Max's magic moment

by Curt Schleier

For Max Weinberg, the magic moment occurred at a bar mitzvah, when he was just seven years old. At least in the eyes of his mother he was ready for the big time. So Ruth Weinberg went to the band leader and said, you know, my Max plays the drums. Can he play a song with you?

As Weinberg recalls it, "I'd been playing for about a year at that point, so I could play around on the snare drums and I could play marches. So we played ‘When the Saints Go Marchin' In.'"

The band leader was so enraptured by young Weinberg, he brought him along on other gigs, as a kind of novelty act. No one knows what happened to the band leader, but Max Weinberg went on to bigger and much better things in a career blessed with fortune.

He perhaps always will be best known as the drummer for Bruce Springsteen and the E-Street band, but lately he's building a solid reputation of his own as musical director for Late Night With Conan O'Brien on NBC. He's leader of the Max Weinberg 7, the hottest and hippest band on late night television.

After years of indecision, NBC late last year recently signed O'Brien to a long-term contract, and while that's certainly due to the host maturing into his position, even he gives part of the credit for the show's success to the 7.

The importance of a talk show band is often underestimated. While Johnny Carson and Conan get the raves, and Ed McMahon and Andy Richter win plaudits as second bananas, the band and its leaders receive far fewer accolades and less air time, and much of that is in what is known as bumper music, the songs home viewers hear, just a few seconds at a time, coming out of the break.

But the band's job is to get audience energy levels up even before the show begins and to keep them up during those interminable commercials. On a recent visit Weinberg played everything from an old Springsteen tune to blues and jazz numbers, and had audience members rocking in their seats. O'Brien jokes when he calls the Max Weinberg 7 "the best band on late night TV--not counting cable," but they really are. Not only does it offer an eclectic choice of musical styles, but the 7 can turn on a dime and pull a song out its repertoire to further whatever topic a guest raises--whether its klezmer-style when a guest mentions a Jewish theme or a disco song that allows O'Brien to pop out of his chair for an impromptu dance with guest Rosie Perez.

"I was thinking every body takes it for granted that a band can do that," O'Brien told the Chicago Tribune. "But I don't think there's another band on television that can."

Sitting in his cluttered dressing room on the sixth floor of 30 Rock following a recent taping, he is, at least at first, stiff and formal. Photos of Weinberg backing the Boss line the wall alongside portraits and caricatures of his idols, Buddy Rich, and the unlikely Rat Pack trio of Frank Sinatra, Sammy Davis, Jr., and Dear Martin. His suit jacket and tie are off, but, in the beginning he sounds less like a cool cat than an elder statesman, a spokesman for the State Department.

The subject is the often under-rated importance of drummers in the band. "People, particularly musicians, appreciate the role of the drummer in any musical organization, a rock band or a jazz band. It's sort of like being the center of a football team. It all starts there, in a manner of speaking."

Like Rolling Stones drummer Charlie Watts? "Charlie Watts is one of the original legendary guys. You'd be hard pressed to have anyone else play drums for the Rolling Stones."

But does he feel the drummer is disrespected by music fans? "Not in my own experience. It's something you don't really find, because of people's understanding of music, people's appreciation of music and certainly it's never been held by musicians."

His tone is almost British-clipped and formal. It isn't until he starts reminiscing about his family and growing up that he starts to relax. He was born in Newark but raised in South Orange, NJ. His father Bertram--not Bert--was an attorney who operated a couple of popular Jewish summer camps in the Poconos, Highland and Laurel Lake, and mom Ruth was a high school physical education teacher. Max was the third (and only boy) of four children.

He says it was a typical Jewish household of the time. He was bar mitzvahed and subsequently confirmed. "I had a wonderful Jewish background, I believe because my main inspiration in that area was Rabbi Avraham Soltes, who was one of the most stirring, poetic men I've ever known. I was fortunate. He married my wife and myself, and he was really amazing, because he made the study of Judaism come alive for his students and congregation, Temple Sharey Tefilo (spelling provided by Weinberg)."

Weinberg found his passion for drumming in 1956. He remembers the epiphany very well. He had just turned five, his older sisters were watching the Milton Berle Show, and while they were watching Elvis gyrate his pelvis, young Max was captivated by Presley's drummer, D. J. Fontana. "I never looked back," Weinberg says.

His parents, he says, were extremely supportive. "They were phenomenally important to me in my development in every way, but particularly musical. They busted themselves all the time to make sure I had every musical opportunity, from shlepping me around to all the little jobs I had to supporting me emotionally and financially."

Buried somewhere in the family archives is a picture of Max's father, Bertram, who died in 1984. "We're standing next to his Country Squire station wagon. He's got two drums over his shoulder, and he's carrying my base and trap case in his hands, and I'm just sort of there posing while he's loaded down with the drums. And that really explains the devotion my father had to my career."

As he tells the story, his entire body seems to relax, and he looks off somewhere in the distance, as though he could see his father standing there encouraging him. Another memory was the night he played in a joint where he backed up a rather large dancer billed as Fatty Patty, 300 pounds of go-go. "She'd move her hips one way and 30 seconds later the rest of her would catch up," he says, proving that being rhythmic enough to drum does not necessarily mean you are also funny.

"I was 14 years old and my father would sit there all night. He didn't drink. He'd nurse a pink lady, a non-alcoholic drink, and sit there until two in the morning waiting for me to get done. Then we'd pack up my drums and go home."

Lady Luck first visited him in 1974. Luck? Does the name Friday's Child mean anything to you? The Flock? Blackstone? Of course not. Those were the bands Weinberg used to be with--before he saw a help-wanted ad in the Village Voice. An area band had just lost its drummer, Ernie (Boom Boom) Carter. It seems rock and roll was not Boom Boom's metier. He preferred jazz, so only six months after joining the group, after recording only one still unreleased song, Boom Boom said bye-bye.

The name of that one song was "Born to Run." It would become the title track on an album that propelled this group to a 15-year run on the top of the charts and Max Weinberg to a career the rest of Friday's Child, The Flock and Blackstone only dreamed of. Gold record after platinum album after award-winning video, it all came to Bruce Springsteen and the E-Street Band with Max Weinberg providing the beat. The list is legendary: Born in the USA, Glory Days, Dancing in the Dark, My Hometown, Tunnel of Love and so many more.

Suddenly, Weinberg's life changed. "I had played in so many joints and bars all around Giants Stadium, in Secaucus and Rutherford, in North Bergen and Hackensack and Patterson. And suddenly we were there playing for 75,000 people in Giants Stadium. It was really amazing."

It is difficult to pick out a favorite moment, he says. "I'd have to figure out what the highlights of the highlights are." But though he doesn't say it, clearly the worst moment came when Springsteen decided to break up the band. It was a unilateral decision. "That's why they call him the boss." Weinberg likens the decision to Jerry Seinfeld bowing out of his show while still on top.

Though a shock, the band's break-up didn't come as a total surprise. Over the last year or two together, there had been a sense within the band that if the grand ride wasn't over it was at least slowing down. Weinberg was sufficiently in-tune with the mood, that he went back to school and completed his last 21 credits at Seton Hall. Still, once Springsteen made the decision to disband the band, it "took quite a long time to regroup, particular in my own case. I felt I didn't want to play the drums anymore. I felt I'd accomplished everything and made a very reasoned decision to explore other things in my life."

He tried law school briefly and entered the business side of the record business as an executive with the Music Master label. And then Lady Luck visited again and brought Conan O'Brien into his life.

Weinberg and his wife were leaving the Stage Deli on Seventh Avenue in Manhattan the summer of 1993 when they spied O'Brien on the corner waiting to cross the street. Max recognized O'Brien, because he, O'Brien, had been out making the rounds promoting the new venture. He'd been on the old Tom Snyder CNBC show the night before, Weinberg had seen him, and it seems fate had decided they should meet in mid-Manhattan the very next day. His wife said, go over, say hello, what have you got to lose?

"He [O'Brien] wasn't a particularly big fan of the E-Street band, but he knew who I was. When the subject came up, I don't think he particularly wanted a rock band. And drummers don't lead bands."

But Weinberg convinced a reluctant O'Brien to give him an audition. Max gathered a small group of musicians some of whom he knew from the old days on the Jersey bar circuit and others from his E-Street days, and gave it a try.

O'Brien claims that just 45 seconds into the audition he turned to an NBC executive and said "‘Buy me this band.' Max completely understood what I wanted."

Ironically, it all might not have happened except for Springsteen's loyalty to him. Weinberg proudly mentions that when Tony Bennett was on the show recently, instead of bringing his usual backup trio, Bennett asked Weinberg's band to play behind him. Bennett's decision is, Weinberg says, a measure of how far he's come as a drummer. "Two years ago if you'd asked me if I could play with Tony Bennett, I would have said absolutely not. I'm not in his league. But we played with him the other night, and it was wonderful. We swung."

That strikes a visitor as an odd, overly modest statement, especially from someone who was E-Street's rhythmic backbone. But, apparently, Weinberg had some rough moments early on in his career with that band.

"I believe I'm a very good drummer now," he maintains. "But I wasn't always. And there were times during the E-Street band experience where I can say I was up at bat and I didn't get a hit. And I'll tell you that it was a real credit to Bruce that he stuck with me through various periods where I was finding myself musically as a drummer. A lot of my faltering found itself onto our records.

"Probably, in retrospect, it was not as bad as I thought. But there was an immaturity in my drumming through my 20s, that, for such a world class situation, was not appropriate."

Springsteen spoke to him about it. He didn't yell, Weinberg says, adding "he encouraged me during the late ‘70s to address particular problems in my drumming, which I thought was a real sign of friendship. Nine out of 10 band leaders would have gotten another drummer, but he stuck with me. That was a loyal thing to do."

For the moment, anyway, Weinberg has no plans to record, and, except for an occasional charity gig, the 7 will stay in studio 6A at 30 Rock. Conan is a full-time job. "I played on the road for 15 consecutive years and I did everything I wanted to in that arena."

He enjoys being home each night with his wife (since 1981) and their two children. It's a mixed marriage. She's Methodist and can trace her family back to the Mayflower. Ironically her maiden name (Rebecca Shick) was the same as Weinberg's great, great, great, great maternal grandmother, who was Rebecca Schick Elianof. "We thought that was an incredible coincidence."

"Our children are a product of both our up bringings, and she (his wife) takes hers as seriously as I take mine,"

Still Rabbi Soltes' teachings linger: "It was difficult to observe when I was on the road, if we had a concert on a Friday night or the High Holy Days. That was sort of one of the parameters of being in show business. But I love going to temple. I really do enjoy it ... I think that's a result of Rabbi Soltes. I like the repose I feel.

"And I love the music."