Kenneth Howard Smith - ABC RECORDS FOLLIES - From Vinyl Knights

 ABC RECORDS FOLLIES

By Kenneth Howard Smith

When I first moved back to Los Angeles, things were rough. I was broke, hungry, and uncertain—one of those stretches where the city feels both beautiful and merciless. I had landed in Brentwood, close enough to the ocean that I could feel it calling. Venice Beach became my church. Every morning I’d walk the boardwalk, watching the street performers and bodybuilders, listening to the musicians who played for the gulls and the crowd. You could learn more about human rhythm there than in any classroom—every dreamer, drifter, and dropout trying to make something of themselves.

One afternoon, I ran into an old acquaintance from my Three Dog Night days. That single encounter changed everything. He told me to look up Herb Eiselman, the vice president of A&R at ABC Records. Herb was a sharp dresser with a sharper ear. I showed up at his office with little more than a smile and a story, and somehow walked out with a job. Just like that, I was back in the music business.

Herb sent me straight over to ABC Music Publishing to meet two of their writers, Jimmy Holliday and Lee Rogers. Jimmy was the real deal—he’d penned “Put a Little Love in Your Heart” for Jackie DeShannon, a song that had traveled the world. Lee Rogers, though—that was personal history. I remembered him from my boyhood days in Marlin, Texas. In 1965, his single “I Want You to Have Everything” had cracked the Billboard Hot 100 and turned Detroit’s D-Town Records into a serious player. To me, meeting him again in L.A. felt like running into a chapter of my own past that had somehow come to life.

It was 1973, and the music world was shifting fast. Lee’s last hit, “Love Bandit,” had been on Loadstone Records out of San Francisco—home to only two acts: Lee and Sly & the Family Stone. When Loadstone sold Sly’s masters to CBS/Epic, Lee walked away, waiting for a new opportunity. That kind of patience in a restless industry taught me something—timing can be everything, and sometimes doing nothing is the hardest move of all.

Disco was beginning to stir, thumping its way up from the underground. Everyone wanted a dance record, something with flash and fever. So naturally, ABC handed me… “Margaritaville” by Jimmy Buffett—a sleepy country-pop tune about sun, salt, and tequila. Nobody knew who Buffett was. I suspected ABC didn’t know what to do with him either. Still, I hit the road with the record and a trunk full of hope.

With no marketing budget, no press push, and no real support, I hustled. California, Oregon, Washington, Utah—I drove it all. Slept in my car more than once. Learned the fine art of charm at local radio stations and bars. Every DJ I met became a lesson in human nature. Some only wanted perks; others just loved music enough to take a chance on something new. Slowly, the song caught on. Two months later, I got the call from the promotions department: “Come home—the record broke.”

Back in L.A., the ABC roster was heating up with acts like Steely Dan and Lenny Williams—real musicians’ musicians. I had always admired Lenny from his Tower of Power days; that man could sing the truth into any room.

Then came a new discovery—The Floaters, a Detroit group with a smooth single called “Float On” released independently on Fee Records. Leroy Lovett helped bring them to ABC, and I handled some of the promotion out West. That record caught fire—climbing all the way to #2 on the Billboard Hot 100. For a brief moment, it felt like everything I’d worked for had come together.

But the record business has a way of turning the page without warning. Herb Eiselman, the man who’d hired me, left ABC for Motown as their new vice president. His departure closed the door behind me. Once again, I found myself standing outside the machine—no job, no safety net.

Still, there’s a rhythm in those uncertain times, too. Before long, I ran into Lee Rogers again, right there on Sunset Boulevard. He smiled, said he had something brewing at Motown, and that’s how the next chapter began.

Those ABC days taught me that the record business isn’t just about hits—it’s about the people who keep showing up, even when the music stops. Every encounter, every city, every radio booth had a lesson tucked inside it. Perseverance, timing, faith—and the strange magic of being in the right place when the beat finally drops.