яяяяяяяяяяяяяяяяяяяяяяяяяяяяяяяяяяяяяяяяяяяяяяяяяяяяяяяяяяяяяяяяяяяяяяяяяяяяяяяяJanuary 5, 1981MUSICBEST OF '80


Sounds Like Old Times


The Sheppards make fresh pop from the past

It was 1955, the way Bunky Sheppard tells it now, and he was
riding in his car past the corner of 58th and South Park in
Chicago. He passed a group singing a cappella, letting some
high sweet harmonies drift up into the metropolitan air. Bunky
drove around the block, came back to that same corner, listened
a little harder and made his move.

Nothing happened. Or a great deal happened, but nobody heard
much about it. Bunky bestowed his own moniker on the group that
evolved from that street corner, and as the Sheppards, they had
one halfway hit, Island of Love, in 1959. Then they played some
live shows, turned up on Dick Clark's TV program and in the
mid-60s just disintegrated. It was typical rock trajectory:
amateurs, hit makers, has-beens. But with the Sheppards, there
is a difference.

An upstart San Francisco record company called Solid Smoke
dusted off 18 Sheppard sides and made an album, released this
summer. While the record has not made the charts, it has
delighted Sheppards buffs and ensured the group a rightful niche
in rock history. The tunes are mostly sweet, short love songs
delivered in two basic styles:  what Singer O.C. ("Perk")
Perkins calls "that good old gospel harmony";  and a harder, more
sinewy sound that took gospel harmonies and made them sweat and
work for a living, in the manner of Wilson Pickett. The
Sheppards made these disparate approaches into their own
distinctive style.

Bunky produced all the Sheppards' songs. They had two top lead
singers. Murrie Eskridge took the harder-driving numbers and
Millard ("Mill") Edwards handled the more wistful songs, making
Island of Love come within cutting distance of some of the
Drifters' best material. Unlike the long-lived Drifters, the
Sheppards broke up and stayed broken. Who remembered?  Who even
knew?

Bunky Sheppard works for 20th Century-Fox Records in Los Angeles
now. He is a vice president, a successful promo man. Of the
six Sheppards, James Allen is dead, and another, Eskridge, has
disappeared. Perk Perkins still sings occasionally. He works
nights at a Chicago plating company, and picks up extra money
as a free-lance deejay at parties. He likes to reminisce about
the days when 5,000 kids in a Michigan City armory charged the
stage when they heard Island of Love. Sometimes he plays the
Sheppards album. His wife, his children, or his grandchildren
will stop and listen to that impossibly sweet music from 20
years ago; someone will turn the television down low while Perk
listens, and remembers a little more.

By Jay Cocks

