Crack the Sky might not have existed at all, if were not for the folk pop hits of Jim Croce. Croce was produced by Terry Cashman and Tommy West, who, with their profits, started a production company, CashWest Productions, and were looking for other acts to produce.
It was 1973, and at that time, 22 year-old John Palumbo and his buddy Ricky Witkowski, then 20, were holed up in a seedy hotel on Eighth Avenue, writing songs. They traveled to New York to get signed to a major label. A college roommate of Palumbo's put them in contact with CashWest.
On a Saturday when the office was empty, they auditioned for Terry Minogue, a nephew of Terry Cashman. Minogue was, at the time, somewhere between a gofer and an arranger for the company. Now Manager of Creative Services for Cema (a division of Capitol/EMI), he recalls "they played me some of the most beautiful music I ever heard in my life." Minogue spent much of the next two years trying to get the band signed.
Palumbo and Witkowski had played in various cover bands together for a few years around Pittsburgh. The latest incarnation, Uncle Louie mimicked the alternative acts of the day: David Bowie, T. Rex, Mott The Hoople. Witkowski had already cut a track with the Coasters, auditioned at the Brill Building, and even released a single in Pittsburgh.
Witkowski met Palumbo at a music store. The two struck up a conversation after Palumbo played the bass line to the Grand Funk song "I'm Your Captain." Palumbo had returned home from three years of college at Marshall University, where he grew disillusioned with his major, psychology. He started playing guitar, but made up his own songs rather than learning others.
This amazed Witkowski. Here was a guy who wrote songs. He knew plenty of musicians, but none who wrote. And boy did Palumbo write. "Notebooks of full of songs," he recalls, still sounding somewhat awestruck.
Palumbo remembers Cashman and West never did know what to make of Witkowski and Palumbo. Cashman and West were folkies, he recalls, used to the likes of The Weavers. These two West Virginians were throwing this weird King Crimson/Steely Dan-like songs at them. The songs were full of offbeat time signatures and lyrics that indulged in heady obfuscation. Sometimes they even had to stop playing just to explain what was supposed to go where in a certain passage.
Minogue cajoled CashWest into offering a development deal, which gave them an advance to assemble a band and record some material. The two returned to Pittsburgh, and called their old cronies. Originally 10-piece, the band eventually dwindled down to Joey D'Amico on drums, Joe Macre on bass, and Jim Griffiths on guitar, Palumbo and Witkowski.
When Cashman and West heard the material, they initially passed on signing the band. Minogue shopped it around, and when record companies started showing interest, CashWest suddenly snapped up the band.
According to Palumbo, the production company planned to have Crack the Sky sign to ABC/Dunhill. But another act in their stable, ex-Sh Na Na guitarist Henry Gross, had just scored a top 5 hit with a schlocky ballad called "Shannon."
It's an affliction that strikes many who succeed in entertainment: Successful in one aspect, you feel like an expert in everything else. Successful producers and songwriters, Cashman and West now wanted to start a record label. They called it Lifesong Records and Crack would be the first band to release an album.
"We signed contracts without legal help, and basically they crushed us on the deal. They got publishing, got everything. According to Lifesong, I'm probably still in their debt," Palumbo now says, chuckling.
Griffiths adds, "I couldn't even begin to tell you what was on that contract. We flipped through them and pretended to read them. After about five minutes we just looked at each other and said ok."
They would to come regret that day. Witkowski says, "They had this thing called cross-collateralization, which allowed them to write off nearly everything. They didn't have to pay us anything until all these other people were paid off. So we amassed quite a debt." For his entire time with Lifesong, Witkowski received one royalty check, for $2.43. He still has it filed away somewhere.
The band didn't care then; They were overjoyed. "We got to make an album," Palumbo says.
And what an album it was. Lifesong spared no cost in packaging, production, or guest musicians (as it was all taken from future royalties anyway). Renown fusion players David Sanborn and the Brecker brothers sat in on several numbers.
Piano-driven songs like "A Sea Epic" were reminiscent of Procol Harum. Other songs, however, showed a rhythmic syncopation sorely lacking from most progressive bands of the day. This sharpness gave "Surf City (Here Come The Sharks)" and "She's a Dancer" a radio friendliness not found in the baroque stylings of the group's brethren. The album's highpoint was "Ice," which, despite its dated Yes-like structural complexity, is still stunning today.