MICHAEL SIMON’S STORIES FROM THE SET

The Floor is Going to Collapse

INXS’s last show filmed With Michael Hutchence as the lead singer.

In 1997, I was still a full-time employee at VH1. Although I was poised to leave and pursue a freelance career, I was still able to shoot many interesting gigs for the channel. Series like Storytellers and live specials like Divas kept me at VH1 probably longer than I planned, but in retrospect, staying to do those shows was worth it. INXS Rocks the Rockies was particularly memorable, not just because it was an amazing performance and the last one filmed before Michael Hutchence’s untimely death. It also proved how the power and excitement of live rock and roll can literally bring the house down.

The INXS concert was to be a one-hour special to air a few weeks after we shot it.  As I remember, the budget was 200K – low, but doable, partly because the Producer/ Director (me) was on the staff of VH1 and absolutely free. It would be taped at the historic Wheeler Opera House in Aspen, Colorado (which had production offices under the floor in front of the stage – a fact that became significant later.) The concert coincided with a VH1 affiliate/advertiser getaway, best described as a vacation/blow-job combo to the lucky invitees. Cynicism aside, VH1 was a cultural juggernaut in 1997 with the series premieres of Behind the Music, Pop Up Video and Storytellers. . So- this weekend was considered to be a golden ticket for most. I was just thrilled to be in fucking Aspen, so I could ski and shoot a concert with INXS. And - I made sure I could still handle the blue slopes by getting there a week early for a few private ski lessons (no shame!).

 The band arrived from Australia about four days prior to the taping to acclimate to the 14,000 feet altitude. Their early arrival gave my staff and the band’s crew the opportunity to use a 1997 version of a small camera to capture great behind the scenes stuff with the band and their crew. That included some really moving and genuine moments with Michael Hutchence, who would tragically take his own life only a few months later.

As it turned out, INXS could not have been better to work with nor could they have had better accents. They were totally down with my simple, raw design idea of covering the upstage brick wall with a ton of ripped posters, then light and go! The band also really loved my plan to remove the first 10 rows of seats so that fan could mosh, dance or simply jump up and down in front of the stage. INXS did request one more thing: a ladder leading up to the first opera box. I agreed to that even though the only explanation they’d give was that I would see why during the song “Devil Inside”.

The band loaded into the Wheeler a day before the taping, which gave me the opportunity to get to know them a little better. They were an incredibly cool bunch of people: cool in the upper stratosphere sense of being funny, nice, talented and having sold 55 million records. I actually also got to be involved in making a wardrobe choice for the brimmingly charismatic Michael Hutchence who, with bonafide rock star magic, managed to look unbelievable in a black lace shirt. (Representing the complete antithesis of an adult male who could achieve looking cool in black lace, I could only sit in awe watching him.)

On the day of the concert, we did a soundcheck/rehearsal and got about 15 minutes of the band going full throttle. After they finished, my production manager came into the truck to tell me that the production office ceiling right beneath the stage had been vibrating - a lot. I just looked at him and said something like, “I don’t care. It’s a rock concert.” It is conceivable that I also added in some off-color language, which in those days I did on occasion. (I fully acknowledge that anyone reading this who knew me back then is taking this opportunity to roll their eyes!)  But – I wasn’t going to let anyone or anything thing dampen the excitement I felt about shooting this band. In fact, usually the time between rehearsal and taping is nerve wracking for me – embellished with much pacing and lack of appetite. That night I was feeling so pumped and stress-free that I was actually able to enjoy a good meal as well as the company of my crew/VH1 comrades.

After so many years in TV, I’ve learned that sometimes shows just take on a life of their own and as director, you just go along for the ride. INXS “Rocks the Rockies” was such a TV concert; it was simply amazing start to finish. The band was loose and tight at the same time, incredibly happy to be there and the audience could not have been more engaged. The show achieved what only great rock shows can: intimacy delivered with a pow! For me, their performance of “Devil Inside” was the most memorable. Remember the ladder leading up to an opera box? Michael sang half of the song up there amongst delighted fans, and the placement of the jib could not have been better. The shot speaks for itself:

And yes – the floor on top of our production office did start to crack. Apparently, the Wheeler Opera House had never tested its strength against several hundred people bouncing on it and music at about 105 decimals. By song three of the show, several panicked crew members came into my truck to tell me what was going on, but I didn’t stop directing. I was completely immersed in the moment and nothing short of an electrical failure would get my head out of the monitors in front of me. As producer, I also knew that there would be a long, animated discussion about this after we wrapped!

After the show, I was told that the floor cracked so badly that everyone in the office had to get the fuck out or face a cave-in. They solved the impending disaster by literally installing 10 2’ by 4’s to prop the ceiling up. No one was hurt, thankfully, and we all got a great rock ‘n roll story to tell.

Looking back now, I realize how incredibly lucky I was during the ‘90s to have worked at VH1. The channel was committed to airing musical performances and gave us all the opportunity to be a part of that powerful experience. We did not know that the digital era would soon descend to alter music into something that could be downloaded and listened to on a computer.

Digital meant very little in 1997. And – for that one night in Aspen, it didn’t matter.

Enjoy INXS Rocks the Rockies

The Ring Down

On February 16, 2012, a service was held to honor and celebrate the life of Don Cornelius. As an attendee, I joined hundreds to watch Stevie Wonder, Smokey Robinson, Jesse Jackson and Magic Johnson pay tribute to this legendary man. For those of you who might not know, Don Cornelius was the mastermind and face of one of the most influential music shows of all time: Soul Train. And this is my story about having the amazing opportunity to direct it:

 I became hooked on Soul Train the very first time I watched it as an 11-year-old budding musicophile.  Between 1971-74, my Saturday mornings became a thrilling ride on the “Train”, during which I was enticed by both great soul music as well as the beautiful women who danced on the show. Given that most girls in my home town of Great Neck, NY rarely condescended to speak to me, my pubescent adolescent ego was grateful to the show for providing me with for some fresh fantasies.

 Soul Train was hosted by Don Cornelius, who commanded attention with his deep, resonant voice, and in the “70s, an impressive Afro. In my mind, he was the epitome of cool. Although I was a skinny white Jew from Long Island, my idols were Walt “Clyde” Frazier, Earl “The Pearl” Monroe and Don Cornelius. I only wanted to be either a pro basketball player, or the host of Soul Train! Dream #1 faded in direct correlation to my not growing an inch after ninth grade; viewers of Soul Train were ultimately spared the fulfillment of dream #2. But- I did direct the show some 30 years later, and that really was a dream come true!

 It was 2000 and I had been living in LA for almost 15 years when I got a call or page (miss those pagers!) from a number I didn’t recognize. In those days, I returned calls automatically – without cynicism – in the hope it would be about a potential job. To my delight, someone answered “production office” when I called back. I was simultaneously intrigued and a bit put off when the person answering the phone didn’t seem to want to divulge which production office it was. But after an odd thirty second conversation, that person figured out who I was and revealed - again, to my delight- that it was the office for Soul Train! And wow – I was going to have a meeting with Don Cornelius in two days to discuss a potential show!

 Even back in 2000, I didn’t really get nervous about meetings. I did find talking to people like Steven Spielberg, who came into the production truck on the short lived FOX series “On the Lot”, a wee bit intimidating, but only for the first few minutes. After years of countless Hollywood meetings, I’d concluded that those are all really just the same: no one tells the truth, no one says no, and most people harbor the not-so-subtle wish that your career implodes as theirs ascend. But I digress –

But for some reason on the drive from my home in Agoura Hills to the Soul Train offices, my nerves decided to express themselves directly through my colon. As I was so scared of being late, I arrived 90 minutes early which gave me adequate time to deal with bathroom issues. However, that extra time also enabled numerous neurotic thoughts to rage through my mind: Why are they meeting with me? Do they know that I’m a director (No, you idiot – they think you’re a caterer!) What the fuck can I possibly say to Don Cornelius? Would he possibly be interested in basketball and/or the current state of Rap chatter coming from a NY Jew with self-deprecating humor? Could I mention the two – much beloved – “Soul Train Greatest Hits” records I received on my 11th birthday, even though I didn’t have them anymore? (Oh, I have a vinyl of Soul Train. Where? Dunno! Oh well, again, we can conclude that you are an idiot.)

 Those thoughts provoked colon attack numero duo which my early arrival enabled me to also deal with. After ensuring that my plumbing system would function normally for the duration of the meeting, I arrived at a small and unassuming lobby on the 6th floor. A pleasant receptionist smiled at me and said “hi”. I responded with “hi” and proceeded to stand there mutely for several beats during which – unbeknownst to the receptionist – I fought off a strong urge to run away. Then, trying my best to disregard what I interpreted as her pitying stare, I managed to squeak that I was there to see Tony (Don’s son and head of production), not daring to utter Don’s name out loud. She smiled (I think nicely) and asked me to sit down, apparently not taking enough notice of me to see that I was already seated. So- I just stood up, said thank you, and sat down again. To this day, I am grateful that I did not also follow my immediate impulse to bow.

 The wait in the lobby was short by Hollywood standards (I usually could get through an entire T.C. Boyle novel before getting in to see anyone in the lair of CAA). I then was directed into a conference room where Tony Cornelius met me. After a bit of forced, but lighthearted banter, my colon worries evaporated and it felt like any other meeting. My confidence returned enough for me to begin talking about how my directorial skills would benefit whatever show they were planning. Just as I was hitting my stride with the obligatory sell job, I heard a door open and turn to see Don Cornelius saunter into the room. Actually, it felt as though he enveloped the room, like some kind of modern-day genie released from a bottle, wearing a flowing silk shirt and leather pants. I shook his hand and collapsed. Well, actually I only had a vision of myself collapsing - which seemed very real. But, in reality, I remained standing and was able to bring up the Greatest Hits records, rattling off all of the songs I could remember. Don, with the otherworldly calm of a genie, responded to my rapid-fire babble by saying that he remembered all of those tracks, and immediately turned his attention to the special.

Three weeks later, I was directing the show that Soul Train Productions had put together for the Congressional Black Caucus and 15,000 other people. Although we shot the show for 4 hours without a single break, I loved every second of it. While the production was not as organized as others I’d worked on, Soul Train Productions more than made up for that with the passion that everyone on staff displayed for the music. I didn’t really get another opportunity to speak with Don again until the end of the show when he came into the production truck. He told me that he hadn’t watched much of the line-cut, but had liked what he had seen. Then, he said that he knew I could shoot music the same way he knew that the theme music on Soul Train was good. I was insanely happy, even though I didn’t understand the comparison. Needless to say, the Soul Train theme played on a continuous loop in my head for the entire drive back to my home in Agoura Hills that evening. Most importantly, I was now officially the director for the Soul Train yearly specials!

 About two years after I first met Don, I got the call: could I direct a weekend’s worth of Soul Train? …Um, let me think…

September 15, 2002, I walked onto the iconic Soul Train stage in Paramount Studios, to meet the crew and staff – all of whom had worked on the show for many years.  Don was there, greeted me warmly and gave me some cursory instructions. However, it was Reggie (the longtime stage manager of Soul Train), who provided me with a detailed overview of procedures on the set and would serve as my conduit to Don.  He emphasized most strongly the two cardinal rules of shooting Soul Train: 1: Girls, Girls, Girls (i.e. focus almost exclusively on women during dancing segments), and 2: If Don does not feel he is getting what he wants from me, he will call via the “ringdown”. (Reggie graciously offered to warn me first).

 I proceeded to direct the show, successfully managing to put my terror at getting a “ringdown” to the back of my mind. However, in the middle of a dance sequence the “ringdown” inevitably came. There was a dark moment when I thought that I was in trouble with not only Don, but with history itself. Thankfully that thought didn’t mess with my focus. I just took the note and went on shooting, with #1 in mind so that I could avoid another #2.

Apparently, I got good at achieving #1, because I directed the weekly Soul Train dance show in 2001-2 and 2005-6. I may have shot the last one ever, but I’m not sure. Little had changed between the shows I directed and those that were done in the “70s because it really could not be improved upon. Soul Train as originally conceived by Don Cornelius was the perfect vehicle to showcase the brilliance of soul music to generations, and impact new forms of music that is still heard today. I am humbly grateful to have been able to be a very small part of it.

Miles Davis Speaks

I had conducted many interviews and hung out backstage with many bands during my college radio station Punk days. However, nothing prepared me for this: I got Miles Davis …Yes, that Miles Davis – arguably the most famous jazz musician ever, to appear on an eclectic  Sunday night show on VH1 Produced called “New Visions”

After only 3 years in the TV business, I had fallen into producing a show on VH1 called New Visions. Since I was just a production assistant, that was a significant step toward the “big time” for me. The show was new, and aired on Sunday nights -which meant that about 12 people were actually watching it. I actually inherited it from Ellen Goosenberg who would go on to win an Oscar. In retrospect, producing that show gave me a great opportunity to learn from my in experience because no one in VH1 management cared as long as I didn’t do anything to radical.

Initially, New Visions was a clip show shot in a tiny studio, featuring guest hosts who did lead-ins to new age and jazz videos. Then, I had the idea to let musicians play live- believing that they could express themselves better by playing than just talking. Since the network was spending virtually no money on it, they said OK and the New Visions performance show was born.

After a short while, an odd little thing started to happen: New Visions got some buzz. Record labels publishing in the new age, jazz and progressive rock genres actually started to call me about getting their artists on the show. New Visions became the cool place for both established and new artists to be seen. So- about six months after I started with New Visions, I’m on a plane heading back to NYC from LA. As a result of the airline messing up my ticket, I happily get moved up to First Class. Being my amiable self, I start a conversation with the man sitting next to me – which he graciously participated in, despite the fact that I was a scruffy looking kid! One topic led to another, as did the drinks. Fueled mostly by alcohol, I launched into a detailed ramble of my plans for New Visions. When I came to a brief pause, long enough to down the remainder of my cocktail, he asked, “Would you be interested in having Miles Davis on your show?” Thinking that he was asking a theoretical question, I immediately responded “yes”. Then, he identified himself as Peter Shukat, Miles Davis’ manager. That revelation sobered me up instantly, had me believing in a divine being for a Nano second, and I responded again with a resounding “yes!”.

In the fall of 1987, Miles Davis and his bassist Foley came to our studio to co-host the two-hour New Visions special. Miles did not agree to a pre-interview or any set format, so I had little idea about what was going to happen for the next two hours. All I knew was that he would sit in the studio with his horn, his bass player, me on the floor, two cameramen, our engineer and Sharon Kelly (our wonderful studio manager, who Miles took a liking to – but that is another story!).

As it turns out, I didn’t need a format for Miles to create a show so incredible that it bordered on surreal. For two hours, he talked to Foley, to me, and to camera about life and music – punctuating all of that by blowing notes into his horn. In between lead-ins to videos of himself (and others of his choosing, like Michael Jackson), he created several drawings – one of which still hangs in my office today. He revealed much about himself on our set that day, but left us wanting to know more. And he showed me that, sometimes, spontaneity is the critical ingredient to creating magic on camera.

P.S. Peter Shukat passed away in June of 2014. He was a true gentleman, and exquisite at what he did. He will be genuinely missed.

Ali and One Live Second

Ray Davies of The Kinks once said and I paraphrase, “When I write songs my IQ goes way up.” I have always felt that my modest intelligence gets to the level of at least smart when I’m directing, and when I’m Directing something live, it goes to an even higher level.

It’s December, 1999. I’m directing a Special for CBS called: “Sports Illustrated Presents: the Athletes of the Century.”  The special was live from Madison Square Garden (back when the Knicks didn’t suck). The name pretty much said it all, and nearly every famous living Athlete showed up. It was like the pictures on my wall growing up had suddenly come to life. I am not going to list them, go Google it, but I will say that the greatest among them was “The Greatest”  Muhammad Ali.

Far better writers and historians have properly placed Ali in sports and cultural history; his place is etched in our zeitgeist forever. So to be directing a show that would climax with his being named “The Athlete of The Century” was historical.

While the other categories of the night were not chopped liver—Michael Jordan, Jim Brown, Hank Aaron, to name a few—the show was fittingly built to climax with Mr. Ali. Billy Crystal paid tribute to Ali with a ten minute read visually aided by a giant screen, which filled up the stage.

 Then the moment happened.

I was in the truck where we controlled the broadcast, in front of a multitude of screens, focused on Camera 11. That was the steady-cam, operated by the very talented Jeff Muhlstock. I had asked him to wait on the stage so that he could get the perfect, and dramatic shot of Ali walking up through the crowd to accept his award with a visual of Madison Square Garden behind him. Then, at exactly 2:43 minutes into the above video, the greatest athlete of the century teetered to his right and started to fall over as he walked toward the stairs leading up to our stage. It was a slight, yet noticeable rocking. Given that Ali was dealing with Parkinson’s…my world STOPPED. What if he fell, or was hurt on a live CBS show with 15 million people watching? I had absolutely no idea what I would have done. Questions raced through my mind: Do I tell the cameras to zoom in on a fallen icon? Do I cut to a high-wide and scream to master control to go to a commercial? Do I wait for the Executive Producer or Network Executive to tell me what to do?

There was no higher power available to guide me in that split second, which seemed to play in quantum time. Then, just as disaster seemed inevitable, Ali magically regained his balance. He walked up to the stage, shadow boxed with Billy Crystal, kissed him on the cheek and accepted his award. I actually thanked whatever higher power seemed to watch over aging sports legends, and directed the remainder of the show.

As I look back on that perilous moment, I’m still not sure what I would have done if Ali had fallen. I certainly hope that my humanity would have won out over my directorial instinct to get the best shot possible in all circumstances – particularly during live events.  I am just glad that the worst-case scenario did not come to pass. In the end, a great boxer simply got the award he richly deserved, and I get to tell this story about that one second in December 1999.

Directing Live TV, ... are you Nuts?

The question I have been asked most frequently in the many decades I’ve been a director is: What is it like to direct a live show?

 If I were going to be accurate, completely accurate, the first time I directed a live TV show was in 1995: Where without a steadi-cam I asked an HH camera operator to lead Pete Townsend to the by walking backwards for 3 minutes. As far as “live backward walking” goes, I suppose I captured something unique on camera. But- thankfully- my career evolved and I was able to shoot numerous and more complicaterd live shows over the next 25 years.  

 The first time I actually directed something “big” live was in 1996. At that point, I had been at VH1 for 10 years and had been the go-to-guy for everything that had anything to do with musical performance. However, I had been routinely passed over for other directors when it came to the network’s live musical specials. But in 1996, thanks to active campaigning for the gig on my part and – more significantly - budget cuts, VH1 executives convinced the veteran producer Ken Erhlich to hire me as the director on VH1 Honors: The Concert for Witness. The show was to be hosted by Tim Robbins and feature many musical artists such as Peter Gabriel, Michael Stipe, Pete Townsend, Rod Stewart and Gloria Estefan. Although my fee was zero (probably my biggest selling point to network executives), the opportunity really placed me on the trajectory toward building my directing career.

 The most memorable aspect of it for the people working in close proximity to me was that I vomited next to the production truck right after our dress rehearsal! But puking aside, my first live show contained all of the elements of every other live performance show I’ve directed since. For me, this is directing live TV:

 I sit next to an associate director who is in communication with the network. As the show nears its beginning, he/she informs me and the crew of how much time there is until we go LIVE. The moments which follow seem interminable, as potential disaster scenarios ricochet in my mind – despite me knowing that I’ve rehearsed, planned and rehearsed some more. Every cell in my body is acutely aware that anything can happen and when it does – well, it will be LIVE. (Technically there is a 5 – 15 second delay that networks use to bleep the “fucks” and “shits”). The minutes leading up to a live broadcast feel as though I am speaking in public for the first time, taking the SATs, asking a girl on a date,and shooting a jump shot in the last 10 seconds – all at once. Then, with only seconds to go, everything but headset and monitors seem to fade away. The countdown begins in this realm of surreal eye-of-the-hurricane quiet: “time to air” 10,9,8,7, (I think: Shit! Why am I here? This is scary!”) 6,7, (I think – or maybe say out loud: “Fuck! Let’s do this. Have a great show!”) 3,2,1 (I say: “Roll and up on X. We’re live motherfuckers. Let’s nail it!”).

 The next hour or two are a whirlwind of non-stop verbal cues to cameras, which takes on the quality of a secret language: Ready 4; Take 4. Ready 9; Take 9. 3 tighten up. Cue the host. Roll X cross to Y.  5 2-shot. 50 + crew members are fluent in this language, and hang on my every word. The huge bank of monitors revealing cameras, playbacks, and graphics in front of me are my portal to the world we are creating on stage. My voice in their ears is my conductor’s baton, through which I mark the tempo of our complex technical performance. I always remind myself prior to a live show, that no matter how many cameras I have to work with (I’ve done up to 22), my ultimate goal is to break the show down into component parts and craft one perfect image at a time.

When things are going well (and they usually are), I feel as though I am swimming through a pool of beautiful images presented by my crew with the precision and fluidity of an Olympian. In contrast to those painful pre-show moments, the actual live show flashes by and my hyper focus pierces through the clutter of self-doubt.

Finally, the associate director begins another countdown – this time to the credit roll. No matter how many times I’ve seen my name on a screen, it never ceases to produce a real feeling of pride.

Live TV, like life, has had moments that I would rather forget. I have made mistakes that were witnessed in real time by millions, but those were luckily few and far between. More often, I have captured gorgeous, crystalline moments that I still get chills thinking about. Here are a few:

America’s Best Dance Crew performance with 35 beat accurate camera cuts in under one minute:

 https://vimeo.com/manage/63922
VH1 Divas 1999 with Whitney Houston. (I feel that my shots synced with her emotional performance)

Finally, the associate director begins another countdown – this time to the credit roll. No matter how many times I’ve seen my name on a screen, it never ceases to produce a real feeling of pride: 

Directed by

Michael A. Simon

Perhaps my favorite part of any show is when we go off the air, and hugs abound with staff and crew – making for a pleasant post-show cocktail. I feel fulfilled, and serene for a while. Then, inevitably, it starts small but wells up: a desire to direct, to perform, to – in the tradition of vaudeville – move on to the next one.