Tough Knocks & Hard Rocks

R.I.P. Tony ‘Wild Man’ Conn

Rock & roll’s celestial order is a chaotic, cruel realm, a capricious cosmology where alchemists and lions wander in the shadows while the feeble and counterfeit are elevated to prominence. The March 19, 2024 death of Tony ‘Wild Man’ Conn, from long accrued complications of Alzheimer’s, covid, two broken hips and one big beautiful broken heart, is yet another tragic example of this ugly reality—he should‘ve passed away in a luxurious manse, not a rundown nursing home.

Born Herbie Cohen some 87 years ago in or around Boston, Massachusetts, Conn was a historical enigma, one vouchsafed infamy by his unforgettable late 1950s double-truck LIFE magazine photo essay yet relegated to the depths of obscurity by fickle destiny and nefarious management—his was a classic case of (as the Mad Daddy put it) “Got too big too fast never stood a chance.”

Raising roofs and smashing taboos on Boston’s youth dance circuit, Conn’s irresistible brand of hard urban rock & roll gained traction enough in 1958’s Elvis-in-the-Army marketplace to land a deal with Decca records, resulting in his classic debut disk “Like Wow” / “Dangerous Doll,” followed in ’59 by “You Pretty Thing” / “Run Rabbit Run.”  

Signature song “Like Wow” is a skull denting sample of Conn’s lusty, full-throated style, an approach which “dynamic” doesn’t begin to cover. His gale force war cry vocals were an instrument unrivalled for the conjure of category 5 calamitous rock & roll, a hard-charging brand of exceptionally high voltage big beat philosophizing. He put it over with a magnificent verve enhanced by a rich twist of Jolsonian abandon, while informing his ballads with a haunting, mournful hint of souldeep Kol Nidre intensity that was as distinctive as it was individualized.  

The LIFE spread represented the apex of Conn’s pop culture celebrity (and prompted a Brunswick reissue of his second 45), but his rhinestone encrusted 15 minutes quickly slipped away; exactly how his career crashed remains lost in a smog of chicanery and craziness; a key moment in the downfall may have been that time he and his band, ablaze with Benzedrine,  were playing a local teenage sock hop and his drummer, stricken with an irresistible impulse, flung fistfuls of bop pills into the audience—raising  no little ire amongst attending law enforcement. By ’64, along with almost everyone else in the business, the Wildman was out of the running.

After more than 20 years lost in the post-British Invasion wilderness, the Wildman re-emerged on rockabilly firebrand Ronnie Weiser’s Rollin’ Rock Records, home to an unruly pride of battle-scarred veterans (Mac Curtis, Jackie Lee Waukeen Cochran, Ray Campi) and audacious upstarts (Jimmy Lee Maslon, Colin Winski, Ronnie Mack). Conn exemplified that shock troupe’s swaggering, militant attitude, and his 1979 Total Insanity album bites off, chews up and spits out every lyric with a zealot’s snarl, his delivery napalm incandescent, the stinging guitar bayonet lethal. It was a return to form of monumental energy and ka-pow but was also pretty much the extent of his recorded output.

The Wildman’s presence in Los Angeles’ clubs and honky tonks was an always welcome, uniformly electrifying one; he was an ubermensch, a true sweetheart, warm, wonderful, generous with his friendship and talent (and usually toted along a couple of miniature poodles). His reliably explosive performances never failed to flabbergast with his formidable lungpower and drastically physical, almost acrobatic presentation thrillingly undiminished. The fact that he necessarily spent the last decade-plus of his life in the nursing home was excruciatingly painful to all who knew him; fortunately faithful daughter Julie never forsook him, regularly visiting and posting internet updates on his condition, like last summer’s “He knows every word to all [the] songs he and others wrote, but can't recall what lunch was—as long as he knows me, I’m happy.” No doubt, Conn was happy too.

Rest in peace, Wildman, you are much loved and sorely missed.

We close with a reminiscence from labelmate and cohort Ronnie Mack, the beloved Hollywood impresario who, more than anyone else, kept Tony Conn on the forefront of the Los Angeles rockabilly scene:

"’Wild Man’ Tony Conn has to be the most energetic singer I've ever seen perform and share a stage with. He absolutely loved performing and never failed to create a Rock and Roll disturbance once he hit the stage, be it ‘running in place’ while singing, lying down on his back and kicking his legs and feet in the air, getting down on one knee and flailing his arms in the air in front of the guitar player as he plays a solo, and wailing that incredible powerful voice that could probably be heard a block away.

He was equally adept at Rockabilly, Rhythm and Blues, and Doo-Wop, going gracefully from shouting out his best known rocker, "Like Wow", to the beautiful and melodic "Daddy's Home". Whether on stage or off, he was always upbeat; smiling, laughing, talking, and praising his fellow performers. Yes, a great performer and a true friend and gentleman. The popular term ‘one of a kind’ certainly applies to Tony Conn in every wonderful way. I'm sure he is now rockin' out once again with his Rollin' Rock Records mates, Ray Campi, Jack Cochran, and Jim Silvers in Rockabilly Heaven. R.I.P. Tony Conn.”

—Ronnie Mack