Robert Marleigh, alter ego of Gone Marshall.  They launch a dual artist EP this Friday 24 November, 25^th Century Crooner, and will be performing in the evening as part of the launch party at Blue Veranda.

Do you have a pet musical hate?

Cassette tapes; they just don’t sound right on the hi-fi, at least not the same way that virgin vinyl sounds with that beautiful diamond needle bobbing up and down on it.

A private musical indulgence:

Disco, baby.  Can’t get enough of it. I was on the set of Saturday Night Fever visiting  Rob (Stigwood), a mutual friend of mine and Wink (Martindale).  I says to Rob, “Hey what’s that happening sound, kinda’ like jackhammer with the flapping sail of a Marlin sttached to it?”  Rob turns to me and says, “Marleigh, that’s disco my friend. Now I know you’re a crooner and you get high on standards, and you gave the Chairman of the board a run for his money, but that disco is the future, baby.”  Well, I wouldn’t take it that far, but I do have a soft spot for it, and whenever the team is down in the Keys or Acapulco, away from the crowds and fans and the like, we fire up some disco records when we get the chance – again, when nobody’s lookin’.

One of the numbers on my album Sailfish Nights was inspired by that meeting with Rob.

Disco, Baby

I was a crooner, a man of standards divine,
But disco came a-knockin’, said it’s your time to shine.
I visited dear Rob on the set so groovy,
And there it was, that sound, like a jackhammer movin’.

Disco, baby, can’t get enough of it,
That beat so contagious, makes you wanna dance and hit.
Rob said, “Frank, it’s the future, just you wait and see,”
So I kept an open mind and let the disco set me free.

Oh, the nights in the Keys, or down in Acapulco,
Away from the crowds, we’d let the disco records flow.
With the team by my side, we’d let loose and unwind,
Those funky rhythms had a way to ease our minds.

Disco, baby, can’t get enough of it,
That beat so contagious, makes you wanna dance and hit.
Rob said, “Frank, it’s the future, just you wait and see,”
So I kept an open mind and let the disco set me free.

Oh, I’d still swing with the best, those timeless tunes,
But disco had a charm, made the nights come alive like moons.
So, I’d slip on my dancing shoes, and move with grace,
Embracing the disco era, in its own special space.

Disco, baby, can’t get enough of it,
That beat so contagious, makes you wanna dance and hit.
Rob said, “Frank, it’s the future, just you wait and see,”
So I kept an open mind and let the disco set me free.

Now, the years have gone by, disco’s faded away,
But the memories remain, those nights we’d sway.
So, raise your glass to the days of disco’s sway,
Frank Sinatra, the crooner who danced the night away.

The year you first came to Cambodia:

It was 1967, a month after Jackie Kennedy came to Angkor Wat. She’d actually asked me to tag along with her as a chaperone – no fooling around you understand, a gentlemanly thing, as it was her lifelong dream. But I couldn’t get away from The Stardust (casino) project which was happening then. Howard (Hughes) was closing in on a deal to acquire the property for $40 million, and asked me for a bridge loan of $5 mIllion to fill the gap. Only thing was, I had to take that money as an advance on the earnings from my newest record at the time Buy a Little Tenderness which meant I couldn’t leave the country until the deal was closed.  I was supposed to meet Jackie there in those glorious, shadowy wound up roots of those mysterious junlge temple trees for tea – but all I got was an empty IOU from Howard when the deal fell through.  Lesson: go with your heart, not your head, baby.

I co-wrote a song about it with Wayne Newton about a decade later, Oriental Stardust

Oriental Stardust

In ’67, a tale of longing and chance,
Jackie Kennedy beckoned, inviting me to dance.
To Angkor Wat, she wished to roam,
But duty called, I couldn’t leave my Stardust home.

Oh, the Stardust, shining bright,
A casino dream, a dazzling sight.
Howard needed a loan, just a little advance,
And my heart yearned for Jackie’s enchanting glance.

A bridge loan, five million to fill the gap,
Tied to my record, a tender melody’s lap.
Buy a Little Tenderness, the song’s sweet refrain,
But it meant I couldn’t leave until the deal was plain.

Oh, the Stardust, shining bright,
A casino dream, a dazzling sight.
Howard’s IOU, an empty vow,
When the deal fell through, my heart took a bow.

Lesson learned, oh, it cut me deep,
To trade Jackie’s tea for a business leap.
Go with your heart, not your head, they say,
But in that moment, I let my heart sway away.

Those jungle temple trees, mysterious and grand,
Where we were meant to meet, hand in hand.
But fate had a different path to show,
And all I got was an empty IOU.

Oh, the Stardust, shining bright,
A casino dream, a dazzling sight.
Lesson learned, etched in my soul,
Follow your heart, let it take control.

So, here’s to Jackie, that lady so fair,
In the shadows of Angkor Wat’s ancient lair.
Lessons learned, memories held tight
Lessons learned, hold her tonight…

An early music memory:

A neighbor of ours back where I grew up in Zanesville, Ohio, bore a strong resemblance to Jimmy Durante.  He had the schnozola, the voice, everything.  He sang like him, sounded the same.  He was also named Jimmy for God’s sake. Thing was, he could never get any work, maybe because the Jimmy Durante schtick was so specific to Jimmy. Anyway, one late afternoon I remember him standing there at the fence that separated our yard from his, and he’s got a fifth of rot gut and he’s standing there swigging at the bottle and wobbling to and fro, screeching at the top of his lungs, “Ha cha cha cha!” just like Jimmy Durante would do.  Suddenly he takes out a pistol and says, to me, the only audience member in particular on that day: “How about an encore, ladies and germs?” I clapped and nodded, thinking it was great – what did I know, I was only three or four years old? Next thing I know, he’s once again screeching “Ha cha cha cha!” at the top of his lungs, but this time – bang bang, pop pop – he starts blowing off every finger on his other hand. But I thought it was great, part of the show! Then he fell backwards and collapsed into the rose bushes, and I could see that his left hand was just a stump now and only then did I realize something very powerful had taken place.  I guess that’s where I first perceived the power of the voice. See, in my little kid’s mind, I was thinkin’ his voice had blown his own fingers off. I never forgot that day. Or Jimmy. Ironic thing is, he got a call from his agent the next day.. .just by chance they were seeking a one handed piano player at one of the resorts, just some kind of gag act at first. But boy could he play, it was as if the fact he’d blown off his own fingers with a revolver made him want to compensate with what he did have left.  He went on to work on Broadway, did about a decade of Ed Sullivan, and died a millionaire. He played keys on my 1971 single I Can’t Catch You, Can I? actually.

The last thing you had to eat:

Prawn cocktail and baked Alaska

A country you want to visit:

I’d like to make it to Val Verde one day, I hear it’s a lot like Cuba but more lush. Beautiful people. They’re poor, but beautiful – and happy. Also, they’ve got fabulous prawn cocktails.

A book or movie you keep going back to:

Plutarch’s Lives (book).  The Blob (movie) – the original with Steve McQueen, (not the remake though the remake was pretty good. Casablanca (another movie); Bogie made that one around the time he’d just got his new boat so we were doing a lot of marlin fishing. Actually I think more about the marlin fishing than the movie when I watch it, maybe that’s why I keep watching it. Some nice fish out there, boy are there some beauties out there in that watery world we call the sea. Hung several of those babies on my wall downstairs near the tiki bar, they really light up nicely.

What languages do you have? 
American Midwest English, and a smattering of Iriquois and Latin.

Your primary instrument, and when you started playing it:

Well, I’m a vocalist of the crooner variety with some standards and contemporary directions thrown in for good measure.  I’ve been singing as far as I can remember: family legend has it that when I was born I dropped out of my mother’s womb singing Hello! Ma Baby with a nice sustained vibrato already in place…I was a high alto then, now I’m a lowish tenor. But I also played violin, starting when I was 8, then shifted to guitar when I was 13 because it was a better instrument for singing while p;laying – and is more portable that the piano.  (Note: some family members claim the song was Behold the Promised Land)

Hello! Ma Baby (in the style of a 19th century american folk song)

Well, gather ’round, friends, and lend an ear,
I’ll sing you a tale, let the melody steer.
I’m a crooner, a vocalist with a soulful sound,
From the moment I was born, music’s been around.

Oh, I came into this world, singing with glee,
Hello! Ma Baby flowed right out of me.
A high alto then, now a lowish tenor’s my range,
With standards and contemporary, my style will never change.

In my youth, I picked up the violin,
At eight years old, the journey did begin.
But as I grew, singing and playing I’d combine,
So I switched to guitar, melodies to intertwine.

Oh, I came into this world, singing with glee,
Hello! Ma Baby flowed right out of me.
A high alto then, now a lowish tenor’s my range,
With standards and contemporary, my style will never change.

The guitar became my faithful companion,
A portable muse, my heartfelt expression.
Strumming the chords as I sang my songs,
Weaving tales of love, joy, and rights gone wrong.

From smoky bars to grand stages, I traveled far and wide,
With each strum and each note, my passion amplified.
With standards and contemporary, I’d captivate the crowd,
A troubadour sharing stories, singing them loud.

Oh, I came into this world, singing with glee,
Hello! Ma Baby flowed right out of me.
A high alto then, now a lowish tenor’s my range,
With standards and contemporary, my style will never change.

So, here’s to the crooner, the troubadour, the soulful voice,
Carrying melodies that make your heart rejoice.
From violin to guitar, my journey unfurled,
A 25th century folk song, sung throughout the world.

Something people might be surprised to know about you:

I appear in one of the photos that was sent out to space with the Golden Record on Voyager 1 and Voyager 2; I’m the guy wearing dark glasses drinking from the water jug.  We’d just finished doing one of Dean’s (Dean Martin) celebrity roasts, when a guy from NASA who happened to be in the audience came up to me during the break and told me they needed someone to represent mankind on the golden record.  He said he wanted a picture of me drinking something, and I said “A picture on a record… what are you, nuts?  Let me sing something for chrissake.” He said, no it’s not that kind of record, its full of information like scientific formulas, photos of life on earth, that kind a thing.  So, he says he wants a picture of me drinking and I say, “Great – a martini or what?” He said, no, we just want a picture of someone drinking water.  I said “Water? Who drinks water for a publicity shoot?”  He said, no it’s not a glamor shoot, it’s just a photo representing life on earth, and the main liquid we drink here is water. OK, I said, “It sounds a little boring, but I can do that.” I was thirsty anyway from the lights.  My manager’s the guy in the same picture eating the toasted cheese sandwich.  I don’t know who the dame is though with her tongue out licking the ice cream cone. I guess that record is out beyond our solar system by now.  It should reach another system like ours in the 25th Century, so they say at NASA.  By then I’ll be gone, but they’ll have a picture of me wearing that goofy shirt and drinking water from a glass jug. I guess you never know how things will turn out

*Still working on the title

I’ve got a tale to tell, so lend an ear,
About a moment in time, the whole world could hear.
In a photo sent to space, oh, what a sight,
On the Golden Record, shining in celestial light.

It all began when Dean’s roast was through,
A NASA man approached, with a mission to pursue.
Representing mankind, they needed someone true,
And there I stood, with shades and water, too.

I’m the guy with dark glasses, drinking from a jug,
On a record bound for space, a cosmic little plug.
They said, “Just a photo, showing life on Earth’s plain,
And water, it’s the liquid we all sustain.”

I asked the man, “A picture on a record, really?
Let me sing my heart out, that’s what I do so freely.”
But he explained, it’s not that kind of sound,
It’s science and photos, a message to be found.

So, I agreed, though it seemed a tad mundane,
To sip from that jug, quenching thirst from the fame.
My manager’s in the frame, munching on a cheese delight,
And a dame with an ice cream cone, her tongue taking flight.

I’m the guy with dark glasses, drinking from a jug,
On a record bound for space, a cosmic little plug.
They said, “Just a photo, showing life on Earth’s plain,
And water, it’s the liquid we all sustain.”

That record’s journeying beyond our solar shore,
To reach another system, in the days of yore.
By then, I’ll be gone, but my image will remain,
Wearing that goofy shirt, sipping water, unashamed.

You never know how things will turn out, it’s true,
A moment of quenching, captured in a cosmic view.
A symbol of humanity, traveling through time and space,
A glimpse of who we are, in that distant, unknown place.

I’m the guy with dark glasses, drinking from a jug,
On a record bound for space, a cosmic little plug.
They said, “Just a photo, showing life on Earth’s plain,
And water, it’s the liquid we all sustain.”

So as the voyagers journey, into the great unknown,
That photo will endure, a legacy to be shown.
For I am just a man, a part of history’s grand parade,
In that golden moment, my own unique escapade.

You have a time machine and a magic ticket to one gig or festival in the past. What do you choose?

I’d go back to see Sinatra perform at Royal Festival Hall with the Count Basie Orchestra, May 8th 1970. That’s the concert Sinatra considers his finest hour, and I would agree. He always preferred British strings, it was probably his finest performance.  Only poor quality recordings remain now… hey, wait a minute, am I allowed to take a smartphone or video camera or audio recorder with me in the time machine?  And when do we depart? What gate is it? Is the machine operated  by Pan Am, ’cause I prefer Pan Am if it all possible.

Just scribbled this on a napkin:

Man, if I could hitch a ride on that time machine,
I’d zip back to Royal Festival Hall, ’70, oh, what a scene.
Sinatra, the Chairman of the Board, with Basie in tow,
May 8th, his “finest hour,” the way legends ebb and flow.

A night of magic, where British strings took flight,
Ol’ Blue Eyes in his element, shining in the dimmed light.
But all we have left are recordings, worn and frayed,
Yet the essence of that performance cannot be swayed.

But hold up, my friend, a question stops me in my tracks,
Can I bring my smartphone, video camera, or audio stacks?
To capture the essence of Sinatra’s unparalleled reign,
In the time machine’s embrace, can technology sustain?

And when do we depart, my restless soul craves to know,
Which gate shall we pass through, as time’s currents flow?
Pan Am, oh Pan Am, if she could be our chariot true,
With wings of silver, soaring through the skies so blue.

But let’s not forget, the heart of this quest we seek,
To witness Sinatra’s brilliance, his voice’s mystique.
Recordings may falter, but the spirit remains,
In the beat of our hearts, where nostalgia sustains.

So let’s hitch that ride, my friend, through the time’s vast span,
To witness Sinatra’s glory, as only true fans can.
With or without gadgets, we’ll savor what we find,
In the rhythm of that concert, forever intertwined.

A question from the last participant – what is your most favorite Asian food, and where do you eat it?

Asian prawn cocktail at 25,000 feet – Pan Am Oriental via the Himalayas