Tales from Detroit’s Rock ’n’ Roll Renaissance
Keyboardist Paul Cervenak’s D-Town Journey: A sixth in a series of interviews with Detroit’s lost rockers
--
Photo courtesy of the archives of Paul Cervenek — L to R: Dave Duncan, drums, Ron Connolly, bass, Paul Cervenak, keys, Keith McCurdy, guitar, Kevin Ohl, lead vocals:
“ This was taken in my basement, probably circa 1966–1968, with the band “Good Tuesday” (aka Echoes from A Broken Mirror). I am the blond guy slouching against the wall, third from left. We performed at various teen night clubs in the Detroit area, primarily those operated by Ed “Punch” Andrews, in partnership with the late Mike Quattro (Suzie’s brother), such as the Crows Nest and Silverbell (former ski lodge near Oakland University).”
The pages of The Ghosts of Jim Morrison discussed an equally mysterious band attached to the Phantom legend, Madrigal, and its roots in the band Walpurgis, which became known as Phantom, once signed to a record deal with Capitol Records — and issued an album known as Phantom’s Divine Comedy: Part 1.
There is nothing easy in tracking down ex-band members, musicians, fans, family or friends connected to a forty-year-old rock ’n’ roll album. In fact, if not for its connection to the legend of Jim Morrison, Phantom’s Divine Comedy: Part 1 — actually the debut album and rock opera by Walpurgis — would have been just another hole-punch reject of cardboard flotsam and jetsam adrift in the vintage vinyl seas surrounding the island that is Detroit Rock City.
Thus, this writer set sail for that mythical and mysterious island to track down the members of Walpurgis and Pendragon — the bands led by Jim Morrison’s reluctant doppelganger. And this writer found them. The natives of this mysterious island were cordial, welcoming, and accepted this unknown writer from nowhere into their tribe. Then, out of deepest jungles came forth another Detroit rock ’n’ roll native — a member of the mysterious band known as Madrigal.
One of the more amazing tales this writer discovered on this rock ’n’ roll island is that the man behind the cloaks of the Phantom was once a Major League Baseball-scouted pitcher sidelined by a shoulder injury. As result of that revelation, this writer has come to realize: I am a musical Kevin Costner standing in a rock ’n’ roll field of dreams. However, instead of the ghost of Shoeless Joe Jackson whispering in my ear . . . the ghost of the Lizard King whispered in mine: “. . . if you write it, they will come.”
Many of the Motor City’s teenaged rockers took the mound on Detroit’s rock ’n’ roll field of dreams in the late-sixties alongside the then unknown Bob Seger, Glenn Frey, Iggy Pop, Ted Nugent, and Suzi Quatro. And as with most teens that picked up a guitar or planted themselves behind the skins or keyboard, you can have all the skill and passion in the world and for reasons left to the cackling Fates of Rock ’n’ Roll — they’re never called up to the big leagues.
One of those musical teen hopefuls who came out of the corn stalks to help this writer solve the myth and mystery of the life and career of Arthur “The Phantom” Pendragon was keyboardist Paul Cervenak.
During this writer’s chat with Paul, I explained to him that, as result of the many web-based assumptions regarding the Phantom’s Divine Comedy record, music junkies with websites that speak of the record think the “Madrigal” mentioned in the same sentence as Walpurgis in these web postings is the band Madrigal out of Canada.
The Canadian Madrigal out of Toronto, Canada, formed in 1968 and was led by Peter Boyton and Rick Henderson. They had a Top Twenty Canadian hit, “I Believe in Sunshine,” from their lone album, Sunshine and Baked Beans. The band lasted until 1973. Then, with guitarist Bill Dillon, who stepped in for Rick Henderson — and with no original members — reactivated the band in 1975.
As with Detroit musicians Ron Course, Frank Mielke, and Daniel O’Connell before him in the pages of Tales from a Wizard, Paul weaves great rock ’n’ roll tales you won’t hear in any other Detroit rock ’n’ roll tome. Here’s Paul to tell us the tales of his rock ’n’ roll renaissance.
Image Left: The Grande Ballroom, Detroit, May 12, 1967
Image Right: June to July 1967 Grande Ballroom line up featuring Echoes from a Broken Mirror.
Courtesy of Mike Delbusso, Splatt Gallery Art Gallery, Walled Lake, Michigan.
Paul Cervenak: I know Russ [Klatt; from Walpurgis] and Tom [Weschler] pretty well, although it’s been several years since I’ve seen either. I was just reminiscing with my wife yesterday about Madrigal, in particular regarding an incident involving my equipment — a Hammond B3 organ and Leslie speaker — and the lead singer of Madrigal; Danny “somebody.” I don’t even remember his last name. But I recall he reminded me of Charles Manson in appearance.
We [Madrigal] had a recurring gig at Punch Andrews’ Birmingham club, the Palladium, and for some reason, we left most of our [heavier] equipment in a storage room for a few days. Upon returning for a gig, I discovered evidence that my organ and speaker had been relocated, [and] then placed back, but not quite the way I had left it. Upon further interrogation, Danny admitted to “loaning” the equipment out — without my permission. I was, of course, livid. And though I never cared for his personality prior, I distanced myself further from him [Danny], ultimately leaving the band mostly due to his involvement.
R.D Francis: Is the Canadian Madrigal the same one you and Russ were involved in?
Paul Cervenak: No. That was a different Madrigal.
R.D Francis: Did you leave before the change to Walpurgis?
Paul Cervenak: I left the band in 1970 before they changed the name.
R.D Francis: Did Ted Pearson join Madrigal or was he the founder of the band?
Paul Cervenak: I don’t know. I was recruited by a friend I met in college, Tom Weschler [who later worked for Punch Andrews] to join the band as its keyboardist, in early 1969. At the time, the band consisted of Ted Pearson, Harold “somebody” [Breedless] on bass, and Jim Roland on drums. As I recall, Harold was from the small town of Leonard. Jim was from Rochester. Then there was the “worm,” Danny. I don’t recall where he was from.
R.D Francis: Was Danny the lead singer before or after Ted Pearson?
Paul Cervenak: If I recall correctly, Danny came on board after I joined. Prior to that, Ted sang lead.
Madrigal 1969: Ted Pearson, Don Hales, Jim Roland (vest), Ray Campbell. Courtesy of Tom Weschler.
R.D Francis: What instrument did Ted play: bass, lead or rhythm guitar?
Paul Cervenak: Ted sang lead and played lead guitar. I recall we rehearsed both at Harold’s [Breedless] place, which was a farm north of Detroit, and in the basement of an old, Addams Family-ish, Gothic two-story rental house of Ted’s, which I had thought for many years, until recently, was located on Telegraph Road near the city of Southfield, Michigan. I’ve recently learned it may have been on South Boulevard on the Rochester-Troy border. Fifty years removed causes a lot of inaccuracies in memory!
R.D Francis: And do you recall any particulars regarding the “Addams Family” basement?
Paul with Mardigal, 1970.
Paul Cervenak: I do recall the times we spent rehearsing at Ted’s place, which still causes me chills to this day. The basement — typical of homes built in the late 19th and early 20th centuries — had low ceilings and I think even a rock wall. The walls were covered with tapestries, carpet remnants, probably to provide some degree of sound insulation, and posters characteristic of the sixties. Of particular recollection was a dedicated room that had black lights illuminating various posters on most of the wall surfaces and some sort of “wheel” device about three-foot in diameter that spun around. Someone could sit on [the wheel], tucking in the knees tightly, and spin, or be spun, at which time the contents and coloration of the room would “spin” as well.
R.D Francis: What more can you tell me about Danny? He seems to be more of a “Phantom” than Ted.
Paul Cervenak: I recall Danny coming on board during that time, for whatever reason. He seemed high all the time and was rarely without a joint or two. I think Ted may have gravitated more toward Danny than anyone else in the band. Harold, Jim and I weren’t really into the drug thing and were probably more into the music side of this aggregate. I never cared for Danny and really didn’t see the value of adding him as the lead singer. But apparently, someone, probably Ted, thought that [Danny’s] dark “Hippie” image — similar to what Jim Morrison evolved into toward the end of his life — would be an asset toward the image Madrigal was attempting to convey.
Walpurgis at Cranbook House, 1973: Left to Right Ray Campbell (red jacket), Harold Beardsley, Jim Roland (hands crossed), and Ted Pearson.
Courtesy of Tom Weschler.
R.D Francis: I’ve heard the 1971-era Walpurgis tracks, but what was the Madrigal stuff like back then?
Paul Cervenak: The music moved more toward the theatrical rather than rock ’n’ roll [at that point]. We even did some stuff from Disney’s The Sorcerer’s Apprentice in the end, as well as a lot of non-danceable, concert-type songs. In retrospect, it seemed odd that a band with that type of product would have been hired to play at the Roostertail, a popular Detroit nightclub, on one of its “Sunday Night at the Roostertail” events, which were non-alcoholic, 18 to 21 years old only. Ironically, that was on a warm, late-Summer-like evening in September when I met my future wife — going on forty-eight years this December! For that, I am grateful. I recall that may have been one of my last gigs with Madrigal, as my “priorities” changed shortly afterward.
R.D Francis: I take it that Russ Klatt replaced you on keyboards in Madrigal and that’s when the change to Walpurgis occurred?
Paul Cervenak: Probably. I removed myself from that entire dynamic when I left the band and can’t tell you exactly what happened following my departure.
R.D Francis: After Madrigal, even though your priorities changed, did you stay in music? What other bands did you play in before and after the Madrigal project?
Paul Cervenak: My first band [before Madrigal] was Echoes from a Broken Mirror, which quickly changed to Good Tuesday, due to the name’s length, in the mid-sixties. We played the teen nightclubs circuit that prevailed at that time, including twice at the infamous Grande Ballroom, the Crows Nests — both the east and west sides — the Birmingham Palladium, Something Different on Northwestern Highway, Wamplers Pavilion, and a few H.S. dances.
R.D Francis: And what happened to Good Tuesday?
Paul Cervenak: I left [Good Tuesday] in 1968 when I started my first year at Oakland University, but fell into a small music clique that included [Tom] Weschler and we became friends. I had a short stint with Bob Seger’s band — in between Tom Schultz and Dan Watson — before joining Madrigal.
R.D Francis: I’ve heard the name Joe Aramini mentioned quite often in the context of the management of Punch Andrews’ bands. I know he managed Jerry Zubal’s Tea for a time. With Madrigal’s gigs at Punch’s Birmingham Palladium, I was wondering if Joe worked with Madrigal.
Madrigal, 1968: Harold Beardsley, Ted Pearson, Don Hales, and Stan Burger.
Courtesy of Tom Weschler.
Paul Cervenak: Joe Aramini, who ultimately became Seger’s stage manager for many years, was managing Madrigal during the time of my involvement and probably was responsible for most of the bookings — including a show in Kentucky; Lexington I believe. That show resulted in Joe being attacked by a group of anti-Hippies thugs carrying a mace, beating on his head to the point that we had to carry him into a bathtub and clean him up. I remember how bloodied the water in that tub was. That Kentucky gig was one of — if not the last — last gigs I did with Madrigal. Frankly, it was too traumatic for a nineteen-year-old conservative, Christian kid to digest the drug-cultured, Devil-digesting darkness that surrounded, and possibly enveloped, the Madrigal project.
R.D Francis: So what happened after Madrigal?
Paul Cervenak: After Madrigal, I migrated over into more “traditional” music, performing with a Chicago-type multi-piece band from the Jackson area, known as Fancy Colors. [I] then [moved] into various iterations of bar bands, playing the nightclubs in the Detroit area, actually being able to extract a living for a couple of years, and working my way through the University of Michigan after leaving Oakland U. I have performed professionally, primarily in a duo or trio configuration, since then, and currently play in a trio featuring keys, drums, and saxophone four or five times a year, mostly for fun.
And that is the “key” to being a successful musician: fun. While interviewing drummer Ron Course for Tales from a Wizard, he explained that the music can never be about the money, that the “music” has to be about the music. And while Ron never became famous or rich from rock ’n’ roll, he never felt like a failure; he always felt like “he made it” and he was spiritually “rich” from his days on the stages of Detroit’s clubs and venues.
It was neurologist Frank R. Wilson, a clinical professor at the University of California’s School of Medicine in San Francisco who devised the theory that humans are born musicians; that man has the neurological and muscular capabilities to develop musical skills; that music is the universal communicator and, with music, man is unbound.
And that is why this writer published The Ghosts of Jim Morrison and Tales from a Wizard: to clear out the obscuring stalks in that rock ’n’ roll field of dreams to unbound not only Arthur Pendragon, but all of the musical phantoms of Detroit.
You are one of the real rock stars, Paul. Detroit wouldn’t have rocked without you.
