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1st Record/1st concert
It was Elvis all along.
Like many kids from where I grew up, first Indianola, then Greenwood,
Mississippi I didn't pay much attention to my musical roots, to local
artists, or people from Memphis where I was born. Still, growing up in
the Delta had been a really wonderful thing. We got radio stations from
Memphis, Jackson Mississippi, Helena and other big Arkansas cities, Nashville,
WLS in Chicago, the Mexican radio stations, and of course all the local
stations in the Delta. But I was a total Anglophile, of course.
The Beatles changed everything. I missed their first TV appear ance, but
Monday at school you were into the Beatles or you were uncool. The first
record I can remember buying with my own money, riding a long way downtown,
was "I Want to Hold Your Hand" /"I Saw Her Standing There."
I didn't know which was John or which was Paul, but I was determined at
the ripe old age of 10 to never in my life cross the border into uncool
again. I'd had a lot of records before that -- "Shake Rattle and
Roll," lots of Elvis like "Don't Be Cruel," "Teddy
Bear," "Jailhouse Rock," some mainstream pop and covers
of other folks hits.
A Hard Day's Night changed everything even more.My best friend Jack and
I had to ride our bikes and see it 2-3 more times to start to be able
to make out the dialog - the girls were screamin' ALL the way through
the film. For Christmas in 1965 my folks got me 3 albums, Help, Introducing
Herman's Hermits, and the brand new Rubber Soul. Still, wanting to be
different, I fixated on Herman's Hermits, buying all the albums and the
non-LP singles. The Rolling Stones? Barely heard 'em. The Kinks? Just
on the radio. I was a Hermits nut.
Two days before my 15th birthday, I saw my first touring rock show. Technically,
my first-ever live music experience was seeing Greenwood's wonderful hit
group The Gants at the Greenwood Junior High School. auditorium. But on
Aug. 1, 1967, my dad was kind enough to drive me the two hours down to
Jackson Mississippi to see the Who. The full bill was Herman's Hermits,
The Who, The Blues Magoos, and a regional show band called The Tropics
of Cancer. The Blues Magoos were fabulous. They wore black patent leather
'electric suits' with squiggly dayglo lines on them. When they turned
on the black lights, all you could see was circles and lines onstage.
Then my whole world changed, forever. To this day can’t recall seeing
Herman's Hermits. The Who were about two weeks into an 80+ city tour with
the Hermits. One of the biggest bands in England, they were dead unknown
in the States. I had heard them on the radio, but nothing prepared me
for the live act. They were doing a 30-minute set: "Can't Explain,"
"Lily," "Jack," "Boris The Spider," "Substitute,"
"Summertime Blues," then the closer, "My Generation."
It was the loudest thing heard in Mississippi since the siege/fall of
Vicksburg. Keith Moon with his patented exploding British drummer kit
was the most amazing thing I'd ever seen in my life. Bouncing sticks thirty
feet in the air and catching them for the next beat. Shattering sticks
left and right. Had an entire garbage can full of sticks at his feet for
spares. Daltrey was whirling the mic all around his head, the most exciting
pop singer I'd ever seen. John Entwistle wore his confederate army officer's
uniform for the occasion, looking cool as hell, standing absolutely stock
still. But Pete Townshend: absolutely scared the living hell out of me.
I can remember clearly being afraid to even look at his corner of the
stage, afraid to turn the binoculars on him. He was mowing down the audience
with machine gun moves. Just vicious, scary and angry looking. Then "My
Generation," and all hell broke loose. Townshend seemed to be having
trouble with his amps, and lost his temper. Started ramming the guitar
into the amp stacks, shredding the material. It appeared that the amps
were on fire. The guitar died, Daltrey slung his mic right thru the skin
of Keith's bass drum, and Moon kicked the drums all over the stage. Peter
Noone stuck his head out of the curtains and wave a tiny British flag.
And then, near silence for nearly five minutes; maybe 2-3 lone souls clapped
half-heartedly.
Changed my life. In 1976, I was in law school at Ole Miss at the time,
and discovered that two-disc Buddy Holly album and Dave Edmunds Git It.
The two rapidly became two of my most played albums of all time, and I
went back to my roots, started studying Sun Records. The next year I moved
to Memphis, and Alex Chilton, then just out of Big Star, was one of my
running buddies (back before the cult thing started). Alex was mixing
the songs that became The Cramps' Gravest Hits at that time, and I got
into rockabilly big time from The Cramps, Chilton, and Tav Falco.
And it became important to me then to find out what the first record my
mom had ever bought for me when I was a little kid. She immediately remembered
it was Elvis Presley's "That's Alright Mama" b/w "Blue
Moon of Kentucky" (the b-side is still my favorite Elvis song). I
was stunned to find that my first record was Elvis's first record, Sun
208. My mom remembered simply that I'd heard it on the radio and asked
her to buy it and she did. And she happened to get the Sun version because
we were in a tiny, tiny Delta town, and it had probably been sitting there
unsold for some time. But I'll never know.
(- - - KENT BENJAMIN still cares about very little besides
rock 'n' roll, is associate editor of Pop Culture Press, co-founded the
nation's first local all-music TV channel, and has been pals with Art
Fein for about 15 years now. He's writing a book about The Gants. Some
things never change.)
AFM 4-04
Not the Rifleman
It was an honor to have Charles Connor on my tv show in late February.
Charles was the drummer for the Upsetters, who backed Little Richard during
the rather exciting years of 1953 to 1957. One interesting thing he said
was that “a wop bop a lubop balop bam boom”1
was Richard’s interpretation of a drum beat - exactly what it sounds
like.
Richard recorded with older seasoned musicians, and took the young Upsetters
on the road for their vitality. Charles appears on one recording, and
it is a significant one -- “Keep A Knockin’ ”. Done at
a radio station in Washington DC, it features a memorable opening attack
by Charles, which has been difficult if not impossible to duplicate: Led
Zeppelin’s “Rock & Roll” opens with an approximation
of it by John Bonham.
On the show that day were Jim Dawson and Rick Coleman. Jim is a regular
on our show, and has recently written, with co-author Steve Propes, another
‘niche’ book2, “The
History Of The 45.” (Record, not gun.) Rick Coleman, from New Orleans,
is in the process of writing a biography of Fats Domino, and was in town
on a winning streak; not only did he win two tickets to a post-Oscar film
party for by placing his name in a web hat, but that movie was “Lord
Of the Rings.”
Rick helped me on a Fats song that’s long puzzled me. In “Blue
Monday,” he says, the song’s forlorn subject feels that on Saturday
morning all his “tiredness” is gone away, and that on Sunday
morning, with his honey, he goes out on “the stem” to play.
Turns out the stem was common black argot for the main street, the jumping
street, in any town. It also appears in Louis Jordan’s “Saturday
Night Fish Fry” - “Me and my buddy were on the Main Stem.”
1 Not the exact
agreed-upon spelling. I always imagined it “a wop bob a luma balop
bam boom”.
2 I am guerilla-marketing
my 1999 book, “L.A. Musical History Tour.” I go into big chain
stores and install one each in the rock & roll and L.A. tourist book
sections. Maybe if they start selling they’ll order more.
Moron Words
My friend’s kid heard “I Can’t Give You Anything But Love”
and thought “diamond bracelets Woolworths doesn’t sell”
meant a fine diamond bracelet, not like the ones Woolworths sells. Understandable
misinterpretation, 70 years out of context. But how many songs have I
misunderstood over the years? Thousands? I have long maintained that lyrics
don’t matter in rock & roll songs, they’re just things to
wrap lips and voices around.
We all know “excuse my while I kiss this guy,” and I have a
few of my own: “Pretty Woman”3
-- “two bits to win must be OK”
“Down On The Corner” -- “playing a nickel can’t be
beat”
“Smoke Gets In Your Eyes” - “so I chaff (?)4
them and I gaily laugh”
Recently I heard some Elvis outtakes and marveled at things I didn’t
understand for 40 and more years. CD clarity revealed these lines in “I
Got Stung:” (“I got stung by a sweet honey bee,) what a feelin’
cu-uhm oh-over me,” (“it started in my eyes, crept up to my
head) fa-lew to my heart (instead?),” “got stung all over but
I feel no pain,” “I’m mighty pleased we met,” “I’ll
be buzzin’ round your hive every day at five, I’m never gonna
leave (out side, uh huh?).” All these words were gibberish to me.
They don’t sound much better clarified. (Likewise, in “Wear
My Ring Around Your Neck,” the instant non-fad, “I’m yours
by heck.” What crap!) Finally, from “King Creole,” “he
starts to growl from deep down in his throat, he bends a string and that’s
all she wrote.” Stumped me as a kid, and now I’m equally puzzled
how they could write such horrible lyrics.
But Little Richard’s songs, mercy. The end of Lucille always bothered
me, and I later learned it’s “I played fair with you baby, you
gave it such a wonderful start.” Likewise, in Good Golly Miss Molly
look for “I had to watch my papa myself.”
3 A double record two ways: It was
originally two songs, bonded together, and has double drums.
4 This may be the actual lyric. Yeah,
I could look it up. And what about that other Platters song, “Only
YOOOOO, can-duh make.” Canned?
Gettin’ Ziggy With It
Hearing “Space Oddity” the other day was like a fresh experience
(don’t have Bowie records, don’t hear them much) except that
break with the acoustic guitar strum followed by hand claps - isn’t
it a lift from “Carpet Man” by the 5th Dimension?
It’s fun having a web column
Not just to shoot off your mouth, but to spread information. I often
mention little-known favorite artists, and sometimes that gets lodged
in some worldwide info engine, and I get an e-mail from a fellow fan,
like I did by mentioning Jerry McCain, Jack Bonus, Fraser & Debolt.
On the other hand, mention Elvis Presley and yours is added to the other
gazillion and nobody “calls.”
Two recent noteworthies:
-- I mentioned Jerry Zaremba a couple of years ago, and recently got an
e- from someone looking for him. (He played Eddie Cochran in La Bamba?
American Hot Wax?.”) Trouble is, someone HAS contacted me with info
about him, but I’ve misplaced it.
-- I wrote that I had 3 seconds of 8mm footage of Bob Dylan on the Les
Crane show, shot from my home tv set in 1964. I didn’t figure my
Dylan mention would reach anyone bec his name must pop up a million times
a month, but in September I heard from a gal in Australia, THRILLED to
know I had the three seconds, urging me to release it to enthralled Dylan
fans worldwide. Not only was the videotape of that show recorded over
(to re-use the tape!) the following year, but apparently no photos were
taken! Some fans, though, have audio from it. I in fact contacted Martin
Scorsese Productions, who’re doing a Dylan thing. Maybe they’ll
use it.
Holy Moses
There were two famous rock & roll managers. One was a rapacious
prick who controlled and swindled his client, the other a hopeless aesthete
who loved his band but bumbled their money. The money-fucker was the Christian
guy, Colonel Tom Parker, the other, Brian Epstein was Jewish.
That turns the stereotype around. The Jewish cliche of being good with
money prevails despite blue collar families like mine. I have no knack
for money, only worked enough to file income tax in 1969 and 1978. (It’s
called freelance writing. Try it and see how you lose weight!) I am thrifty,
but that’s from necessity. I’ve never had a savings account
or a new car.
I grew up wishing to not be Jewish. Our religious services, on Saturdays,
were held in some ancient language like Aramaic. This was preposterous
- it was 1950 A.D. not B.C. 5
But I had no other religious desire, except to have a Christmas tree.
I thoughtt the kids who weren’t Jewish were all Catholic 6,
as any further delineation was beyond me. (Still is.) They too suffered,
with no meat on Fridays, and ashes on their foreheads, and silly clergymen
in robes and beards and funny hats. The only hat I wanted was a cowboy
hat.
I spent my first 11 years in Logan Square, a working class, kinda Jewish
neighborhood (i.e. a temple in the vicinity). We celebrated holidays,
but didn’t attend otherwise. In 1957, as the neighborhood was changing
(“the hillbillies” were moving in -- they didn’t say whether
it was Carl Perkins or not), we moved to a completely unJewish neighborhood
on the south side near Midway Airport. There I had an awakening; the (mostly
Catholic) kids were quick to tell me I was good with money (what money?)
and that I had a big nose. I kept the Jewish thing quiet after a while,
just not to call attention to it. (It was a tad uncomfortable when some
kids would spit out their first swallow of Coke and say “Jew drops,”
to demonstrate they were not a Jew.)
In 1961 my parents righted their error and we relocated to Skokie, which
was heavily Jewish and, of course, Italian. (Like Martin & Lewis.)
There my culture shock was finding kids who were planning to go to college.
My Chicago schoolmates had been into smoking and stealing cars 7.
I was not happy in the new collegiate astmosphere and clung to my tight
tapered slacks and pointed toe shoes. In 1963 I graduated, went to University
of Illinois (Navy Pier, Chicago) and flunked out because it was so easy,
then went to Wright Jr. College, where the academic standards were somewhat
more lax (freshman English was separating words into syllables) and I
soared, again not studying, with nearly an A average, enough to get me
into the University of Colorado.
Boulder/Denver was interesting, Jewishwise, for its lack of Jewish influence.
I once went to a deli in south Denver and got a corned beef sandwich with
three slices of corned beef. What the hell is THIS? I asked, and the parsimonious
proprietor said “That’s the way we do it here.” And at
a meeting of wan revolutionaries (I wasn’t one) I mentioned my lack
of money, making $100 a week at the town paper, and one fine radical said,
“Why don’t you sell some stocks?” I said that that was
unlikely, inasmuch as I had none, and the guy said, “But you’re
Jewish aren’t you?”
Moving to Santa Cruz in 1971, same deal, zero Jewishness. (When my friend
Bob SHAPIRO had an allergy attack and went to a hospital they asked “Catholic
or Protestant?”) And the same went for nearby San Francisco. Is there
a deli there now? Probably. There was only one, by the theater district,
30 years ago. Or I missed the others.
So I kinda lost my Jewishness. Moving to L.A. in ‘73 I was pleased
to find Fairfax Avenue 7,
and other Jewish things, but I became - remained - kinda lax in my religiousness.
From the anti-Semitic literature I’d read, I thought I’d quickly
be embraced by the Jewish cabal who ran the entertainment business, but
news of my arrival somehow never reached them. My 12-year-old daughter,
half-Jewish (or something, I’m adopted) has taken a neutral position,
but I tell her that’s a nice idea but if the pogroms come .... well,
she should think about changing her last name.
4 Reminds me of
the Jewish joke, “It’s 5764, but I’m still writing 5763
on my checks!”
5 In 1960 one
of my classmates gave us a ride to McDonald’s (one of America’s
first) in his uncle’s car. When he dropped me off, a bunch of them
drove around a little more til they crashed the car, a 1956 Chevy, into
the porch of a house. I didn’t know they’d stolen it, but the
cops did, and pulled everyone who rode in that car out of class to the
lockup -- except me with the good grades who no one would suspect.
6 Actually they
WERE all Catholic. This was Chicago, full of Poles and Czechs and Lithuanians
with grandparents from the Old Country.
7 This has been
called “Kosher Canyon.” Mickey Katz mounted Jewish-language
Broadway musicals there including “My Fairfax Lady” and “Hello
Solly.” (In 1978 or so I went to the Santa Monica Civic Auditiorium
and saw Mickey’s “Channukah In Santa Monica.”)
Preachers
My beef with newspaper writers is that they tend to preach. In rock writing
circles, it’s when they praise, oh, the White Stripes or, perenially,
Elvis Costello8,
and use (their) established enemies10
as contrast, saying the favored person is “no Kenny G” or no
“Dave Matthews11.”
On an allied, but maybe not connected note, I rail when I see reports
of seatbelt usage -- because it always runs counter to the definition
of news. When a person in a car dies with no seatbelt, it is in the lead,
because those writer want you too know that person was not behaving right.
When everyone dies in the crash and they ARE wearing seatbelts, it’s
at the end -- when the headline should shout “Seatbelts Fail To Save
Lives!” Not that I’m against seatbelts. Wear one all the time.
But I have seen a car crash head on at 90 degrees into a drivers door
where I prayed the driver was unlatched. Held in place she’d be cut
in half, beltless she might be pushed to the other side.
I’m still waiting for the day, and I’m sure it’s not far
off, when I read “The killer was a rapist, robber and cigarette smoker.”
8 El got another
worshipful concert review recently in the L.A. Times -- his 64th, I think
-- praising a downbeat performance, and righteously sharing his indignation
at an audience member (boor) who shouted “Radio Radio,” or some
fast song, to break the monotony9.
(If he is boring, he’s daring to be pensive. If he sings hits, he’s
daring to sing hits, etc.) Locally, only X shares this critical imperviousness.
9 Costello reportedly
SPIT out the song, to placate the plaintiff. The audience jeered at the
disrupter. Clearly, fun was not on that night’s agenda.
10 In the 80’s
the bad-standard was often ABBA, before they were rehabilitated by the
Central Critics Council.
11 Didn’t
you know crits don’t like him? You’ve obviously been listening
and not reading!
Roctober Again
Because I wrote an article for them, Roctober magazine in Chicago
sent me a dozen back issues. I don’t read any periodicals, even ones
like Blue Suede News which has news about music I like. I just don’t
feel like it. But Roctober, man, is the best music/culture compendium
maybe ever.
Wacky and wonderful, the 2000 issue I opened featured an 8-page interview
with Johnny Legend, someone I’ve known -- but, apparently not very
well -- for 30 years. And 50 panels of ‘Nancy & Sluggo’
submitted to a syndicator but not accepted. And a calendar that looks
like the Rhino one ought, with bannered cartoon salutes to Wanda Jackson,
Ike & Tina, and others. And a one-page tribute to Alvin “Twine
Time” Cash by Robert Porter (whose side specialty is rockabilly).
Another issue was dedicated entirely to Chipmunk records and soundalikes.
One was dedicated to “Ben”-era Michael Jackson. One to Sammy
Davis Jr. All are done with zeal and demented perspective, with articles
about gone and glorious unsung characters like Tim Carey and Swamp Dogg.
It’s a mag that I anticipate with the same eagerness I once felt
for Kicks.
Watts Up
I’m a thrrrrifty guy. (The burr is Scottish. Those are the good
cheap guys.)
Been poor all my life. I clip coupons, and turn off lights.
The heating in our house is inefficient - upstairs gets hot in 5 minutes,
and the 1st floor never heats up - so I put space heaters in three rooms.
Then in January my wife said “Why is our heating bill so high this
year?” I had no idea til I was standing in line at the hardware store
and looked at a new heater display. The model offered 1000 and 1500 watts.
A thousand watts?! I had three THOUSAND WATT suckers on 12 hours a day?
That’s like fifty 60-watt lightbulbs! Nobody tells me nothin.
Rollin’ Rock’s Got The Sock!
On March 2nd I went to Las Vegas to visit Rockin’ Ronny Weiser, of
Rollin’ Rock Records, with Jimmy “Salacious Rockabilly Cat”
Maslon. I use Jimmy’s 1979 sobriquet for laughs. He was a young rockabilly
cat back then, touring Finland with Ray Campi. Now he has left rockabilly
far behind, as owner of the Cuban music label Ahi-Nama, and proprietor
of a tape and film duplication business in North Hollywood. It was great
to see Ronny, whose crusade for rockabilly music was a lonely thing when
he began in 1969, but blossomed worldwide in a movement that none of us
dared even dream. But somehow I hadn’t heard his John Lennon story.
In 1969 or 1970, Ronny was friends with Gene Vincent. When John Lennon
was in L.A. he met Gene at a restaurant in Hollywood, and Ronny came along.
“I asked Lennon why a real rock & roll band like the Beatles
were doing that psychedelic shit. Gene became very nervous and asked if
we could order some food. I kept pressing him and he said ‘It’s
not me, it’s Paul and George.’ ”
Knowing Ronny, I believe the story.
Dead Men’s Curve
Is there life after death? Ask Bobby Darin. On the arthritic stations
playing Sinatra etc, Darin’s 1959-61 Big Band work is treated as
equal to all, whereas the two or three ’swing’ albums following
“Mack The Knife” and “Beyond The Sea” sunk like a
stone as his young audience deserted those old sounds. As one of those
who abandoned him when he abandoned rock & roll, I am now one of the
alte kochers who likes that music.
But, those old-people stations do something subtle -- they reverse the
judgment of time. Most oldies stations today play the black originals
of white cover-hits, the Chords’ “Sh-Boom,” Ivory Joe Hunter’s
“I Almost Lost My Mind,” Smiley Lewis’s “I Hear You
Knocking”12
but the old-old-oldies stations go with The Crew-Cuts, Pat Boone, and
Gale Storm. (Whose name is very funny. She was born Josephine Cottle.)
Those are, in fact, the versions most Americans know.
12 Or, as “Flying
Saucers” by Buchanan & Goodman called him, “Laughing Lewis.”
Tempus Fugit
My daughter and some friends, 12, 13, 14, were watching “The Shining”
(I won’t, too scary) and when Jack Nicholson shouts “Heeeerrre’s
Johnny,” one kid asked “Why does he say that?” When I explained
it, they shrugged as if this “Johnny Carson” was from another
century.
Bait and Switch
I’m a big fan of tv comedy, so when I heard about a cable show featuring,
I thought, one of the lead characters from the Simpsons and George Lindsay
from the old Andy Griffith show, I said “Hot diggity! That’s
for me!”
Turns out the Bart & Goober Show is a couple of ugly guys talking
about movie deals.
- 57 -
SXSW 2004
I missed 98% of SXSW and had a fantastic time. There are more than a thousand
musical acts on the docket, and as many playing for free at clubs and
stores and restaurants. There are music panels at the convention center.
There are record company promotions, showcases, and street musicians.
You can’t see everything -- and there are unplanned things happening
all the time -- so since you never can really get a grip on the entirety,
you pick a few and enjoy what you like.
When you consider the possibilities choosing, say, 50 bands from that
number of acts, the possible combinations of personal choices would be
2000-factorial to 50 -- meaning no two visitors’ experience will
be the same. Here’s mine.
Wensday Mar 17
Got to Burbank Airport for my 12:40 pm flight, first celebrity sighting
Keith Morris, now an A&R man. He had bands circled on a list, was
going to SXSW for business, not fun. Other SXSWers were obvious in their
dress and gear. It was exhilarating. We flew to Dallas, where I was inexplicably
held back on a waiting list for seats, then allowed on the plane at the
last minute. (This is NOT a situation where I want to be put on another
flight for a $300 credit. My arrival in Austin at 7:40 is very late in
the day’s music. Wednesday, which formerly was for a few warmup shows,
is now a major, full-show night. I should have scheduled an earlier flight.)
In Austin, my friend and host Kent Benjamin picked
me up and we went to the convention center for my badge, book and bag.
As I entered I ran into Rosie Flores, and Paula Batson from New York.
Got back in the car with Kent and went to the Texas Chili Parlor on Lavaca
(a street that always reminds me of the Joe King Carrasco song “Caca
Lavaca”) and encountered an unusually obnoxious group of college
students shouting dirty limericks at the table next to us. (The place
was packed, it was St. Patricks Day.) We left for the 11:00 show at Tamboleo
to see the Orangers, one of Kent’s favorite bands. At midnight we
went to the Saxon Pub, and saw Ian McLagan’s band (paid 10 bucks,
a non-SXSW show), as is our first-day tradition, and as is traditional,
his show was magically great. The soul of the early-70s Small Faces lives
in Ian.
Thursday Mar 18
Went to Maudie’s on Lamar for a quick breakfast (Pete’s Tacos,
tacos stuffed with eggs and peppers and sausage, is the greatest food
ever invented). At the convention hall we began bumping into people, but
were running late for the 10:30 “keynote speech” by Little Richard.
(He was asked two questions by Dave Marsh and launched into an entertaining
monologue about the record business, music, and life.) Then I went into
the trade room containing booths for record companies, CD manufacturers,
nations (“The music of Holland,” “The Music Of New Zealand”),
and other stuff. In the back, draped in a black cloth like the shrine
at Mecca was the BMI showcase with mostly-acoustic acts scheduled on the
half-hour. One from Scotland, Grim Northern Social, was just one guy but
he was fascinating, and promised a better show with the full band the
next night at BD Riley’s. I ran into friend Paul Body, and while
we were talking Andrew Oldham walked by and I cornered him to be on my
tv show in L.A. I stuck my head in the Big Star panel hosted by my host
Kent, but as it was above my head I headed out into the great beyond,
looking for afternoon events. On the sidewalk, a guy was handing out hard-cover
advance copies of Wild Animus, a book written by a 60s Berkeley graduate.
It was a major-looking novel. I asked the book-hander
what this was about, and he said the publisher wanted advance interest
in it, and SXSW badge-holders were the demographic target. Astonished,
I took one, and then drove to the Tamboleo to see the Japanese bands I’d
seen advertised on a poster but found I was there the wrong day, but since
a band was setting up I stayed. My god, Antigone Rising, an all-girl ensemble,
started with a startling instrumental, then this redhead, Cassidy, began
wailing in the strongest voice I’ve heard since the early 70s; it
reminded me of every white girl singing blues back then, only this sounded
better than then. (It was a thrilling surprise: she gave me their live
album, and it is sensational.) As there was a free country show at Jovita’s,
I headed there to an address that stumped me: 1710 South 1st Street. I
know my way around central Austin pretty well, and with that comes the
knowledge that 1st Street runs east and west, right in front of the Convention
Center, so, assuming it was a misprint I went west on 6th, figuring I
would cut south to the point on 1st where lay Jovita’s, but soon
the road ended, and I took 5th back toward town, ending up in a muddle
at Lamar so bad that I swung up a northbound side street all the way to
12th, taking a three-mile detour to the convention center:
I had wasted so much time that it was time to fetch
Kent there. (I was using his car.) Turns out that 1st, indeed an east-west
street, takes a turn south at the west end of town. Never heard of such
a thing. We drove to Mother Egan’s on west 6th and joined Ian McLagan,
who was having a St. Pat’s Day after-party with some friends. Then
we went to south Congress, to the Continental Club area, just to drop
in at the backyard concert at D&L Texas Music Cafe, running into Dee
Lannon, who is waitressing there. We walked out back where the crowd was,
but the music was not compelling so we jetted to Rudy’s, the big
barbecue place on west MoPac, and had some vittles. At 7:00 I disgorged
Kent on 6th, where he was helping run the Popular Culture Press night
at the Vibe, and went up Lavaca to Guadalupe and stopped at 1/2-Price
books to kill time til I could decide what to do that night. Ironically,
the first album on the shelf there was Jack Clement’s incredible
1978 Elektra album, which I own, but since Jack was going to be singing
Saturday night at the Hole In The Wall, I bought it so I could have it
signed. (Of course, that night I left it at home.)
I went back to 6th at 8:35 and picked up Kent,
who desperately needed to get to Hole In The Wall at 9 to see his friend,
former 20/20 member Ron Flynt. Ron was terrific, doing songs from his
new CD “L.A. Story” (not a slam - Ron’s now in Austin,
but he’s from L.A.). We then stopped briefly at Antone’s record
store and talked to Mike Buck, the versatile Austin drummer who works
there, and his musical cohort, young Eve Monsees. At 10 I took Kent back
to 6th and realized how tired I was. I caught an unusual $5 parking lot
space and wandered around 6th, which is like Bourbon Street during Mardi
Gras only with more variety (20 clubs or so) like a zombie, stopping to
sit on a curb and put band-aids on my foot blisters. (And - hello! - running
into my old friend John, who programmed the Louis Prima album on Rhino
that I wrote the liner notes for.) Then I headed back out to Guadalupe,
arriving at 10:45 for the 11:00 Eliza Gilkyson show at the Cactus Club
on the UT campus. I was groggy, nearly asleep, til her sister, my old
friend Nancy, surprised me by showing up and we sat and caught up on things.
Eliza was really terrific, I am ashamed I knew so little of her. Afterwards
Nancy and I chatted in the hall, and I ran into Dave Marsh, a Eliza fan,
and we jabbered. I strolled down to The Lounge to see Michael Fracassa
end the night. (Ran into Dave Marsh again.) En route I stopped to see
what sounded so good at the Cedar Street Ale House outdoor patio, and
it was Gary U.S. Bonds. (Ran into Paul Body again.) At 2 a.m. I retrieved
Kent from 6th and drove him home (he says wobblely) quite fatigued, and
both of us hit our beds already asleep.
Friday March 19
Slept in all morning, very tired from Thursday. Went to convention center
so Kent could see Robyn Hitchcock’s 12:45 show at the BMI stage.
We got there at 1:00 and it’s good for Kent I dropped him off, bec
by the time I parked ($7 to park near convention center) and got into
the hall Hitchcock was gone. I stayed a while longer and saw Pat from
the Smithereens do a few songs, backed by Lenny Kravitz’s drummer,
promoting “Burn Music Not Artists” a new song-sale site, but
most interesting was that when the last artist on their slot began to
sing, a SXSW manager pulled the guitar cord from his amp, and then shut
down his mike. The schedule is strictly adhered to at this super-busy
show, and he had overstayed their time. Ran into Body again, and Steve
DeJarnatt, from L.A. Went with Kent to studio owner Terry Manning’s
hotel north on I-35, and then to Amaya’s, a shopping mall Mexican
place, for breakfast/lunch. We headed back to south Congress to the Continental
Club and environs, but encountered virtual chaos, as the three blocks,
both sides, are as jammed as 6th Street at night, and Congress is impossible
to cross for the jammed traffic.
I saw Rosie Flores for a while, then ran into Mojo
Nixon, now a disc jockey in his hometown, San Diego, who said he was staging
a retirement party at the Continental the next day “because you can’t
make a comeback if you haven’t retired.” Kent and me then went
to downtown Threadgill’s, which had live music on its front lawn
stage all day every day during the festival (off-SXSW), and caught the
end of James Hand’s set, then ran into Dave Gonzales from the Paladins.
Turns out his new sideline band, the Hacienda Brothers, had played previously,
and it included Chris Gaffney, my favorite Blaster-related singer. I had
some greens and brocolli and cornbread at Threadgills, then drove Kent
once again to 6th Street where he had his night all mapped out. (En route
I heard radio warnings about that night’s free Kris Kristofferson/Toots
& The Maytals show at Town Lake, and was shocked at its non-easygoing
rules, instructing attendees to bring nothing more than one sealed water
botttle -- in other words, “Buy stuff from our vendors, we charged
them plenty for rent!”) At 7:30 I ran over to Antone’s Records
again to catch Eve Monsees, a tall, slight girl perhaps still in her teens,
singing blues and playing guitar with her 4-man/girl band. They were great.
Then went to Rockstars on 6th to join Kent seeing
Cerys Matthews, whom Kent said was a big-voiced singer from (Ireland?
England), but in this acoustic show her voice was weak and wavering (jet-lag?)
and it was impossible to judge her vocal strength. Then I walked a block
to BD Rileys and caught the entire Grim Northern Social show and loved
it. (The singer sounds like Noddy Holder, sometimes.) Though I got there
early to ensure good viewing, I left quickly as the 6-foot speakers were
too loud in that small space, and I stood outside with a substantial crowd.
(Got their CD from mgr Dougie Souness, and it is brilliant.) Went then
to The Drink on 6th to catch Antigone Rising again, but that crowded club
had strangely separated sound, and having already had the thrill of seeing
them in a private concert I skipped out to make room for others and went
east on 6th and up Red River to the Club Deville to see Harvey Sid Fisher.
I never miss a Harvey show (in Texas: I miss them all the time in L.A.)
and enjoyed the act before him, Van Stone, a hard-rock parody band that
claimed to be “the third biggest band in Palmdale.” Harvey met
an adoring crowd, and his band cranked up to compete with the other nearby
venues which had electric bands outside (SXSW can sound like a stereo-demonstration
store, in the worst way).
I then drove to Antone’s across town in light
rain, to see the Black Keys, who I’d heard great things about, but
they did two medium-tempo blues songs which were the last thing I wanted
to hear, so I went to Ego’s, beneath a hotel on Congress just south
of the river, for an off-SXSW show by one of my favorite Austin bands,
2 Hoots & A Holler. This low-ceiling place was packed with locals
(and James Intveld, from L.A., who played four shows that week, all off-festival),
and it was great to know that somewhere on the planet a non-old band playing
rockabily and blues can draw a crowd. At 1:15 I got to the Austin Music
Hall where the Big Star show, an “event,” was in progress. (They
had started at 12:30. Arriving at 1:15 I was able to park very nearby.
It’s good to come late to some big-draw shows.) At 1:40 Kent came
out and we drove back to his house.
Saturday March 20
Got up late, exhausted. Ferried Kent over to the Dog & Duck for Pop
Culture Press’s free all-day parking-lot showcase, then over to the
convention center, stopping first at the IHOP for a large cup of tea.
Unlike in the rest of America, when you ask for a big tea they automatically
bring you an iced tea, as the hot kind is virtually unheard of, down there
in the Sun Belt. I watched Andrew Oldham’s Q&A appearance for
about ten minutes, then skedaddled down to the Texicali restaurant on
Oltorf for the annual Cornell Hurd country-swing bash. What a wonderful
time, outdoors with a couple of hundred people listening to his 10-piece
outfit, and dozens -- Bill Kirchen, Dee Lannon, Frankie “Blackland
Farmer” Miller, Johnny Bush among them -- of guest singers. This
is a really off-SXSW show, as one crowd member said “We don’t
see enough badges here,” referring to the festival ID I wore on a
lanyard, meaning, I guess, that news of this marvelous event ought to
be spread worldwide. At 3:00 I returned to the Dog & Duck for some
of the remaining acts, the Trashcan Sinatras, The Golden Apples, a solo
song by Susan Cowsill, and left for Casa De Luz, a macrobiotic restaurant
off Lamar just south of the river, to meet Harvey Sid Fisher for dinner.
It was a $10 for soup and vegetables and rice, and it was good sitting
with Harvey and some of his Austin friends.
At 10:15 I went to Threadgills downtown to catch
Willis Allen Ramsay. I loved his 1974 Shelter album - turns out Terry
Manning had engineered it - and whereas back then he looked like Dick
Van Dyke, now he’s filled out and looks like an old Keith Allison.
But he didn’t get going til 10:27 (not a SXSW show!), and I had to
run to make sure I caught Jack Clement at 11. I expected the Hole In The
Wall to be packed, but it was comfortably full, and Cowboy Jack (as he
was listed in the guide, making many people overlook his name, buried
as it was behind “Cowboy”) charmed the crowd with his easygoing
manner and mellifluous voice. I stood with Andy Schwartz of NY and Holly
George-Warren, mesmerized. (Did I mention Jack’s 1978 Elektra album
was great? It bears repeating. He says he got the rights back from Elektra
recently.) At midnight I went down to Ego’s again to catch the Hacienda
Brothers’ last show, but the place was packed like a sardine can,
and the smoke was thick: if I have to enter a gas chamber, I want to kill
a few people first. I went to 6th Street, where I had no known interests,
and then got a call from L.A. friend Mark Leviton, who invited me over
to the Fox & Hound (former Waterloo Brewery) to join him seeing Michelle
Shocked. I was shocked: she wasn’t singing, she was talking, and
as I walked in mid-monologue I was lost and bored. She brought out a string
band to pep it up, but I got “the call” to pick up Kent and
left.
Sunday March 21
Sunday is the SXSW barbecue/baseball gathering, but I went instead
to a party at Jaine and James’ house in north Austin, at the invitation
of Dave Marsh. Kent and I got there at 12:30 and stayed til we had to
leave for the airport for my 6:50 flight. A bunch of musicians and out
of town visitors, it was a fine to-do.
It’s hard to rate the SXSW festivals, but this one was terrific.
(BTW, Jon Pareles’s March 22nd NY Times report on SXSW -- 100% different
from mine -- was excellent.) My experience was fine for me, but a list
of what I missed would be even more impressive. But who cares.
(Check out ol’ Kent Benjamin’s summary of his SXSW experience
at www.popculturepress.com)
PHOTOS:
1
Cowboy Jack Clement,
2 James
Hand,
3 AF &
(supersized) Mojo Nixon,
4 Ron Flynt,
5 guy handing
out books,
6 AF, Eliza
Gilkyson, Dave Marsh,
7 Kent Benjamin
& Terry Manning
8 Mr. &
Mrs. Ian McLagan, w/AF
9 AF &
Harvey Sid Fisher
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