Bob Ezrin Feature Article: 1975

The mad genius behind Alice's billion-dollar sound – Ezrin spills all!

two-page feature in Beetle Magazine, January 1, 1975.

Behind The Scenes

Bobby Gimby is a Canadian whose bandleader-composer biggest claim to fame in the nation's collective memory is a centennial song which was a huge success in 1967 when celebrated 100 years as a nation. It was an adequately insipid jingle that we all sang. 'Caaaa-naaaa-daaaa'. we

Bob Ezrin's father played bass with the Bobby Gimby Band. His mother was a classical pianist who always had classical records around the house. It's a typical story, really. Son becomes in-terested in music at an early age. Takes lessons on one instrument or another. Ends up in the rock biz making more than a few bucks.

It was in 1970 that Bob Ezrin first became active in production, at that time an associate of Jack Richardson in the then-fledging Nimbus Nine Productions which handles the Guess Who. It all started by being in the right place at the right time.

'Aside from playing just for fun at home and listening to records, I never had eyes to be in music professionally. I wa was always heading toward something else; music was just a sideline,' says Ezrin now, still a young man, trim and good-looking. He has a cocky air of self-confidence and a dead ahead attitude that is hard to sidetrack. His beliefs are strong. He's learned the craft of being behind the boards the hard way and has a realistic outlook on his particular job function.

'The way I got this job in production was pure accident.

I happened to be working on a stage show as a script editor. I went through every phase of show business in one form or another. I started off in television, floor-directing, joe-jobbing, doing graphics and all that crap. I directed educational TV for a very

short time, quit that and then went into writing. I wrote. Basically I was a bum, but I thought I was a writer. So I was script-editing on this show and Al McMillan was the music director of the show. Al's one of the partners of Nimbus Nine. The show was mostly music and I found most of the material 'cause it had to suit the script. And the band that was playing the music I had found as well. I had been involved with the band as their manager when I was playing at that. I asked Al if I could be his assistant and work with him on the music for the show. He said yes and he liked some of the arrangements I worked out and the sound I was getting from the band.'

Al arranged a meeting between Ezrin and Jack Richardson. Bob and another fellow were hired to operate a management wing for Nimbus Nine. 'It turned out that there was really nothing to do management-wise, and neither of us were really qualified to do it anyway. So we both drifted into the areas were in now. The company was run on such a loose basis that you were allowed to do whatever you could do.'

Ezrin worked on pre-production, arranging the music and tightening up the bands which Richardson would consequently record in the studio. He also wrote and produced some jingles for advertising agencies and finally got a chance to work in the rock field, co-producing a band called Cat with Jack.

'I was then handed another act from Muncie, Indiana called the Chosen Few. Another Chosen Few, folks. One of the 800 Chosen Few's. All this time I was getting to know Jack Richardson, learning a bit about production from him, being in the studio at every opportunity, asking questions whenever I got the chance. Everytime we went somewhere on an airplane I'd bring out my notebook and take notes. I did a few demos for Jack, too.

'Then this album came into the office with these five boys or girls -we couldn't tell what with long blonde hair, their hands on their hips and lots of jewelry. There was a note from their manager saying, 'Would you like to produce this group, Alice Cooper?' Everybody was having a good laugh about that. We really weren't very hip. We didn't have any idea. We put it on and hated it. Jack litereally passed on them, but they were very persistent. Leo Fenn, their road manager at that time, was put on the case and told to deliver Jack Richardson one way or another. He got to Richardson who said to him, 'Well, if my assistant Ezrin likes it -he's got to do the pre-production then you get to see me. So Fenn got my home number and immediately got on my case and I was getting phone calls at all hours of the day...in the morning, having my breakfast, at night, trying to sleep.

Fenn wanted me to see the group. 'Finally I broke down. I was in New York City and they were playing at Max' Kansas City. I went with a couple of friends and sat in the front row not knowing what to expect 'cause it was my first exposure to Alice. Cooper. I'd never seen anything like it in my life! It blew me out. I loved it. I loved it! I didn't even know what it was that I loved about it, but I loved it. In the end I made the decision on Jack's behalf. I said, 'I think you guys can make hit records,' and they said, 'Well, fine, we think you guys can too'.

Ezrin flew down to Detroit to work on pre-production. Alice's people weren't interested in Ezrin; they wanted the head-guru himself, Jack Richardson. 'People kept asking where Richardson was, when he was gonna get there. I kept saying, He's coming, he's coming, 'not knowing if or when he was coming myself. I didn't even know if Richardson wanted to do the gig. We finally met up in Chicago when it came time to record. He stayed for a couple of sides and then left. The first thing we cut was 'Eighteen', which was obviously a very successful match.

The first thing we cut was 'Eighteen'

'Eighteen' was Alice's first hit single. The subsequent album, 'Love It To Death', was co-produced by Richardson and Ezrin, the latter also playing organ and getting credit Toronto Bob'. It was the beginning of what still remains a. fruitful working and personal relationship with "The Coop' as

Ezrin subsequntly produced hits and misses for Mitch Ryder and Detroit, Flo And Eddie, Ursa Major, Sha Na Na and Lou Reed. Most recently he's been busy on Alice's solo album, and has just been offered to do Procol Harum, which he's in the process of deciding upon. At one point Ezrin broke the association with Nimbus Nine on paper, forming My Own Production Com-pany, which is still active. However, he has office space in the Nimbus studios and works from

there. Ezrin's hot project at this point is his label, Migration Records, which allows Ezrin the own

luxury of control not only over the artistry, but also gives him a hand in the actual business side of marketing the product.

'I was sick of working on a record and then handing it over to someone else who had the power to totally negate all the work by not promoting it. I want control over the entire operation so that I know who's pushing the record and where. I want to know which stations playing it and why. This way I can keep in touch with what's going on and I have the power to suggest certain things that I feel may help out in the promotion of the record.'

The first artist signed to Migration is Gary Bonner, half of the infamous Bonner-Gordon songwriting team who

A debut collaborated on those neato Turtles' hits in the sixties. Bonner's music is mature and well performed. single, 'Baby, Baby', failed to crack the charts on a large scale, but Ezrin feels sure it served to prepare people for the next one, 'Should A Anybody Ask You.'

'I can't seriously consider some of the things that I ordinarily would right now. Running the label is taking up a lot of time and energy...and besides, I'm having such a good time doing it. It's great.

Migration is also supplying a lot of work for a lot of different people. Ezrin is working on the premise that Migration will ban-become a house, with a d, songwriters, engineers, session

musicians, publishers, etc. All of which surrounds in-house facilities which are constantly inuse. This requires a sizeable cash in-vestment. But, as the old adage goes, you've got to spend money in order to make money. And money is something that Ezrin is cer-tainly interested in.

a 'In that I like to sleep at night and I like to be able to live with my job and have a sense of professional satisfaction, I'm professional producer. But if I weren't a producer, I'd be a lawyer, or a writer or whatever, and I'd have the same attitude. Whatever I do, I do it 24 hours a day. In that sense I am a producer. However, as important as ego and that personal satisfaction is, that's secondary. I'm in this business for the bread. Regardless of what business I was in, I'd be in it for the money. Not because I like to know that the bank account is fat, but because I didn't have a whole lot when I was younger. I had a lot of fantasies and now I have the cash to live them out. I can eat in the fancy restaurants that I've always dreamt of. I can drink expensive wines. Money is the power to do what you like. So if I've got a good sum of money tucked away, I don't need to continue producing, do I? But I do it because it's an en-joyable job.

"That's another reason why I started this label. I have a wife and children, both of whom are very important to me. I want to spend as much time with them as I should, but in the past I've always been flying here and there to work on people's records. It's always cheaper to fly the producer to the band than the band to the producer. Now I have the money which gives me the power to stay where I want. The artists come to me now. Also, in terms of actual cash, a producer doesn't make anywhere near as much as an artist can. A producer's only source of income is his production work, which is usually a guarantee of X amount of dollars, plus a very small percentage of the royalties; and the publishing if he should happen to control some of the publishing rights. It's hard to make a consistently good living off these limited sources. But it can be done.'