Warren Bloom & BloomTunes

When people ask me what my music sounds like, I always have a hard time answering. Others have described it as peaceful, uplifting, romantic, melodic, pop, country, rock, jazz, new age, island and, in some cases, dark. Whatever. I write about my romances, my feelings, and my view on the things I see around me. After more than 30 years of singing and playing in rock bands and quietly crooning at parties and restaurants, hopefully my sound has evolved into something that will make me into a living God, multimillionaire, humanistic rock star. Anyway, I get off on playing, so who cares?

I grew up a nice Jewish boy in Fairfield, Connecticut. My father James was an accountant and one of Bridgeport's best-known people. He was a very large and outgoing man who laughed a lot. He could be quite a Ralph Cramden-esque character, especially if he wasn't laughing. At those moments he became rather uninhibited, very type-A, but still lovable. The things I heard most from him were, "Family is everything," and "Be the best you can be at whatever you choose to do."

Golfing came naturally to my father. He was a great athlete and a great dancer, as well… a very graceful man. He passed away 25 years ago. Everybody loved Jimmy and, of course, his son was expected to become president of the country or some sort of Mickey Mantle or something.

My mother Jeanette has a great personality, always warm, caring, and friendly. She still plays piano by ear and is, in most peoples' opinion, still the most beautiful woman in town. Always has been. My older sister Linda was popular from the get-go, as well. She always has been very pretty and she's also quite musical. She's an excellent singer with a dedicated fanbase among her grandchildren.

The secret to my success is that I always have been a legend in my own mind. To this day, I hum original masterpieces when I eat. And not only did I do that at age five, but I also played concert piano on the side of the dinner table along with my parents' record albums. I played a serious table, man. I was a table musician.

My sister always had a great record collection, which I listened to constantly, often more than she did. As early as age 10, I envisioned myself singing Heartbreak Hotel to millions of fans at huge stadiums. It's possible that I was the very first Elvis impersonator — I was into his music before he even got on TV. In fact, I remember Alan Freed saying, "Here's a brand new singer," with Elvis Presley singing I Forgot to Remember to Forget. I could do his whole routine. When Elvis showed up on Uncle Miltie's TV show months later, I remember saying to my folks, "Oh yeah, I know this guy."

I'd have to say my biggest influences in the fifties were the many ballads by all the New York City doo-wop groups of the day. Doo-wop music has always been underrated in terms of its place in the evolution of music, its contribution to rock & roll. Country music and black blues sure, but doo-wop was rock & roll.

The Flamingos, Harptones, and Moonglows all made major impressions on me. I was a schmucky little kid who sucked his thumb. But when I was locked alone in my room with ballads like My Prayer, I could cry and become some sort of emotional and sexual avatar for my entire generation. But it wasn't just the ballads that got me — I was into the fast stuff, too. Alone, I was crazier and less inhibited than Little Richard or Jerry Lee Lewis. Some might describe it as delusions of grandeur. I would describe it as a major inferiority complex combined with major future sexual hang-ups combined with gigantic major league delusions of really big grandeur.

To this day I live in a fantasy world. Sure, I have numerous World Series no-hitters and home runs to my credit, but music is still my main thing. I actually remember doing some major conducting work for Pérez Prado when I was a boy. I also considered myself a world-class bongo player by age 12. By age 13, I was a seasoned pro. I completely killed at my Bar Mitzvah. Everyone said I should take voice lessons from the Cantor, and he smiled affirmatively. Within five years I was singing Stones songs in the first white band to play the black nightclubs of Carrboro, North Carolina.

1963–1967

I was the one with the best record collection by the end of high school, and I took it with me to the University of North Carolina in 1963. Much to my amazement, James Brown was a major star down there. James Brown's first hit, This Old Heart was one of my favorites back then. It sounds like Ray Charles' What I'd Say, but it's nothing like James ever sounded again. I'll never forget seeing James Brown live, going from one end of the stage to the other — on one foot! I've had several dreams about meeting James Brown and asking him, "Hey, whatever happened to that song, This Old Heart?" He'd probably have punched me out.

While in North Carolina I saw the Stones on their first U.S. tour,