A brief history of SVT . . . .I first met Brian Marnell, the principal singer/songwriter for SVT, in the summer of 1973 when he was fresh out of high school. One could say we started our “professional” careers in music together, which means by day we did anything we could do to pay the bills, and by night played 200-plus club dates a year for slave wages. Toward the end of that decade when we went our separate ways, I remained a friend and a fan of his, and much to the chagrin of some, I suppose that’s what qualifies me to write these liner notes. Brian and I worked together in various bands (Soundhole and Airplay, amongst others) for over six years in the seventies, writing together, cutting demos and playing showcases. As much as we conspired together and as hard as we tried, the “big record deal” eluded us. Yet one pivotal showcase in San Rafael, California proved to be not just our last ditch effort at “the big leagues” together, but also the birth of SVT and, in my case, Huey Lewis and the News.
After making musical history holding down the bottom end for the Jefferson Airplane and Hot Tuna for over a decade (not to mention chumming and jamming with Jimi Hendrix,) bassist Jack Casady and his keyboard pal Nick Buck were looking for something else to do. Early in 1978 they had just come off the road with Tuna when Casady and high school buddy/guitarist Jorma Kaukonen decided they needed a break from each other. After a lifetime performing together since High School, their parting effectively disbanded Hot Tuna for a while, and Jack and Jorma would not reunite under the same banner for at least four years (they continue to perform together to this day.)
There was somewhat of a new musical renaissance happening in the Bay Area at the time. Punk and New Wave were on the tip of everyone’s tongue, and Jack was looking for a more aggressive sound both musically and vocally; call it a mid-life musical crisis if you will. The Sex Pistols had blown through town recently and (though some would argue) single-handedly changed the face of the San Francisco music scene. With all that in the back of his mind, Jack stopped by a local music attorney’s office one day to weed through piles of demo tapes in search of “something new.” As the story has it, the Airplay demo Brian and I made together really stood out for Jack, and he was especially taken with Brian’s voice.
Later that same week Jack and Nick showed up at a little hole-in-the-wall called the Knight’s Bridge to check out Airplay. After the demise of Marin County favorites Clover, Huey Lewis and a cast of characters, myself included, were putting on a music-cum-variety show Huey and a friend had brainstormed called “Monday Night Live.” Complete with core band, belly dancers, jugglers, comedians, rogues, hangers-on and guest stars, MNL had enough performers and guests to fill the club on it’s own. Every musician in Marin had their irons in as many fires as possible, and so it was that I was conspiring with Huey to start a new band and working with Airplay at the same time. I talked Huey into giving Airplay a slot in the show and we would “showcase” this night for local rock promoter/legend Bill Graham. Graham had recently started his own record label and this was our last card to play, our last “big connection” to the music industry. As fate would have it Graham passed on the band that night, and within a week’s span Marnell and Airplay/MNL drummer Bill Gibson were rehearsing with Jack and Nick. Airplay was history. I started devoting more of my time getting something going with Huey in a band we then called American Express, writing more songs than ever, cutting demos and playing local shows. At this point in time Huey and I were still trying to figure out who was actually going to be “in the group,” and for the time being we were content sharing Gibson with another band.
By the spring of 1978 the “Jack Casady Band” started playing around the Bay Area and immediately created a buzz. All of a sudden the once shy but assertive singer I used to know was mixing his pop sensibilities and the burgeoning Punk/New Wave seamlessly together in his songwriting. Reluctant to play off of Jack’s name and past fame, Casady soon suggested a name change. Although fans of the band became convinced the name stood for a heart condition known as Supraventricular Tachycardia, the true story is somewhat less glamorous. On a break at rehearsal one night someone came up with the idea of naming the band after Jack’s bass amp rig he was using at the time, and just like that, SVT was born. Surrounded by the likes of The Nuns, The Avengers, Crime and The Dead Kennedys, SVT stood out as the one band on the new scene that brought a sense of melody and more than three chords to the Neo-San Francisco North Beach party. While all these other angry groups were learning to spit and scream just like Johnny Rotten, Brian was just singing, and singing better than ever. For better or for worse, SVT was just a little different than the other bands on the scene at the time. Brian was finding himself musically, finding his voice, finally becoming the front man/singer/songwriter he wanted to be, and San Francisco quickly took notice.
SVT got good, and they got good fast. Living in apartments next to each other at the time, Marnell and I were both broke but happy. Neither one of us knew where our next rent money would come from. Looking back on it all, I can safely say I had never seen him more satisfied than at that moment in time. So many possibilities were right around the corner, the unknown! Anything could happen and anything was possible; it comes with the age. Huey and I would be in my apartment banging out the first few songs we ever wrote together on my old upright piano, while right across the hall within earshot Brian would be strumming, singing and writing for that night’s rehearsal or session. He once complained to a mutual friend that he thought I was stealing song ideas from him through the wall, but nothing could have been further from the truth. The only thing I really lifted from Brian was a more open mind toward the diverse musical styles that were emerging in the Bay Area at the time. Huey and the News’ “Some Of My Lies Are True” probably would have ended up a ballad were it not for Marnell’s musical influence on me, and I would like to think I contributed to Brian’s pop sensibility at some point in his career. It was a healthy rivalry, and these were fertile times.
Somewhere toward the end of 1978 SVT released a single on their own label. By 1979 the band was in that short-lived creative sweet spot, the “ride up”, writing songs and cutting demos, learning and growing with each new experience in the studio and, most importantly, finding people who believed in them enough to pay for it all. It didn’t take long for the band to land a record deal with Howie Klein and Sandy Perlman’s 415 records, San Francisco’s cutting edge indie label. 415 released SVT’s first “official” single with the infectious “Heart of Stone,” followed by their first EP, “Extended Play.” The single put the band on the map locally and they managed to get some airplay and attention on the East Coast as well. By all accounts it looked as if SVT were on their way. Meanwhile, “Huey Lewis and American Express” were playing bigger shows, getting serious recording offers and starting to take off as well. None of us were thinking too far ahead at the time, living hand to mouth and doing anything we could do to get by, but we all had high hopes and bigger dreams. And so it was when the renamed “Huey Lewis and the News” landed our first big record deal with Chrysalis records, that Lewis convinced Gibson to join the News full time. Bill gave notice to SVT and without missing a beat, was quickly replaced by local drummer Paul Zahl. Frustrated with the lack of success and tired of the lifestyle, Nick Buck quit the band early on in 1981. Jack, Brian and Paul would be the final lineup for “No Regrets” and this would be the last record SVT would make.
Toward the end of 1981, on the heels of success with Huey, I moved out of my little apartment across from Brian. Even before I left, Marnell and I were moving away from each other fast, headed in different directions musically, socially and personally. We began running in different circles around the Bay Area, living different lifestyles, both of us constantly on the road or in the studio. We saw less and less of each other and in the end, right before I moved, I was getting up every morning around the same time Brian was going to bed. I only spoke to Brian once or twice throughout the next couple years and we rarely saw each other, so after several phone conversations and face to face meetings over the last few months Jack, Nick and Paul were nice enough to fill in a couple missing blank spots.
It was obvious to everyone around at the time that Brian’s health was deteriorating. The lifestyle he had been living and trying to maintain for the last three or four years was finally taking its toll. On their first tour of England in 1982 Jack and Brian took a long walk in Hyde Park and had a longer heart-to-heart about the state of affairs of the band, and SVT came to a crashing halt. Everyone found their way back home and scattered like leaves in a breeze. Jack and Jorma resurrected Hot Tuna, Nick was long gone and had already entered the world of computer technology, and although Paul returned to the states for awhile, he eventually moved to Belgium where he resides today. Although Marnell would work with several other musicians in the coming year, including some songwriting and recording on the East Coast with Jim Carroll, nothing came of any of it. The party was over, and August 19, 1983 we lost Brian Marnell to the world as we know it.
It should be noted that SVT was a partnership, a true musical democracy. There was no leader, no one person calling the shots. Every man contributed to the sum in his own way; from Zahl’s tight eighth note fills to Buck’s songs and unique futuristic synthesizer sounds to Jack Casady’s signature bass. But it is safe to say it was Brian’s voice and songwriting that gave the band it’s unique personality and identity. For his entire life up to this point, Brian Marnell was a reluctant front man until Jack Casady had a vision and put together SVT. That was my take on it then and it holds up for me today when I listen to this CD. So as much as these notes are a tribute to SVT as a whole, it is also a tribute to a man whom I saw go through more changes in ten years than anyone should have to go through in a lifetime. It was always my observation that Brian instinctively strove to do things a little differently that everyone else. He skipped the paper, pen and chord charts and wrote his songs from the heart. Although it got a bit out of focus toward the end, for most of his life Brian always had a vision of what he wanted and where he was going. It’s just somewhere along the journey he got lost.
If you were one of a handful of fans of SVT way back when, welcome back. The tracks sound as fresh and as aggressive as the day the vinyl was released, and I was lucky enough to find and remix a few older SVT tracks that turned out to be real gems. On the other hand, if you are new to the band and this is your first listen, you may be fooled into thinking this CD was made last month and SVT is going to blow through your town any day now. Congratulations on discovering one of the best overlooked bands in the San Francisco Bay Area twenty-something years ago. I hope you enjoy this CD as much as I did working on it. I was, and still remain, one of SVT’s biggest fans.
Johnny Colla
2005
After making musical history holding down the bottom end for the Jefferson Airplane and Hot Tuna for over a decade (not to mention chumming and jamming with Jimi Hendrix,) bassist Jack Casady and his keyboard pal Nick Buck were looking for something else to do. Early in 1978 they had just come off the road with Tuna when Casady and high school buddy/guitarist Jorma Kaukonen decided they needed a break from each other. After a lifetime performing together since High School, their parting effectively disbanded Hot Tuna for a while, and Jack and Jorma would not reunite under the same banner for at least four years (they continue to perform together to this day.)
There was somewhat of a new musical renaissance happening in the Bay Area at the time. Punk and New Wave were on the tip of everyone’s tongue, and Jack was looking for a more aggressive sound both musically and vocally; call it a mid-life musical crisis if you will. The Sex Pistols had blown through town recently and (though some would argue) single-handedly changed the face of the San Francisco music scene. With all that in the back of his mind, Jack stopped by a local music attorney’s office one day to weed through piles of demo tapes in search of “something new.” As the story has it, the Airplay demo Brian and I made together really stood out for Jack, and he was especially taken with Brian’s voice.
Later that same week Jack and Nick showed up at a little hole-in-the-wall called the Knight’s Bridge to check out Airplay. After the demise of Marin County favorites Clover, Huey Lewis and a cast of characters, myself included, were putting on a music-cum-variety show Huey and a friend had brainstormed called “Monday Night Live.” Complete with core band, belly dancers, jugglers, comedians, rogues, hangers-on and guest stars, MNL had enough performers and guests to fill the club on it’s own. Every musician in Marin had their irons in as many fires as possible, and so it was that I was conspiring with Huey to start a new band and working with Airplay at the same time. I talked Huey into giving Airplay a slot in the show and we would “showcase” this night for local rock promoter/legend Bill Graham. Graham had recently started his own record label and this was our last card to play, our last “big connection” to the music industry. As fate would have it Graham passed on the band that night, and within a week’s span Marnell and Airplay/MNL drummer Bill Gibson were rehearsing with Jack and Nick. Airplay was history. I started devoting more of my time getting something going with Huey in a band we then called American Express, writing more songs than ever, cutting demos and playing local shows. At this point in time Huey and I were still trying to figure out who was actually going to be “in the group,” and for the time being we were content sharing Gibson with another band.
By the spring of 1978 the “Jack Casady Band” started playing around the Bay Area and immediately created a buzz. All of a sudden the once shy but assertive singer I used to know was mixing his pop sensibilities and the burgeoning Punk/New Wave seamlessly together in his songwriting. Reluctant to play off of Jack’s name and past fame, Casady soon suggested a name change. Although fans of the band became convinced the name stood for a heart condition known as Supraventricular Tachycardia, the true story is somewhat less glamorous. On a break at rehearsal one night someone came up with the idea of naming the band after Jack’s bass amp rig he was using at the time, and just like that, SVT was born. Surrounded by the likes of The Nuns, The Avengers, Crime and The Dead Kennedys, SVT stood out as the one band on the new scene that brought a sense of melody and more than three chords to the Neo-San Francisco North Beach party. While all these other angry groups were learning to spit and scream just like Johnny Rotten, Brian was just singing, and singing better than ever. For better or for worse, SVT was just a little different than the other bands on the scene at the time. Brian was finding himself musically, finding his voice, finally becoming the front man/singer/songwriter he wanted to be, and San Francisco quickly took notice.
SVT got good, and they got good fast. Living in apartments next to each other at the time, Marnell and I were both broke but happy. Neither one of us knew where our next rent money would come from. Looking back on it all, I can safely say I had never seen him more satisfied than at that moment in time. So many possibilities were right around the corner, the unknown! Anything could happen and anything was possible; it comes with the age. Huey and I would be in my apartment banging out the first few songs we ever wrote together on my old upright piano, while right across the hall within earshot Brian would be strumming, singing and writing for that night’s rehearsal or session. He once complained to a mutual friend that he thought I was stealing song ideas from him through the wall, but nothing could have been further from the truth. The only thing I really lifted from Brian was a more open mind toward the diverse musical styles that were emerging in the Bay Area at the time. Huey and the News’ “Some Of My Lies Are True” probably would have ended up a ballad were it not for Marnell’s musical influence on me, and I would like to think I contributed to Brian’s pop sensibility at some point in his career. It was a healthy rivalry, and these were fertile times.
Somewhere toward the end of 1978 SVT released a single on their own label. By 1979 the band was in that short-lived creative sweet spot, the “ride up”, writing songs and cutting demos, learning and growing with each new experience in the studio and, most importantly, finding people who believed in them enough to pay for it all. It didn’t take long for the band to land a record deal with Howie Klein and Sandy Perlman’s 415 records, San Francisco’s cutting edge indie label. 415 released SVT’s first “official” single with the infectious “Heart of Stone,” followed by their first EP, “Extended Play.” The single put the band on the map locally and they managed to get some airplay and attention on the East Coast as well. By all accounts it looked as if SVT were on their way. Meanwhile, “Huey Lewis and American Express” were playing bigger shows, getting serious recording offers and starting to take off as well. None of us were thinking too far ahead at the time, living hand to mouth and doing anything we could do to get by, but we all had high hopes and bigger dreams. And so it was when the renamed “Huey Lewis and the News” landed our first big record deal with Chrysalis records, that Lewis convinced Gibson to join the News full time. Bill gave notice to SVT and without missing a beat, was quickly replaced by local drummer Paul Zahl. Frustrated with the lack of success and tired of the lifestyle, Nick Buck quit the band early on in 1981. Jack, Brian and Paul would be the final lineup for “No Regrets” and this would be the last record SVT would make.
Toward the end of 1981, on the heels of success with Huey, I moved out of my little apartment across from Brian. Even before I left, Marnell and I were moving away from each other fast, headed in different directions musically, socially and personally. We began running in different circles around the Bay Area, living different lifestyles, both of us constantly on the road or in the studio. We saw less and less of each other and in the end, right before I moved, I was getting up every morning around the same time Brian was going to bed. I only spoke to Brian once or twice throughout the next couple years and we rarely saw each other, so after several phone conversations and face to face meetings over the last few months Jack, Nick and Paul were nice enough to fill in a couple missing blank spots.
It was obvious to everyone around at the time that Brian’s health was deteriorating. The lifestyle he had been living and trying to maintain for the last three or four years was finally taking its toll. On their first tour of England in 1982 Jack and Brian took a long walk in Hyde Park and had a longer heart-to-heart about the state of affairs of the band, and SVT came to a crashing halt. Everyone found their way back home and scattered like leaves in a breeze. Jack and Jorma resurrected Hot Tuna, Nick was long gone and had already entered the world of computer technology, and although Paul returned to the states for awhile, he eventually moved to Belgium where he resides today. Although Marnell would work with several other musicians in the coming year, including some songwriting and recording on the East Coast with Jim Carroll, nothing came of any of it. The party was over, and August 19, 1983 we lost Brian Marnell to the world as we know it.
It should be noted that SVT was a partnership, a true musical democracy. There was no leader, no one person calling the shots. Every man contributed to the sum in his own way; from Zahl’s tight eighth note fills to Buck’s songs and unique futuristic synthesizer sounds to Jack Casady’s signature bass. But it is safe to say it was Brian’s voice and songwriting that gave the band it’s unique personality and identity. For his entire life up to this point, Brian Marnell was a reluctant front man until Jack Casady had a vision and put together SVT. That was my take on it then and it holds up for me today when I listen to this CD. So as much as these notes are a tribute to SVT as a whole, it is also a tribute to a man whom I saw go through more changes in ten years than anyone should have to go through in a lifetime. It was always my observation that Brian instinctively strove to do things a little differently that everyone else. He skipped the paper, pen and chord charts and wrote his songs from the heart. Although it got a bit out of focus toward the end, for most of his life Brian always had a vision of what he wanted and where he was going. It’s just somewhere along the journey he got lost.
If you were one of a handful of fans of SVT way back when, welcome back. The tracks sound as fresh and as aggressive as the day the vinyl was released, and I was lucky enough to find and remix a few older SVT tracks that turned out to be real gems. On the other hand, if you are new to the band and this is your first listen, you may be fooled into thinking this CD was made last month and SVT is going to blow through your town any day now. Congratulations on discovering one of the best overlooked bands in the San Francisco Bay Area twenty-something years ago. I hope you enjoy this CD as much as I did working on it. I was, and still remain, one of SVT’s biggest fans.
Johnny Colla
2005