Eulogy For P.F. Sloan, by Paul Zollo

Because P.F. Sloan, as history reflects, miraculously wrote “Eve of Destruction” in the same night he wrote four other songs! And he did it in his childhood room, in his childhood home, his folks asleep down the hall. Not even an adult in any real way in the world, here he was taking on the weight of the world.

Even then he knew the source of song was spiritual. He never doubted it. That is why this is, perhaps, easier to bear – those who knew him well – that he was a being of light and spirit, forever ready to sail over the troubled water of our lives – sail over a phrase that repeated like a mantra, like a good song refrain – throughout his days.

And he knew that the only hell is that which humans have created, the darkness into which sometimes the purest and most loving souls sometimes fall. There were many years when he was gone. He disappeared into darkness. He didn’t tell me much about it, except it was on the east coast, fallen in with dark people and almost crushed him.

But in time he sailed over those dark years. And he returned to the sunny side of America: California. His songs sang of California – his spirit breathed California. Even his musical signature is woven lovingly forever into the fabric of California pop – which is to say American pop – not only his own songs, but on others, most famously his beautiful suspended 4^th guitar intro for “California Dreamin.’ In need of the perfect intro, Lou Adler – producer – and John Phillips – writer/singer – turned to Phil, who turned to his guitar and concocted a gem. He could do that.

He had a golden touch.

Song with him came almost as naturally and as soon as he took his first breath. He was a prodigy, a little song and dance man by the age of 7. Not only could he write songs, he could sing them – and play them beautifully. Talent poured out of him, and he took it in happy stride. Never was there any question that music was his path. He got on it, and never veered.

He was an author, a great melodist, a composer. A singer and great instrumentalist. A poet. But more than poet – he was a songwriter.  He wrote his words not be read, but to be heard. And to be sung.

He was a great songwriter. And he had everything it took to be a great songwriter from the start – the knack for it, the inclination, the talent – a way with both words and melody, and a genius with putting them together. A great songwriter is both intellectual and emotional, fusing the specifics of language with the abstractions of music to create something bigger than both – and of this means of expression, as ancient as mankind itself, he was a master.

His songs were always tremendously tuneful – even – and especially – the heavy ones. As power as is the message within “Eve of Destruction,” it’s that great melody which sends it home, and keeps it alive.

*****

He was born Phillip Gary Schlein in the very year we dropped the bomb twice, 1945 in Queens, New York. His sister gave him the nickname Flip, and he was forever P.F. after that.

The family moved to California – one reason for which was to get Phil off the streets – he soon gained the solitary inclinations of a musician and songwriter, staying in his room while other kids were out in the street playing stickball, and he would be playing violin. When he found a one-string broken ukulele in the garbage, he brought it back to life – and spent hours playing it. “I could play virtually every Everly Brothers song on it,” he said. “It was my great passion. A secret passion.”

Secret passion. The key to the songwriter’s realm, his kingdom. The passion to create all alone, in solitude, just man and muse – before bringing the song into the world.

Teamed up with Steve Barri – he was the ideal, tireless partner. Steve would come in with a single line – musical or just a lyric – and together they would write a whole song around it, or maybe more than one song. Then when Steve would leave, Phil would remain – four hours – deeply immersed with the muse.