Between 1970 and 1975, Mogan David and His Winos released three singles and an album on Kosher Records. Harold Bronson recruited musicians from the UCLA Daily Bruin, wrote songs with Mark Leviton that drew from British Invasion records they both loved, and created what some later called “the first DIY punk rock album” years before the term existed.
The band’s lineup reads like a directory of future music industry infrastructure. Bronson and Richard Foos co-founded Rhino Records. Paul Rappaport went to Columbia. Mark Leviton worked at Rhino and Warner Music Group. Jonathan Kellerman wrote bestselling novels. None of them fantasise about the alternate timeline where the Winos actually made it. As Liberation Hall prepares to reissue Savage Young Winos, Jason Barnard asks Bronson about the music, legacy and the neighbour who owned the tape recorder.
You borrowed a tape recorder from your neighbour, George Carlin, to add vocals to “The Big War” and “Nose Job” in early 1970. What was your relationship with Carlin at that point? Did he know what you were doing with his equipment, and did he ever hear those early recordings or offer any commentary on what you were creating?
I moved into an apartment with three high school friends also at UCLA. George Carlin and his family lived across the hall. He was in transition from being the short-haired establishment comedian to having grown his hair long in appealing to a younger audience. I became friendly with him and his wife. He was a rock music fan and that was our bond.
When he moved a few months later, I was surprised he didn’t tell me, so he never heard the record. I did see him/interview him during the ‘70s. Initially I thought we could be friends even though he was much older. Of course, he was on the road a lot and preferred to be at home with his family and work on material. Later it occurred to me that his (at times) cocaine habit would have been a deterrent to a friendship.
You assembled the band by recruiting fellow UCLA Daily Bruin staffers in 1969. This suggests you were looking for a specific type of person, perhaps intellectually engaged music fans rather than traditional “musician types.” What were you looking for in your bandmates, and how did that journalistic background shape the band’s aesthetic or approach to songwriting?
First off, I came to realize that the standards at the UCLA Daily Bruin were high. In America people often cite Harvard or Yale, but the students at UCLA might have been smarter. The band members I recruited were rock music writers who also played instruments. The direction of what we played came from me. Our influences were similar. My co-writer, Mark Leviton, and I are/were big fans of the British Invasion, so you can pick out the influences. “Street Baby” sounds like (an evolved) “Jumping Jack Flash.”
‘Street Baby’ and your version of ‘Communication Breakdown’ are proto-punk before the Ramones. Were you consciously trying to strip rock music down to something more raw, or did that aesthetic emerge organically? What were you rebelling against musically in 1970-73?
Organically. We weren’t rebelling musically, just preferred our style over the progressive/jamming bands then popular. Songs like “Street Baby,” were projections. Others were personal. The theme of a few songs expressed our frustrations with girls who wouldn’t give us the time of day. There’s a thread between those songs and the Rolling Stones “Nineteenth Nervous Breakdown” and “Stupid Girl.” “Beauty Queen”—musically inspired by the Yardbirds—empathized with a young woman who felt trapped in her marriage, as confessed to me by her sister whom I was dating at the time. There are Who influences, too, from Mark’s chording on “Party Games” to my lyrics of “I’m Just a Kid from the Midwest” wherein I project Roger Daltrey’s character in “Baba O’ Riley.” Some reviews referred to our music as punk, and much later as “The first DIY punk rock album.” At the very least Savage Young Winos anticipated the DIY trend of a few years hence.
You financed the recording sessions, vinyl pressing, and handled distribution yourself through Kosher Records. Where did the money come from as a UCLA student and young journalist? This was serious financial risk-taking for someone your age.
I became a good enough writer to get assignments from publishers—like Rolling Stone, Rock Magazine, and the L.A. Free Press—that paid. In the Savage Young Winos booklet, I included the invoice of our first 45, which cost $130 for 500 45s. The Winos agreed to contribute the $175 fee from our UCLA Grand Ballroom concert, so that helped with the LP’s cost.
When you say you “handled distribution,” what did that actually mean day-to-day? Were you literally driving boxes of records to stores? What were the economics, how many units would you need to sell to break even?
It wasn’t boxes, it was a few records here and there. When I stocked “Nose Job” at the UCLA record store, Ron Mael (later of Sparks) was behind the counter. “Nose Job” sold well. Because “Street Baby” didn’t, I elected not to release “Beauty Queen” as a single and include it on a history of the band LP. I copied the format of the Who’s Live at Leeds with various inserts, now depicted in the booklet. Some made fun of the band, like Paul’s failed UCLA music test. I named it Savage Young Winos as a humorous nod to a 1964 exploitive Beatles album: Savage Young Beatles. After the Ramones made an impact during their 1976 UK tour, Larry DeBay of Bizarre Records ordered a box. Copies also made their way to France. I collected money from sales, but I never did a profit/loss accounting on any of the Kosher releases.
Creem’s Lester Bangs comparing you favorably to Roxy Music must have been thrilling. Did you have any contact with Bangs? And given Bangs’ importance as a critic, did that review actually move the needle in terms of industry attention?
I met Lester at the Rock Writers’ Convention in May 1973. I ran into him a few times subsequently when he was in Los Angeles. His hometown was San Diego, so he wasn’t in L.A. much. I last saw him at his birthday party at the Whisky a Go-Go in 1980. None of the reviews interested the industry, in part, because our style was out of favor in a marketplace of Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd, Yes, Lynyrd Skynyrd, etc.
When exactly did you and Richard Foos make the decision to evolve Kosher into Rhino Records, and what changed philosophically or strategically? Were there lessons from the Winos’ limited commercial success that directly informed how you built Rhino?
It wasn’t a transition, more like the notion that we could start a label (in the back room of the store). Because I had released two singles and an LP, I knew it wasn’t a mystery (as most people probably thought it was). For the first two-and-a-half years we tested the water by issuing 45s. We mark the start of our label to 1978 when we made a serious commitment by releasing LPs and 12-inch Eps.
You went from self-financing band recordings to co-founding a label that won Grammys and became a powerhouse. Looking back, what specific skills or attitudes from the Mogan David era proved essential to Rhino’s success? And conversely, what did you have to unlearn?
Not much from those early records. After Richard sold the store and we relocated to our own building, it was Richard and myself and a person in shipping. Among the duties of a record company—publicity, record promotion, manufacturing, accounting, etc.—I took half and Richard took half. Sometimes we swapped. Record promotion for a small label like ours was always difficult. He did accounting, and then I did accounting. We learned by doing. We had no mentors. It later proved to be an advantage. Most people at labels knew how their area worked (like publicity) but not others. Also, by neither of us having worked full time for one of the majors, we avoided the bad (spending) habits from the late ‘70s when artists like Fleetwood Mac and Michael Jackson were selling multiple millions before the subsequent industry recession of the early ‘80s.
Jonathan Kellerman became a New York Times bestselling novelist while also being your guitarist in 1969-70. Did you see any signs of his literary talent back then?
He and his writing partner took a flyer at writing a script and won a Samuel Goldwyn Writing Award at UCLA, but it never accounted for more. Kellerman was focused on grad school to becoming a child psychologist (years before he published his first novel). He had no time for the Winos, so Paul Rappaport replaced him. I was pleased they both played Gibson Melody Makers.
Two tracks from a 1993 Winos reunion appear on the new collection. What prompted that reunion after 18 years? Had you remained close with the other members, and what was it like stepping back into that chemistry after Rhino had become successful?
I was in regular contact with Paul and Mark; the others, less so. With Paul coming to town, I thought let’s do a 20-year reunion recording (since we last played at UCLA). The band chemistry was good. We were pleasantly surprised that our identifiable sound was intact.
Paul Rappaport went on to Columbia Records, and Mark Leviton worked at Rhino/Warner Music Group. It’s striking that so many Winos ended up as music industry executives. Was there something about the band experience that prepared everyone for those roles? Or did you all share a certain DNA that would have led there anyway?
As writers, Mark and I became acquainted with record companies through their publicity departments. That’s where the notion to work for a label took root. For Paul, it was two years as the college rep for CBS Records—of which I succeeded him for my senior year.
You removed four songs from the original 1973 album that you felt “hadn’t stood the test of time.” As someone who built a career on archival reissues you’re essentially editing your own history. What made them not age well? How did you balance historical completism with artistic quality control?
I removed two juvenile performances in favor of much better ‘70s recordings. The original LP had 4 live songs from a 1972 performance. They well represented the band, but the sound was inferior as it was recorded on cassette. One is the LP, two on the CD. As the reissue is also a history of the band, I’ve included subsequent recordings to represent our growth. Our 1973 live recording didn’t make the original album. As it was better recorded on a reel-to-reel, the LP includes one song while the CD has three. Also included is the 1975 single, “All the Wrong Girls Like Me,” composed to be Peter Noone’s comeback hit—he didn’t like it–and two demos from 1973 that were never realized by the band.
What’s it like to listen to these recordings now, as someone who’s worked on thousands of reissues and heard every imaginable genre of music? Do you hear your 20-year-old self clearly, or does it feel like someone else entirely?
No, it feels like me. I enjoy listening to them today. Given that we were not experienced in the studio, and had limited time, the recordings don’t sound polished, but there’s an authenticity about them. They adhered to the singles format of rock bands in the ‘60s rather than striving for hits in the ‘70s. I’m also pleased that our two 1993 recordings, “I’m an Adult Now” and “Cover Girl,” benefit from my growth producing for Rhino the previous 15 years. It was like a present to the band; you made a much better record than you imagined.
If Mogan David & His Winos had actually “made it” in 1973, what happens to Rhino Records? Does it exist at all? Do you sometimes think about that alternate timeline?
Probably no “Rhino Records,” but I never think of that alternative. Those who fantasize about being rock stars (like us) have no clue of the reality. From having worked on reissues with members of bands who had one or two hits (like the Music Machine and Standells), they viewed themselves as being one hit away from regaining the fame of their youth. I think, realistically, the three of us who had long tenures at record companies, are probably thankful that our time in the Winos offered no detours.
Further information
Pre-order the album at Bandcamp or Amazon
Harold Bronson’s Rock and Roll Diaries – The Strange Brew Podcast
