Gusto Stories 1978

  A musical feature that, for a change, didn’t get buried in the back pages of Gusto. This one appeared in a box in the Calendar, headlined “Commentary.” Sept. 29, 1978 Gusto         The call reaches Paul Anka while he’s out with the construction crew at his new house in woodsy, exclusive Carmel, Calif. “I’m helping them out,” he says, “working and supervising. You have to be involved when you’re dealing with something very personal like this. You’ve got to be there to make sure that it’s going to be what you intended.”         If there’s anything that personifies Anka, who appears under auspices of Pate and Associates for two sold-out performances in Kleinhans Music Hall tonight, it’s that acuteness, that attention to quality. No doubt he picked it up as a boy, watching the notables pass through his parents’ restaurant across from Parliament in Ottawa, Canada. His sense of style served to set him apart fro...

  Now, 45½ years later, I’ve just written the Buffalo News obituary for the guy who led this band. Sept. 22, 1978  One of the area’s most successful Bands does it without nightclubs.         If there’s a musical equivalent of having your cake and eating it too, then it must be New York Transfer. They’re one of the most successful bands in the area – their books stretch all the way to New Year’s 1980 – but don’t look for them in nightclubs. The lounge life doesn’t allow for getting up with the dawn’s early light and New York Transfer has to. All six members of the group also have full-time occupations during the day.         Trumpeter Ken Mack is a draftsman for the county. Saxophonist John Hill can be found at Buffalo’s Visual and Performing Arts Academy, teaching music. Guitarist Steve Michaels sells wholesale auto parts. Drummer Jimmy Edwin spent 13 years on TV’s “Dialing for Dollars.” Now he hea...

  Another afternoon with my imaginary frenemy, Jethro T. Megahertz. Sept. 15, 1978 Gusto          It was one of those dark, dank, dismal days that portend the end of summer. Having nothing else to do but watch my tan fade, I rolled around past the bungalow of that legendary media wizard, Jethro T. Megahertz. There was no answer at the doorbell, but suddenly a terrible pounding arose from the windward side of the house. I crept over cautiously to see what was happening.         It was Megahertz. In his mouth he had half a dozen nails. At his feet was a shipping carton full of this past season’s albums, which he was nailing to his clapboards through the hole in the middle of the discs.         “Anderson, you scrivening scoundrel,” he snorted through his black beard. “You’re just in time to give me a hand with my latest brainstorm. I’ve finally come up with the ultimat...