I used to dread driving with my stepfather when I was a kid. He always kept the radio tuned to the local “beautiful music” station. In later years, I learned to take a perverse pleasure from muzak, which has now blossomed into full-blown affection. But as a pre-teen rock fan, I seriously didn’t get it. Full orchestras and studio jazz arrangements were completely alien to me back then. And, worst of all were the vocals: happy choirs humming and “bah bah”-ing to the music instead of singing the words. My stepfather would hum along, sometimes whistle, and sometimes do this annoying imitation of a trombone. He said it helped him relax when he was driving. He even preferred the wordless approach, since lyrics were a “distraction.” He disliked being distracted when he was driving; in fact he discouraged conversation in the car when he was behind the wheel. This was okay with me, since it limited my potential exposure to a lecture, like the time he told me that the Beatles were communists and that John Lennon was actually a homosexual.

In 1972, the road show of “Hair” came to Phoenix, and incredibly, this man not only wanted to go, but even allowed me to accompany him and my mother. He had apparently wanted to “gain insight” into “the younger generation.” But all through the performance, my stepfather wore a grim mask of terrible disapproval. The drive home was most uncomfortable. After fifteen minutes of stony silence, he suddenly barked, “I don’t care what the two of you think, but you can tell your friends, and you can tell you children, and you can tell your grandchildren, that I thought it was a dirty, DIRTY show!”

I couldn’t admit it then, but I myself had been somewhat disappointed. I liked the songs very much (and I certainly appreciated the nudity), but a mere five years after its ground-breaking debut, the show was, even then, painfully dated. My step-father’s reaction was even more so, of course, but for him it was too late. The show had insinuated itself so deep into our culture by the early 70s, that even my step-father would have known every song by heart. Easy listening cover versions from “Hair” were a positive cottage industry back them. The show was a godsend to a generation of band leaders and arrangers, for even the squarest among them managed to get some action from “Hair.”

Of course, Don Kirshner is no ordinary “square,” but his long pedigree hardly needs enumerating here. Besides, working in a merely “supervisory” capacity on this record, Don must cede most of the credit to producer/arranger Herb Bernstein. Whoever, the responsible parties cook up a reasonably funky approximation of a groove here, with a solid rhythm section and plenty of those cheerful vocals that helped lull guys like my stepfather into such a false sense of security.
Download “Don Kirshner Cuts Hair”

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