Tony Conn, "Like, Wow!" c/w "Dangerous Doll," Decca 9-30813 (rel. 12/1958)

An 87-year-old rock ‘n’ roll wildman passed away in a dingy nursing home in 2024. Dementia, Covid and physical trauma marked his last moments on Earth. Unknown to any but the deep-divin’-est rockabilly fan, Tony Conn’s passing got little notice. He appeared out of nowhere in 1958, when Elvis Presley began his military service, and was a good bet to fill that musical void—in theory.

Conn was unhinged, manic and threatening in his performance style. He rocked and rolled a bit too hard—even for Elvis fans, whose idol had tamped down his heat in his two years of mainstream fame. Tony’s mien was like a street person in imaginary conversation on a roadside—limbs flaying, and spittle discharged. Our instincts bade us cross the road to avoid Tony Conns: self-preservation.

Conn was discovered by—drum roll—John F. Kennedy, who, in 1953, caught the then-16-year-old’s act. His performance of “Wheel of Fortune,” a pop hit of 1955, impressed the President-to-be and they kept in touch. As a senator, Kennedy helped the young man, who’d changed his birth name of Harvey Cohen to Tony Conn, find an agent and get his first bookings.

Tony made a name via his unhinged performances in Boston teen dances and youth clubs. A Life magazine photographer immortalized his act at The Apollo Theatre, as part of a rock ‘n’ roll package show. The shots, printed in the 12/22/1958 issue, are seen below (click to enlarge):

The photo-spread mentions the imminent release of Conn’s debut single on Decca Records, “Like, Wow!” If parents and officials thought Elvis was a bad influence, Tony Conn might have found them stuffed under beds, in closets, hangers clanging as they cowered, or amidst the damp and cobwebs of their storm cellars. Tony went beyond Little Richard. No holds barred was his MO. He wasn’t a singer; his range is negligible and his ear a bit tin. As a shouter and raver he had, and has, few equals.

Decca got him in their New York studios with a bevy of session musicians and staff producer Jack Pleis in late ’58; you’ll hear the results. Six decades later, the stiff dose of bonkers in these two sides still has impact. Rock ‘n’ roll wildmen have amped up their game many times since, but seldom with the hint of madness that is The Tony Conn Experience.

Both songs were penned by contributors to Elvis’ movie soundtracks—often trivial-to-irritating throwaway ditties that seldom became pop hits. Brothers Al and Ben Weisman created “Like Wow.” Ben, whose songwriting began during WWII, had the most songs in Elvis movies—37 flyweight tunes amidst a prolific career with over 1,000 copyrighted pieces. Al Weisman wrote several r&b tracks, including The Moonglows’ “Over and Over,” but lacked the ambition of his sibling.

One can imagine Elvis’ version of this song: still rocking but…calmer. Less psychotic. Neither mode was in Tony’s wheelhouse. He shouts the words and an approximation of the melody over a medium-tempo rock ‘n’ roll beat. For reasons unknown, a ballpark organ takes the solo break. In 99 out of 100 cases, this would be disappointment. But the cheezoid tones of the instrument are a necessary psychic palate cleanser for this amorphous performance. It may seem a bit tame, by modern standards, but the racket Conn makes on this recording is in a class all its own.

A remembrance: there’s a record shop in a small town nearby that I hit up once a year. I always exit with a couple of real gems—some of the rarest items in my collection were dug up in this place. But…the proprietor is a loon. He airs his geopolitical views in his store. They include a deep conviction that China will soon invade and conquer America, and that gold is the one thing they respect; thus, he exhorts, convert everything you own to gold.

That is the price paid to acquire the occasional, semi-annual jaw-dropper. A filthy copy of this record, sated with dust and grime, emerged from a stack of early ‘50s country records in a battered, water-damaged cardboard box in the middle of the floor. My first thought: “Is this garbage?” No soda cans or Cheetos bags could be seen. I assumed it was fair game and divined a dozen intriguing records. I was charged eight cents a pop. Dazed, I skedaddled. It was an apt prelude to my first exposure to “Like, Wow!”

The Cash Box reaction.

For the A-side, “Dangerous Doll,” Ben Weisman collaborated with another vet cleffer, Fred Wise, who worked with him on some of those 37 Elvis confections. An attempt at pop appeal, via cutesy xylophone accents and an uncredited harmony voice, threatens to ruin the side. Tony’s bellow rescues it from vanilla ruin, as does the stinging guitar of also-uncredited Mickey Baker, who I’m sure is on the other side too.

This is straight out of the Elvis Movie Song Type: on the border of rock ‘n’ roll with a forced, brassy sound. In a harder-edged, unarranged performance it might come across well, but that isn’t how they played it in 1958. That Conn was given a recording contract at all is impressive. His performance is more focused on this side, but despite the Life hoopla and industry buzz, deejays didn’t play the record and it stiffed. 

Why Tony Conn didn’t become a teen idol seems obvious now. He had no “edit” filter. Pep pills fueled Conn and his band. At one performance, it’s said that Conn’s drummer flung a handful of Benzedrine tablets into the teen crowd. Talk about a show-stopper! This tidbit comes from a poetically-written ode to Conn’s life by Johnny Whiteside which is well worth the read:

https://jonnywhiteside.substack.com/p/tough-knocks-and-hard-rocks

Rest in peace, you meshugener, you!

Tomorrow: two superb sides by the great Lou Johnson from a 1964 Hilltop single. The magnificent A-side was arranged (but not written) by Burt Bacharach.