“AmerÂiÂca has only three cities: New York, San FranÂcisÂco, and New Orleans. EveryÂwhere else is CleveÂland.” That obserÂvaÂtion tends to be attribÂuted to TenÂnessee Williams, though it’s become someÂwhat detached from its source, so deeply does it resÂonate with a cerÂtain expeÂriÂence of life in the UnitÂed States. But conÂsidÂer this: can every AmerÂiÂcan city claim to be where rock and roll began — or at least the site of the very first rock and roll conÂcert? CleveÂland can, thanks to Alan Freed, a famous radio announcÂer of the nineÂteen-forÂties and fifties. The MoonÂdog CoroÂnaÂtion Ball he orgaÂnized in 1952 may have endÂed in disÂasÂter, but it began a pop-culÂturÂal era that arguably conÂtinÂues to this day.
HavÂing attained popÂuÂlarÂiÂty announcÂing in a variÂety of radio forÂmats, includÂing jazz and clasÂsiÂcal music, Freed was awakÂened to the posÂsiÂbilÂiÂty of what was then known as rhythm and blues by a local record-store ownÂer, Leo Mintz. It was with Mintz’s sponÂsorÂship that Freed launched a proÂgram on CleveÂland’s WJW-AM, for which he culÂtiÂvatÂed a hepÂcat perÂsona called “MoonÂdog.” (Some credÂit the name to an album by RobÂby Vee and The Vees, and othÂers to the avant-garde street musiÂcian MoonÂdog and his eponyÂmous “symÂphoÂny.”) StartÂing at midÂnight, the show broadÂcast hours of so-called “race music” to not just its already-enthuÂsiÂasÂtic fan base, but also the young white lisÂtenÂers increasÂingÂly intrigued by its capÂtiÂvatÂing, propulÂsive sounds.
Freed soon comÂmandÂed enough of an audiÂence to describe himÂself as “King of the MoonÂdogÂgers.” When he announced the upcomÂing MoonÂdog CoroÂnaÂtion Ball, a show at CleveÂland’s hockÂey areÂna feaÂturÂing sets from such popÂuÂlar acts as Paul Williams and the HuckÂleÂbuckÂers, Tiny Grimes and the RockÂing HighÂlanders (an all-black group whose sigÂnaÂture kilts would sureÂly stir up “culÂturÂal approÂpriÂaÂtion” disÂcourse today), VaretÂta DilÂlard, and DanÂny Cobb, the MoonÂdogÂgers turned out. About 20,000 of them turned out, in fact, twice what the venue could hanÂdle. A tickÂet misÂprint was to blame, but the damÂage had been done — or rather, it would be done, when the well-dressed but over-excitÂed crowd stormed the areÂna and the authorÂiÂties were called in to shut the show down by force.
In the event, only the first two acts ever took the stage. The planned coroÂnaÂtion of the two most popÂuÂlar teenagers in attenÂdance (a holdover from anothÂer culÂturÂal dimenÂsion entireÂly) nevÂer hapÂpened. But the spirÂit of rebelÂliousÂness witÂnessed at this first-ever rock conÂcert was like a genie that couldÂn’t be put back in its botÂtle. HowÂevÂer square his image, Freed, who popÂuÂlarÂized the term “rock and roll” as applied to music, was nevÂer much of a rule-folÂlowÂer in his proÂfesÂsionÂal life. His latÂer impliÂcaÂtion in the payÂola bribe scanÂdals of the late fifties sent his career into a tailÂspin, and his earÂly death folÂlowed a few years latÂer. But to judge by re-tellings like the one in the Drunk HisÂtoÂry video just above, he remains the hero of the stoÂry of the MoonÂdog CoroÂnaÂtion Ball — and thus a hero of rock and roll hisÂtoÂry.
RelatÂed conÂtent:
The Live Music Archive Lets You Stream/Download More Than 250,000 ConÂcert Recordings–for Free
Based in Seoul, ColÂin Marshall writes and broadÂcasts on cities, lanÂguage, and culÂture. His projects include the SubÂstack newsletÂter Books on Cities and the book The StateÂless City: a Walk through 21st-CenÂtuÂry Los AngeÂles. FolÂlow him on the social netÂwork forÂmerÂly known as TwitÂter at @colinmarshall.
LoveÂly post. RealÂly enjoyed readÂing.
The post put me in mind of Andrew HickÂey’s on-going podÂcast “A HisÂtoÂry of Rock n’ Roll in 500 songs”. SomeÂthing Open CulÂture should feaÂture a post on. HickÂey is curÂrentÂly on song 178 and he’s been going for sevÂen years.
The podÂcast is excepÂtionÂal. Well worth a lisÂten and a feaÂture.