But in 2019 he is back at the top of his game and could proudly say that he had a number one charting album All Blues. The set resurrected many of Frampton’s signature songs from that era, kicking off with “Baby (Something’s Happening),” “Lines on My Face” and “Show Me The Way,” “(I’ll Give You Money)” and “Baby I Love Your Way.” Frampton’s meteoric rise was counterbalanced by subsequent ups and downs over the years. Frampton also stood playing his black Les Paul that he held on the cover of Frampton Comes Alive which was thought to be destroyed in a plane crash but found its way back to him after a thirty-year absence. But Frampton was amazed to find the drum kit on EBay and bought it back for the second time. Frampton recalled how the custom green drum kit he ordered for Siomos was thought lost. Siomos, like keyboardist Bob Mayo, mentioned and forever immortalized on “Do You Feel Like We Do,” have since passed. Before playing “Lines on My Face,” Frampton recalled how he came to Electric Lady Studios without a drummer when John Siomos took his call. The drum kit still had his logo that first appeared on his debut album Wind of Change. In an opening montage of photographs, we saw him rise from youth to be at the epicenter of rock royalty surrounded by Stevie Nicks, Ringo, and his childhood classmate David Bowie.
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“But you are going to heal me.”įrampton curated the show like a full life chronology. “I know you know,” he said slightly pausing, “about my medical condition.” Acknowledging the outpouring of love he’d felt on this and other nights, he said with tears starting to welling in his soulful eyes. Once a road warrior whose manager Dee Anthony booked him for two and fifty shows a year, the still youthful vocalist and great guitarist was the reluctant retiree staring down the end of a storied career. Now with his band offstage, he stood alone, finally addressing the elephant in the room.
Frampton had publicly shared with CBS televisions Anthony Mason that he had a degenerative muscular disease that would soon make it not possible to play guitar.įrampton was quiet about it until he got to the last of his encores.
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I felt like I had been in a real-life scene out of Roadies, the series by director Cameron Crowe of Almost Famous fame.īilled as Peter Frampton Finale: The Farewell Tour, the series of fall shows are not your typical goodbye This time there is a reason that goes beyond age. I’d never heard such thunderous cheers as I did that night and it was like witnessing mania.Īs Peter Frampton stepped onstage at the Anthem in Washington DC, it all came back to me. We had a short conversation and after sizing me up, he let us in and Frank and I caught the end of Frampton’s set with the thunderous climactic finale of “Do You Feel Like We Do.” Then we stayed to hear the headliner J Geils Band somewhat mystified that Frampton was the opening act. I recognized him as the concert promoter Jim Koplik. I headed over and after a few minutes, a mustachioed man came over to greet my friend Frank Nagy and me. I was connected to a sympathetic woman who said she could help. Left behind I scrambled and placed a call to the Springfield Civic Center. Suddenly the former guitarist of Humble Pie who had made four solo albums was an “overnight sensation.”įrampton turned and left to head into a waiting limousine. Just a year earlier On the Frampton tour where it was recorded, my friends Brad Bechard and Greg Logsted were watching Frampton at Staples High School in Westport, Connecticut. The chances of getting to Stanley Coles seemed unlikely-at the moment Frampton Comes Alive just happened to be the biggest album in the world. They were smaller than I imagined them and had the look of perfectly coiffed twins.īeing a voracious reader of liner notes on record albums, I immediately knew he was Peter’s road manager. when out of the corner of my eye I recognized Peter Frampton.įrampton and his girlfriend Penny McCall turned around simultaneously like deer in headlights. A publicist from A&M Records had confirmed I’d be on the guest list but my name was not at will call and two hours from home in Ridgefield, ConnecticutI, I was wandering aimlessly. I was a fifteen-year-old aspiring music writer standing in a hotel lobby near the Springfield Civic Center in Massachusetts. I can still remember the stern British accent and directness of the words. “The name of the man you need to see is Stanley Coles.”
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