’re interested in giving it a listen. You gonna talk to him?’
I had dealt with plenty of lawyers, agents, and labels in Gentle Giant, so I thought, What the hell? I knew I needed to establish myself in the A&R department, and that meant signing bands. I might as well see if this kid has got what it takes. No one told me the name of the musician, and I probably wouldn’t have recognized it. I might not even have remembered the name of the song I had already heard and liked on the radio.
I called the lawyer, a guy named Arthur Mann, and asked him to swing by my office with the demo. When he arrived, I inserted the tape into my office stereo and turned it up, not at all sure what to expect. Right away, that unmistakable keyboard line interjected with short, sharp blasts of guitar and drums burst from the speakers. Then the melodic hard-rock vocals kicked in.
‘Wait, this is that song I heard on the radio,’ I said. ‘The “Little Runaway” thing.’ The lawyer smiled and told me a talented eighteen-year-old kid wrote it, then recorded it with some local guys, but wanted to up his game and get a record deal. He asked me if I wanted to hear three more songs on the demo. I did, and they were all pretty good.
‘Well, what do you think?’ Arthur asked.
My poker face still needed work. ‘I think this is great,’ I said with a big smile. ‘I just love that song “Runaway.” I think that’s a hit. Radio will go crazy for it.’
I wasn’t ready to sign Bongiovi yet, but I saw a lot of potential in the music, and I wanted to help get him in fighting shape for a record deal. I went over to talk to his second cousin Tony, who’d produced the track and owned the Power Station, which was on 10th Avenue and 53rd Street in Midtown Manhattan. Today, the area is full of prime real estate, but in the 80s it was a shithole. There was no public transportation, so you had to drive there, and, after dark, you had a good chance of getting mugged on your way back to the car—if your car hadn’t been stolen.
Tony was an unlikeable egomaniac who lived in the studio where John swept the trash and rocked out. The cousins may have been in business together, but it was clear they weren’t close. Rather than sing John’s praises and encourage me to sign him, Tony talked down John’s contributions to the music, especially ‘Runaway.’
‘John wrote it and sang on it, yeah, but it was a mess until I fixed it,’ he boasted. ‘I had to rearrange a bunch of stuff and coach John through his vocal takes. I did that with Aldo Nova, too, and almost everyone that comes in here.’
Since John and Tony had signed a contract to work together, and Tony had supplied the musicians on the demo, I was obliged to put up with him. He and John wanted a record deal, and he was going to produce the album, he said. As much as he rubbed me the wrong way, my hands were tied, and he seemed like a competent enough producer. I called Arthur and told him to come to my office again, and this time to bring John. I wanted to know what he was like before I committed any more time and energy to his career. Strong frontmen with sour personalities have wrecked many a band.
A few days later, Arthur swung by with John, and as soon as he entered, a wave of electricity washed through the place. He was incredibly good-looking—baby-faced, with soft features and hair that wouldn’t quit. All the young women he passed turned their heads in unison like they were in a choreographed video. This was something special. We went into my office, and I closed the door.
Most young artists are understandably intimidated when they’re in the presence of record label guys. Sometimes they hardly talk and sit there like department store mannequins. Other times, they’re fidgety and loquacious, like an extrovert on blow.