
Michael McDonald serenades us. On the radio, sure, plus on the television and the silver screen. Heâs on heavy rotation at the grocery store and in the waiting room. Hear him hit high harmonies in captivating cameos with Steely Dan! Listen to his catchy keyboards and soulful vocals with the reinvented Doobie Brothers! If you doubt Christopher Cross has got such a long way to go / to make it to the border of Mexico, McDonaldâs echo will convince you itâs so. Is that him in a chart-topping duet? You bet.
In the 1970s and â80s, McDonaldâs ubiquitous croon helped define a pop sub-genre now called yacht rock, but which at the time was simply mainstream. And he was more than just a great set of pipes. He wrote songs that are so infectious, the CDC recommends you wear a mask around them. They were sophisticated, too, featuring jazz, R&B, and gospel influences, dramatic key changes, and angular melodies.
In his new memoir, What a Fool Believes, McDonald tells the story of how his talents became so familiar to a generation of American music fans. McDonald has always performed well with other stars, so itâs appropriate that heâd have a partner for this book, though the actor and comedian Paul Reiser (My Two Dads, Mad About You) seems like an unlikely choice. The project grew out of the friendsâ Zoom conversations during the COVID lockdowns, and perhaps the comic is responsible for leavening the recurring motifs of self-doubt and substance abuse with humor and conversational charm.
McDonaldâs childhood was both chaotic and happy. Born in St. Louis in 1952 to a musical family, he inherited his love of singing from his father, a streetcar driver and Marine veteran. But his parentsâ marriage was unhappy and they divorced when he was a child, creating in McDonald both a sense of insecurity and a desire to stay connected to his father through music. He started his first band in his early teens. A running joke starts at their debut gig, when a pastor politely declined McDonaldâs offer to play longer: âNo, no, that wonât be necessary.â Ambitious and talented, he climbed his way into more prominent area bands, including one that backed Chuck Berry when the legend was in town.
Unfortunately, McDonald imbibed in rock-star vices young, too. Out of what he calls his compulsion âto disengage,â McDonald started smoking pot in his early teens. He drank. He got his girlfriend pregnant in eighth grade. His life âwas a nonstop pageant of chaosâ from which music offered a refuge. When he was only 18, McDonald signed a contract with RCA and moved to Los Angeles, but this shot at the big time misfired: After he released one single, the label released him. McDonald retreated to Missouri in temporary defeat.
McDonald claims that âmost everything good thatâs happened in my life and careerâvirtually none of it was of my design.â Case in point: After he returned to L.A., a new friend (drummer Jeff Porcaro of Toto) told him that Donald Fagen and Walter Becker of Steely Dan were holding auditions for their upcoming tour. McDonald made the cut and provided backing vocals plus quaaludes and perhaps pubic lice on the ensuing tours. Fagen and Becker invited McDonald to perform backing vocals on their new album, as well as on subsequent records. That led to his next big break, when former Steely Dan guitarist Jeff âSkunkâ Baxter, then with the Doobie Brothers, asked McDonald to fill in for that bandâs lead singer. He had two days to rehearse with the Doobies before a show in Shreveport; McDonaldâs father, who hadnât seen his son perform in years, was in attendance.
McDonald may suffer from the music industryâs most severe case of Impostor Syndrome. When the Doobie Brothers asked him to join the band permanently, he feared âit surely wouldnât be long before everyone realized I was a fraud.â Not quite. McDonald transformed the bandâs sound (though he declines the credit) by contributing several original songs on their next album, including the top-40 singles âTakinâ It to the Streetsâ and âIt Keeps You Runninâ.â He stayed aboard for three more albums and a few more hits, peaking with âWhat a Fool Believes,â a perfect pop song that earned McDonald and cowriter Kenny Loggins the Grammy for Record of the Year in 1980.
During these boom years, he contributed backing vocals for hits by Loggins and Christopher Cross, and also produced Amy Hollandâs debut album. (Theyâd produce a family together, too, marrying in 1983.) His omnipresence was fodder for a classic SCTV sketch, and McDonald gamely acknowledges âall the shit Iâd later take for singing on seemingly everyoneâs tracks,â but insists, âThere was a certain romance to it for meâlike getting a front-row seat to something special.â
That humility is endearing. McDonald jokes about dud performances and never blames other people for turmoil or failures. No matter how successful he becomes, heâs always honored to work with Paul Anka, Burt Bacharach, Quincy Jones, or Ray Charles.
He says a major cause of intra-Doobies tension was, âI began to take my insecurities out on the other guys.â Even his songwriting was often a manifestation of his modesty: âIâve always felt more comfortable writing in the third person, as if Iâm telling someone elseâs story.â
McDonaldâs stories about specific songs illustrate the confluence of influences, experimentation, and luck. âWhat a Fool Believesâ began with lyrics scribbled during a long flight and his desire to re-create a âsyncopation and bouncing staccato rhythmâ he knew from old gospel and R&B songs. (Producer Ted Templeman liked early versions but his sister thought it sounded âlike circus music.â) âTakinâ It to the Streetsâ merged his musings on inequality with a âgospel-inspired chord progression I had been tinkering with,â while with âMinute By Minuteâ he was striving for âa jazz shuffle, but with very little swingâ that took forever to achieve. (Itâs a shame, though, that he doesnât recount his experience helping David Lee Roth write a Van Halen song.)
After the Doobiesâ demise, McDonald enjoyed the solo success that had eluded him a decade before with hits like âI Keep Forgettinâ (Every Time Youâre Near)â and âSweet Freedom.â He also teamed up with Patti LaBelle in âOn My Ownâ and James Ingram for âYah Mo B There.â (McDonald shares your uncertainty over what that title means.) McDonald attributes some of this success to the black audience the Doobies had developed, which may also explain why Warren G used âI Keep Forgettinââ as the primary sample for his 1994 hit with Nate Dogg, âRegulate.â
This being a rock-and-pop memoir, there are plenty of drugs and drinks. The memoir begins with aâ[record scraaaaatch]âyou may be wondering how I got here scene of him in jail after another booze-and-coke binge, and it features antics that are alternately funny and scary. McDonald was aware of the problems created by his substance abuse, but the major turning point doesnât come until he arrived drunk to a counseling session for his wifeâs rehab. On his difficult road to sobriety, he âentered a world of no coincidencesâ and formed âtrust in a higher power.â
Readers will forgive McDonald for living a healthier life at the expense of the memoirâs excitement. A devoted husband and father, McDonald lived with his family in Nashville for a while as his career slowed down. He returned to the charts in the early 2000s after MCI featured him performing the Marvin Gaye/Tammi Terrell classic âAinât Nothing Like the Real Thingâ in a commercial. (In a rare moment of braggadocio, McDonald takes credit for suggesting that the ad include a chyron with his new albumâs title to boost sales.) Not everyone appreciated this renaissance. âIf you donât take this Michael McDonald DVD that youâve been playing two years straight off,â Paul Rudd tells his big-box-store manager in The 40-Year-Old Virgin, âIâm going to kill everyone in the store and put a bullet in my brain.â
In his older age, McDonald has changed his approach to touring, recording, and singing (lower keys are easier on his voice). And itâs workedâheâs still at it, performing with the Doobie Brothers this summer. And last month, he visited select cities with Paul Reiser to discuss this unlikely memoir about a very likeable performer.
What a Fool Believes: A Memoir
by Michael McDonald with Paul Reiser
Dey Street Books, 336 pp., $32
Christopher J. Scalia is a senior fellow at the American Enterprise Institute.
Original News Source â Washington Free Beacon
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