All Bread - No Butter

December 9^th – There’s often trouble in bands when there’s only one real talent in the lineup, or at least when there’s one individual who thinks they’re the only talent in the band. Folk like David Coverdale or Jon Bon Jovi are prime examples of the type. I’m not knocking them in a bitchy way either, both these gentlemen appeal to many and their consistency in gathering around them talented musicians (and sacking them as and when it suits) in bands that carry their name as the logo in order to showcase their personal skill (guitar or vox) is one of their attractions; for some.

On the other hand there’s often trouble in bands when there’s too many talented individuals in the lineup. Put yourself in the position (that’s a suggestion not a request).

You spend several months writing and arranging say three or four songs for the band’s forthcoming album recording. Writing is a solitary business in most cases (trust me, I know) particularly songwriting. Doing this sort of work in collaboration with others is only ever going to work if you have a Taupin/John arrangement; one does the music and one does the lyrics usually in different counties. So, there you are, deep in your den, you’ve crafted the songs for the album, you’re pleased with them and you think the other band members will be too. You arrive at the rehearsal space ready to wow them only to find that two of the other band members have also written several songs for the forthcoming album…and FFS one of them is the drummer! Well, you listen to each other’s work, nod and grunt in the correct places and then set about rehearsing them. Things go OK and, apart from the odd bit of friction when someone who didn’t write the song you’re rehearsing suggests a major change in it, you’re pleased with the finished product concerning your songs. Thing is, you see, no one will bite the bullet; the bullet that decides which of the twenty tracks you have between you’ll use on the ten-track album you’re about to record. The old;

We’ll decide that in the studio

line is trotted out, which is about as rational as;

It’ll be alright on the night

is.

Then the day of reckoning arrives and decisions really do have to be made. Problem here is that, in the interim, lobbying and internal pressures have been applied to the non-writing band members and what’s worse, personal management have become involved, each fighting the corner for their client/talent. So, how does it get resolved? Well, we all know how it turns out. From those twenty tracks ten tracks are used, ten tracks are shelved and someone’s nose is put out of joint; that’s how it turns out. Now, magnify that by four albums with the same songwriter being the one to have his work shelved every time and you have a potted history of Bread.

On this day in 2005, Mike Botts, the drummer in Bread died leaving behind just two of the band’s original members to continue on with the work. Now, Mr. Botts was not a songwriter, David Gates and Jimmy Griffin, together with co-work by Rob Royer were, and it was here on this lumpy soil the seeds were sown for an awkward set of circumstances that showed themselves in the band splitting up and coming back together a number of times. With hits like, Baby, I’m-a Want You (is that the schmaltzyist most sick-bag making title ever used for a pop song; a title that packs in whining, pleading, babyish sycophancy of the highest order in just four words) Everything I Own and Sweet Surrender (two a-typical ‘70’s sop-songs especially made for confused men) with songs like these they were a sure-fire hit making machine. Trouble is all the charting singles (11) and the majority of solo-penned album tracks (Gates 32 – Griffin 3) meant unfair distribution of creativity ranked high on the agenda when meetings were convened in order to sort out future recording projects. And, of course, the writer gets the lion’s share of the profits from the said recordings, so not only are the songwriting distributions a cause for concern, so are the profit distributions too; a recipe for spikiness if ever there were one. Certainly buggered up the harmony machine for Bread and although reunions were sorted every now-and-then they were short lived; old memories still lingered.

Whenever my opinion has been sought (not often as I’m known to be as mad as a box of frogs) concerning how bands should operate I’ve said that no matter who writes the material the proceeds should always be split up equally between the band members who were on the original recording, and this should be written into the contract…in blood. IMHO everyone contributed to the finished article that projected the band into the pop-stratosphere so they should all be credited equally; performance-wise AND fiscally. Trouble is, in many cases there’s always some fucker whispering poison into the ears of the vain, usually fuckers who are feeding off’f the lifeblood of the artist whilst doing nothing creative themselves, unless you call breaking up partnerships in order to preserve your own cut of the profits a creative industry.

With three of the original members now dead (Mr. Botts, Mr Griffin, and Larry Knetchel) it figures there’ll be no more reunions…and all that in-fighting and bad feeling; worth it? Depends how long you can look at your reflection in the mirror of your success without wincing.