BARTHOLOMEW: THE MAN BEHIND THE FAT MAN

Dave Bartholomew is a born storyteller who loves to reminisce about the excitement of making the hits that established (Antoine) Fats Domino--alongside Elvis Presley, Chuck Berry and Little Richard--as one of the superstars of early rock.

“The thing that made Fats’ records so good was that people could identify with what he was saying,” Bartholomew was explaining. “They were real songs. The best was ‘Blue Monday.’ That was a hell of a story . . . a real workingman’s song, and that’s where I come from--the working class of people. It was about the life I lived.

“Remember, I came up in a time when we didn’t know anything about owning your own home or anything like that. All I ever wanted to do was get a little double house (duplex apartment), and maybe rent one side and get me a used car. I never dreamed I’d ever be able to buy a new car because it was such a rough life when I was coming up as a kid.”

Then the phone rang, an irritating interruption.

His mood brightened when he heard Domino’s voice through the receiver. They had flown here together from New Orleans for the start of Domino’s first California concert tour in nearly 20 years--and the opening show was just a few hours away.

“Yes, Antoine,” Bartholomew said. “Don’t worry, everything’s going to be all right. We’re all going to play our butts off tonight.”

After a few more words of reassurance, Bartholomew, 65, who co-wrote and/or produced many of Domino’s records and remains his musical director, returned to his chair by the window.

“You know, even after all these years Fats is still real concerned with putting on a good show,” he said. “A lot of performers--especially those who’ve been around as long as he has--tend to take things easy. They just go out and do their hits and pick up their check. But Fats really loves music. He’s still just like he was the first night I saw him 40 years ago.”

He paused--a soft, sweet moment as he seemed caught up in his admiration for his longtime friend.

The phone rang again--somebody on the road crew looking for a member of the band. Bartholomew cut him short. He wanted to finish his story about “Blue Monday.” The song tells a lot about Bartholomew’s struggle in the fledging days of the rock revolution.

“I’ll never forget what my father said. He was a barber and a musician, and he told me that I’d have to make something out of myself in music because a black man has a hard road to travel in this world . . . and it was true. But I later found out that not only a black man has a hard road to travel. Any man has a hard road to travel if he doesn’t know anything or develop a talent. And that song is about traveling down that road.”

To those who don’t read the credits on records, the whole story of million-sellers like “Ain’t That a Shame,” “I’m in Love Again” and “Blueberry Hill” rests in the name Fats Domino.

However, fans more knowledgeable about the history of those records realize that Domino had an invaluable partner in Bartholomew. The latter was a talent scout for Lew Chudd’s Los Angeles-based Imperial Records in 1949 when he spotted the 19-year-old Domino playing piano and singing in a New Orleans club called the Hideaway.

Intrigued by Domino’s warm, disarming vocal style, Bartholomew asked the young musician to make a record and their first single--”The Fat Man”--sold a million copies. They would go on to record more than three dozen Top 40 singles, resulting in sales estimated at between 65 million and 100 million. That string of hits ranks him 10th in the rock era (post-’55) in number of Top 40 singles--ahead of the Supremes, Frank Sinatra, the Beach Boys and Barbra Streisand.

And, there are other evidences of Domino’s popularity. When Ernest Evans looked for a stage name in the late ‘50s, he thought of Fats Domino and came up with Chubby Checker. Paul McCartney tipped his hat to Domino when he echoed his early New Orleans-based piano sound on “Lady Madonna.” To millions of people who grew up in the ‘50s, Domino’s music still epitomizes the good-time essence of early rock.

Still, Domino’s reputation isn’t as strong among young rock fans today as that of his more flamboyant rivals--Elvis, Jerry Lee Lewis, Little Richard. One reason is Domino never exhibited the wild, rebellious side that made headlines in the ‘50s. He also has toured infrequently in recent years and his shyness makes him retreat from TV and interviews.

Because of that shyness, Bartholomew is perhaps best equipped to give us perspective on the Domino story and those exciting days of early rock. Bartholomew was the hottest bandleader in New Orleans after World War II, but none of the several records he made for De Luxe Records made him a star.

However, he built a reputation on the R&B; scene as someone who knew music and could spot talent. He became Imperial’s “man” in the New Orleans area. Besides Domino, he wrote and/or produced hits for such singers as Smiley Lewis (“I Hear You Knockin’ ”) Elvis Presley (“One Night”) and Jewel King (“Three Times Seven Equals Twenty-One”).

The Imperial hits slowed down in the early ‘60s and Domino eventually moved--without Bartholomew--to other labels, but never regained his early sales punch. By the early ‘70s, he was a regular on the Las Vegas circuit, where he often seemed bored and listless on stage.

But his performance here was a revelation. For nearly two hours, he radiated the energy and desire of someone who truly loves to be on stage.

“When I first heard Fats, I just knew he had an awful lot of talent and that he was different,” Bartholomew said in his hotel room here. “Now, it’s 36 years later and he is still different. His voice is different from anybody else’s. He could do any song and you’d recognize it was him immediately.”

What was it like when he suddenly started selling millions of records?

“I was still new in the business when Fats and I started working together, and I didn’t really know what success was. We were so busy, and all I knew was we had a few records going. We’d send the records to Lew Chudd (in Los Angeles) and he kept saying send him some more, so I figured we were doing OK. I didn’t know anything about Cash Box or Billboard until after I was in the business a couple of years. In fact, the first time I looked at Billboard we were already high on the charts. Then I realized we were doing well all over the world.”

Your big breakthrough into the pop world was “Ain’t That a Shame.” How did that song come about?

“Fats had the idea for it. He always liked songs that used everyday pieces of language. Like, he’d hear someone say, ‘Ain’t that a shame’ or ‘that’s too bad,’ and he’d try to weave it into a song. We generally collaborated on both the lyrics and the melody, but that song was mostly Fats’ idea.”

What did you think when Pat Boone covered “Ain’t That a Shame,” reducing the sales potential of Fats’ own version?

“To be frank, during that time, when white people were covering the black people’s songs, it stopped a lot of the blacks from progressing. The proof is that the late Smiley Lewis had ‘I Hear You Knockin’ ’ and Gale Storm recorded it and killed Smiley’s record completely. Because I wrote the song, I wasn’t too disappointed because I did fine money-wise, but I also could see that Smiley wasn’t going to make it because a white girl had cut him out completely--and I felt bad for him.”

Lots of white artists, including Elvis and Rick Nelson, covered Fats’ records, but he was still able to emerge as a major seller.

“That’s because he had so much talent that Pat Boone couldn’t do him any harm. They could cover his songs, but they couldn’t capture his style. Once people heard him, they knew he was an original.”

One of your most successful songs was “One Night (of Sin),” which Smiley Lewis recorded. How did that song come about?

“There was a very nice young lady who lived in Mobile, Ala., a schoolteacher. I used to go with her sister. At dinner one night, she mentioned--out of a clear blue sky--she had only been with one man her whole life (her husband) and she wondered what it would be like to have ‘one night of sin.’ That’s all she said, but it stuck with me and I started writing the song, just using my imagination.”

Did it bother you when Elvis toned down the words to “One Night” so that it became a statement of romantic longing rather than a sexy tale of romantic guilt, thus not offending parents?

“It didn’t bother me at all because I thought he did a good job vocally. But I don’t think he had to change it. He was so hot, he could have gotten away with anything.”

There were so many tales about early rock stars--especially black artists--becoming bitter because they got ripped off money-wise? How close to the stereotype did you and Fats come?

“I don’t think we got everything we should have gotten, but they always gave us enough to keep us happy. We did a lot better than some guys. It’s like a baseball player or a football player. You think you are worth $300,000 and they only want to give you $100,000. You’re just not getting paid what you want, but you’re getting something.”

Which other artists from those days impressed you a lot when they came up? What about Little Richard?

“We knew him from the beginning because he was always in and out of New Orleans. We knew he had talent, but the secret in this business isn’t just talent, but the ability to touch an audience. If the audience likes what you are doing, it doesn’t matter if you can sing just right.”

What about Elvis?

“You could see right away that Elvis had something when he first started singing, though his voice was cracking. Someone taught him how to sing real fast--and he got real good once he started doing ballads.”

Who was your favorite artist when you were growing up?

“Oh, no doubt about that: the trumpet player . . . Louis Armstrong. He was my idol. In fact, I think we owe all this (rock) to him. He was the one who went away from the straight singing and music, and started scatting.”

Do you ever regret that it was Fats who was always in the spotlight--and not you?

“To me, Fats is something like Coca-Cola. His music has that lasting flavor, and I’m glad to be part of it. We’re lucky. He could go out and be as big as he wanted to be again, but he’s been doing it for almost 40 years and he wants to spend more time at home. . . . (Meanwhile) his records are known all over the world.

“A lot of people have said to me, ‘Dave, you’re a musician, but you’ve never had a hit.’ But that’s not the way I feel. These (Fats’ records) are all my hits, too. I’ve been very successful, raised two families, all the kids are college kids--I’ve had a real good life. Let’s put it this way: If I had to do it again, I’d stand in line to wait for the opportunity.’ ”