March 10, 1973: Frank Mayo goes solo

 


In 1973, everyone knew him as Frank Mayo. These days he’s Sonny. 

March 10, 1973 

Now He’s a Soloist, Singing Ballads, Pop Tunes 

IT’S FRANK MAYO’S weekly moving day and he’s contemplating it with no great joy as he lunches on a baloney and cheese sandwich in the breakfast nook of his second-floor flat across from a Kenmore grade school.

          Back in the old days it used to be worse. The rock group he was in had a Hammond organ. A real hernia-maker, that one, especially on stairs.

          Now Frank’s a solo performer, singing ballads and peppy Top 40 tunes, playing guitar and lately electric piano. The arrangement agrees with him, he’ll tell you later on, but it also means he has to tote his equipment around by himself.

* * *

“MY WIFE IS out shopping with the big car,” he groans, “so I’m going to have to try to get all that stuff into the Volkswagen. No, she couldn’t take it, she doesn’t drive standard shift.

          “Maybe if I take out the back seat,” he muses. “There’s so much rust on that car I’m afraid I’ll hit a bump and the battery will fall out.”

          The move is from the Pied Piper on Englewood Avenue in the Town of Tonawanda, where he plays Friday, Saturday and Sunday nights, to the Bull Ring Lounge at the Amherst Bowling Center at Main and Amherst streets in Buffalo, his Tuesday and Thursday night job.

          There’s time to kill before the Pied Piper opens, so Frank pulls a bottle of Italian wine out of the refrigerator and tells how Hurricane Agnes made a solo artist out of him.

          “I was in a group called Fresh Heir and we were tryin’ to get into the typical Vegas thing, you know, tuxedos, putting on a show, but we were really loose. We did a gig at the Three Coins and bombed. A nut flew off my guitar and landed in some lady’s drink. It was terrible.

* * *

“THEN I WENT OFF for National Guard summer camp and when it was over I was activated for the floods. We were supposed to go into Eduardo’s when I got back but they decided to stop using groups and started hiring single acts. We hadn’t played in a month because I was away and that finished u.”

          But Frank didn’t give up. He went back to Eduardo’s, told them he was a soloist and auditioned.

          “I had my guitar and borrowed a drummer’s hi-hat cymbal to work with my foot,” he says. “All you could hear was that hi-hat crashing through the PA. It was awful. The next day I went out and bought one of those electronic drummers.”

          Eduardo’s hired him nevertheless for their Kenmore Avenue branch, billing him right under the big-name attractions that came into the Bailey Avenue club. That and encouragement by his friend and fellow solo artist Barry Dale solidified his new venture.

          Frank’s blonde wife Chris pops in with a load of laundry and groceries, stashes them away in a flash and goes out again to visit her mother before starting the evening shift at New York Telephone, where she’s a supervisor.

          “I call her Gusto,” Frank says as the VW lurches toward the Pied Piper. “She moves like a gust of wind. I guess you could say we were high school sweethearts.”

* * *

“WE BOTH WENT to Cardinal O’Hara and one night I was at a dance there and she came over to me on a ladies’ choice. I looked up at her and saw those big blue eyes and that was it. We went together five years before we got married.”

          The minute Frank parks beside the Pied Piper, owner Dick LaClaire roars up. “You’ll never fit all your stuff in that VW,” he grins at Frank. “Why don’t you use mine?”

          That, friends, is a joke. You couldn’t squeeze a keg of beer into the back of Dick’s Corvette.

          “I’ve only been here three weeks,” Frank says as he packs up his microphones, “but the crowds have been really good. Friday night all they wanted to do was dance. I think I played only two ballads.”

* * *

BALLADS WERE almost Frank’s downfall last autumn. An avid Gordon Lightfoot fan (he sounds enough like Lightfoot to be his double), he filled his sets with the Canadian songwriter’s slow and tender ballads. And it seemed to work.

          “People were coming up and giving me all these compliments,” Frank says as he struggles to fit the electric piano into the car. “They’d say I did Lightfoot better than Lightfoot.

          “But what I really needed was criticism. Finally a friend came up and told me I was playing too many slow songs. He was right. When people go out they don’t want to sit around, they like to hear something lively.”

          Frank has dropped a lot of his Lightfoot load, though there’s one song, “Beautiful,” that he’d like to record. He’d thought of recording locally last month, but now wants to hold off until he can get a session in New York City or Nashville.

          “Recording’s like a fantasy,” he says as he steers toward Buffalo. “It’s a shot in the dark. You spend a lot of money and you don’t know whether you’ll get anything out of it.

* * *

“RIGHT NOW I’m happy working alone. You don’t have the ego conflicts you have with groups and it’s a lot easier to learn new songs. I’ve written more songs too since I’ve been on my own.

          “My songs seldom have a happy note. I’m a very moody writer. And I’m very much into lyrics – I must have umpteen thousand lyrics sitting at home. What I need is to meet someone with some melodies.”

          Frank pulls into the parking lot of the Amherst Bowling Center and spies Max Striegl Jr., the energetic young owner, wiping the haze of a winter’s cigarette smoke off the inside of his windshield.

          “Say, man,” Max says as they shake hands, “you gotta be kidding me. Did you really get all your equipment into that little Bug?” 

The box/sidebar: 

What Started Mayo in Music? 

          It took Frank Mayo a while to get used to the idea of being a solo performer. He missed the harmonies. He missed the sound of bass and drums (“I dig a lotta bottom,” he says). He missed having other people on stage to share the blame when an audience got hostile.

          “Last summer I thought, gee, it sure sounds empty to me, but now I’m getting used to it,” he remarks. “I added the piano and I’m going to start using harmonica, but I’m not going to get ridiculous about it.”

* * *

WHAT STARTED him in music was the weekly program his school used to have when he was in eighth grade. One week one of his friends got up and did some songs on guitar.

          “I figured that was what I wanted to do too,” he says. “My first guitar was one my uncle had. It had a crack down the back so big you could see through it.”

          He was in bands throughout high school and listened to a lot of blues, especially B. B. King. His local favorite was Raven and he’d sneak off to see them whenever he had a free evening.

          When he transferred to Buffalo State after a couple years at Niagara County Community College, he joined a versatile quartet called Blue Avenue, which lived and died at a club near Erie Community College in Clarence which then was called The Zodiac.

* * *

“WE WERE there 11 months and we had some great times,” he says. “Then I graduated and went into the National Guard and spent the summer of 1971 in Louisiana. It was 115 in the shade. They called it Little Vietnam.”

          Back in Buffalo too late to get into graduate school, he joined a commercial group called Fresh Heir, but they played only two or three nights a week, making hardly enough money to live on. They dissolved last July.

          At 23, Frank’s aware that his musical career may have limitations. That’s why he’s studying at Columbia School of Broadcasting with an eye toward getting a part-time job as a disc jockey.

          “I want to develop radio as a sideline,” he says. “After all, I don’t expect to be doing what I’m doing now forever.”

* * * * *

FOOTNOTE: Music turned out to be Frank’s sideline. For nearly 30 years, as Frank Mayo, he was a professor of speech and theater arts at Genesee Community College in Batavia. Before that happened, he spent six years gigging around L.A. and Nashville.

On stage, he’s Sonny Mayo. And he’s kept on songwriting. He generated a dozen albums between “So Far So Good,” released in Nashville in 1981, and “Chasing the Chord,” which came out here on the Thunder Road Music label in 2016.

He also plays regularly, often for benefit shows, either as a solo performer or with his trio, The Lowdown, doing folk, blues and Americana. He can be seen and heard Thursday, July 22, in the Chandelier Bar at Salvatore’s Italian Gardens on Transit Road in Depew, in the Burgers and Blues for a Cause series.  


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