Clarence White and his Transition to Telecaster: 1965-66 (Part 2)

UPDATE 6/26/10: The previous link was bunk, so I fixed it. My apologies for the pump fake.

Download full playlist (9 mp3s + tracklist/39 MB)

1965 had to be bittersweet for Clarence White (pictured far right) and The Kentucky Colonels. In February of that year, fiddler Scotty Stoneman (pictured far left) joined the band for a half-year stint, transforming the Colonels into perhaps the greatest bluegrass group of all-time. If Clarence and Scotty weren't the Bird and Diz of bluegrass, they were at least its Moon and Entwhistle. Unfortunately, the downside to that musical brilliance were diminishing paying gigs. By 1965, bands like The Beatles, Stones, and those local boys made good, The Byrds, had dramatically altered the cultural landscape. Clubs weren't interested in booking bluegrass bands if they could get much more fashionable (and popular) rock bands.

Given this business environment, is it any surprise that Clarence White not only bought his first electric guitar, a 1954 Fender Telecaster, but convinced the other Colonels to plug in? By all accounts, his bandmates much preferred doing straight, old-time bluegrass. But, if the decision was between playing for pay or not playing for pay, I think even a staunch traditionalist could be forgiven for relenting. As Roland (pictured below right) explains in the liner notes to Tuff & Stringy: Clarence White Sessions 1966-68:

"We went electric in the last year of the Colonels because we felt we had to. We'd gone through the folk boom thing, done the festivals, clubs, coffeehouses, and we never really got a good record deal. Clarence bought the Tele and then an amp, Billy Ray (Lathum) was on electric guitar, Roger (Bush) on electric bass, I had a little electric mandolin, and we got a drummer named Bart Haney. We had this gig, five or six nights a week in a lounge in a big bowling alley in Azusa (California) and we thought this was a good place to work things up. I think the place was called The Flame Room. We did some Johnny Rivers ... I was playing 'Memphis' on mandolin! ... and we played some Buck Owens things. We had to play the Top 20 because people wouldn't dance to stuff they'd never heard. Roger sang 'Memphis,' I did more of the country stuff, and Clarence and I dueted on a few things we'd known since the 1950s, like the Louvin Brothers. We did three or four Beatles tunes, like 'Ticket To Ride.' A lot of their stuff reminded us of early country music, the way they sang, the harmonies. We used to do Everly tunes, too."

Mark that down, friends. In 1965, the Kentucky Colonels were officially playing country-rock. Where his bandmates may have reluctantly entered the rock era ... let alone the country-rock era ... Clarence dove in head first. As he explained in a Frets magazine interview published in July 1986, 13 years after his death, "It wasn't so much that I was getting bored with acoustic bluegrass. I could feel so many new things in the air. I wanted to get in the stream of a new kind of music that combined what you could call a 'folk integrity' with electric rock."

THE ZEKE MANNERS DEMOS

Which brings us to the Zeke Manners demos. Zeke (pictured right) passed away in October 2000 and was a peripheral figure on the LA scene for years, founding the west coast's first hillbilly band, The Beverly Hill Billies, in the 1930s. In the '60s, he served as musical director on the show of the same name and co-wrote "Armstrong, Aldrin and Collins," which appeared on The Byrds' Ballad Of Easy Rider album. (Incidentally, Manners was also the uncle of actor, director, and all-around comic genius, Albert Brooks, even appearing with his wife, Bea, in their nephew's brilliant treatise on '80s materialism, Lost In America.) Manners was a DJ at KFWB in L.A. when he met the Kentucky Colonels and persuaded them to record their electric demos at his home studio. Dating these recordings is damn near impossible, but my best guess is sometime between Fall 1965-Spring 1966. Though only 2 of the demos appear to have survived, they provide a unique window into Clarence White's transition to the Telecaster.

Kentucky Colonels - Everybody Has One But You [CD]

Written by Manners, "Everybody" is a Bakersfield country song by way of Lennon and McCartney, if not the Everly Brothers. Clarence's guitar work is solid, if unspectacular, though the lead break is less country, more Keith Richards (when he was less country).

Kentucky Colonels - Made Of Stone [CD]

"Made Of Stone" was written by Eric Weissberg, who Clarence probably met during the recording sessions for Weissberg's 1963 album, New Dimensions In Banjo And Bluegrass (aka the Deliverance soundtrack). Lyrically, "Stone" was perfect for Clarence to sing, what with his famous "statue-esque" stage presence. That's why I've tacked on an intro taken from the Colonels' great Livin' In The Past album.

"Made Of Stone" is reminiscent of The Beatles, especially John Lennon songs of that era like "I'm A Loser" and "I Don't Wanna Spoil The Party." While certainly no classic, it is noteworthy for a couple reasons. First, playing harmonica is Clarence's dad, Eric White, Sr. No less an authority than former bandmate, Gene Parsons, felt it was from Eric Sr. that Clarence got his sense of rhythm. As Gene says of Mr. White in the Byrds DVD, Under Review, "You could see where the White Family rhythm came from. It came from the old man, from old Eric. Boy, could he play the harmonica! He would do a clog dance while he was (playing)."

The second thing worth noting about "Stone" is Clarence's entrance on guitar. As the elder White is holding his intro note on harmonica, you'll hear a distinctive chime at the :20 mark. That was the famous "nut pull" that Clarence learned from James Burton (pictured right with Elvis). According to the fantastic liner notes on Tuff & Stringy, the nut pull involved "chiming a string at the 5th fret and then quickly pressing it down behind the nut, to produce a brief, high pitched note akin to a steel guitar." This is significant because it was this effect that led directly to the B-Bender. More on that later, but having mentioned Burton, it's high time we established his role in Clarence White's electric guitar transformation.

JAMES BURTON

James Burton is probably best known as Elvis' former guitarist and bandleader (both pictured right), having served as director of the TCB Band from 1969-77. He's a towering figure in country and rock circles, his hotshot guitar rep beginning with Dale Hawkins' 1957 hit, "Suzie Q," and solidified during a lengthy stint as Ricky Nelson's guitarist. Add years of gigantic, distinctive session work and there's a reason why the King commanded his services. Here's a video clip from the '80s highlighting Burton's chicken pickin' brilliance, a rhythm-heavy guitar sound that held obvious appeal for Clarence. In fact, take note of the nut pull at :10, the sound we just heard CW appropriate on "Made Of Stone."

James Burton - The Legendary Guitar of James Burton DVD

Apparently, Burton heard Clarence play at one of the amplified Kentucky Colonel gigs and was suitably impressed. Shortly thereafter, in early 1966, Burton got Clarence his first session as an electric guitarist, playing with his old boss, Ricky Nelson. While Burton mostly played dobro, Clarence stretched his Tele wings for the first time, on the tracks that would make up the albums Bright Lights & Country Music (1966) and Country Fever (1967) ... since combined on a single two-fer disc.

Rick Nelson - Congratulations [CD]

A few quotes from the Tuff & Stringy liner notes puts this era into perspective:

Roland White: "Clarence never said that he'd leave bluegrass behind, but you could see that it might happen. He'd wanted [pop stardom] for a long time, he'd even wanted that with us [the 'electric' Colonels]. But he was making some money with sessions, whereas we [the Colonels] weren't making any money."

Gib Guilbeau, Clarence's future bandmate in The Reasons (aka Nashville West): "Burton was Clarence's idol. And James, in turn, admired his acoustic playing, so he sort of took him under his wing and showed him a bunch of stuff. Basically, Burton was Clarence's tutor, showed him licks. Even got his Telecaster from James. He had the touch already, the fingerpicking, so it didn't take him very long at all."

Gene Parsons: "James was his mentor in going to electric, and they loved each other, but when Clarence started getting so good, James started to go, 'Whooah, I don't think I can give ya any more sessions!'"

GENE CLARK

Through most of '66, Clarence kept busy with session work, nightclub gigs, and even a few dates with a reconstituted Kentucky Colonels. In October, he entered the studio with Gene Clark, who was cutting his first post-Byrds album. Gene Clark With The Gosdin Brothers (aka Echoes) leaned orchestral-pop way more than it did country-rock, but the twangy moments worked. No doubt, the talent helped. White joined a who's who of country-rock pioneers, including Doug Dillard, Glen Campbell, Chris Hillman and Michael Clarke from The Byrds, and Rex and Vern Gosdin, who were bandmates with Hillman in his pre-Byrds bluegrass combo, The Hillmen.

Regarding the session musicians, Clark says in the album's liner notes, "First came the Gosdin Brothers and Clarence White. The Byrds and the Gosdins had the same management, so we had been doing a lot of concerts together, especially in California. Clarence was playing guitar for them (the Gosdins), and their act was kind of country, just country enough for what I wanted to do, and Clarence came along with them."

Gene Clark - Keep On Pushin' [CD] [Vinyl] [eMusic]

Clark said that his inspirations at the time were The Beatles, specifically Rubber Soul, and The Mamas & The Papas. That pretty much sums up "Pushin.'" The Clark-Gosdin harmonies are pure Phillips, but the music itself sounds like it was written with "I've Just Seen a Face" or "You Won't See Me" in mind. The song showcases Doug Dillard's electric banjo and Hillman's sweet bass runs, but Clarence provides steady, behind the beat fingerpicking, deftly echoing Dillard's banjo rolls. What the hell is that sliding sound on the outro that mirrors a doppler effect? A lovely kind of strange.

Gene Clark - Needing Someone [CD] [Vinyl] [eMusic]

Clark's homage to George Harrison's "If I Needed Someone" brings the influence full circle, as Harrison wrote "Someone" with the early Byrds (featuring Clark) in mind. You can hear Clarence's style coalescing as he brings his distinctive bluegrass chops to rock guitar. He toys with the beat and melody, winding his guitar around Hillman's great walking bass. A killer sound and a fantastic, underrated song.

CHRIS HILLMAN

"I sort of grew up with Clarence. When I was in The Hillmen, we were always bumping into each other, but when I joined The Byrds I lost track of him for a couple of years. Then, around the end of '66, I found him again, living way out of LA and playing in country groups in bars and things, playing electric guitar now. So we got him to help us on a couple of tracks. He played real good on them, too."
--Chris Hillman (pictured right) in Zigzag, April 1973

As 1966 came to a close, The Byrds were in the studio recording songs for Younger Than Yesterday. Hillman, inspired by his recent session work with Letta Mbulu and Hugh Masekela, brought his first songwriting efforts to the studio. I don't think there's enough critical appreciation of Hillman's artistic leap from Fifth Dimension to Younger Than Yesterday. He was an inventive, melodic bassist and provided great harmonies, but in a group with Roger/Jim McGuinn, Dave Crosby, and Gene Clark, he was a role player. He wrote zero Byrds songs prior to these sessions, only getting songwriting credits on instrumentals and folk rearrangements. And yet, on Younger he unleashed a murderer's row of excellence: "So You Want to Be a Rock 'n' Roll Star" (co-written w/McGuinn and featuring Masakela on trumpet), "Have You Seen Her Face," "Thoughts And Words," and two country songs, "Time Between" and "The Girl With No Name." For the latter two, Hillman enlisted his old buddy Clarence to lay down the law. So, he did.

Byrds - Time Between [CD] [Vinyl] [eMusic]

Chris Hillman: "I got so excited coming out of (the Masekela) sessions that I wrote 'Time Between,' which had nothing to do groove-wise with what I'd been doing all day. It's really like a bluegrass tune."

Clarence, panned left, steals the show. The vocal harmonies and insistent right channel maraca is pure Beatles (or Sir Douglas Quintet, with whom The Byrds played many dates in 1965-66). White dominates the left channel, channeling Don Rich and then going way beyond Bakersfield. The solo from 1:13-1:31 is great, but his dive bomber run from :44-:58 is CW turning the corner and figuring out his electric guitar sound. In so doing, he also foreshadows his monster solo in "Tell Me."

Byrds - The Girl With No Name [CD] [Vinyl] [eMusic]

Clarence enters on a nut pull and throws down more of his steel-influenced, behind-the-beat guitar work. In the bigger picture, CW's presence legitimized The Byrds' experiments in country music. And while no one could've known at the time, from here on out The Byrds would embrace country music, in no small part because Clarence White was on speed dial. Of course, this relationship worked both ways. When Clarence was searching for his voice in the rock world, The Byrds offered him an early platform, and theirs would eventually mature into a full-fledged musical partnership. But, that was down the road.

THE GOSDIN BROTHERS

Nearly simultaneous with the Younger Than Yesterday sessions, and at the same studio where Gene Clark With The Gosdin Brothers was recorded, Clarence again entered the studio with his buddy Chris Hillman and Byrds drummer, Michael Clarke. Added to the roll call was steel player, Red Rhodes, who actually configured the pickups on Clarence's Tele (the famous "Velvet Hammers") and later built him a homemade fuzz box. On this occasion, the project was a single by The Gosdins themselves, spearheaded by Byrds producer, Jim Dickson.

Gosdin Brothers - One Hundred Years From Now [CD]

While one of the songs, "No Matter Where You Go (There You Are)" was a pretty faithful Bakersfield rip, the other two songs are notable for different reasons. "One Hundred Years From Now" is NOT the Gram Parsons song that would appear on Sweetheart Of The Rodeo, but rather a Gosdins original. The song is dominated by Rhodes' steel guitar and Rex and Vern's vocal harmonies ... and Clarence, in an unusual production decision ... seems to be panned all the way to the right ... but he adds understated color to the proceedings. Not a great song, but a good example of how folk, country, and rock were pretty much blurred together circa '66.

Gosdin Brothers - Tell Me [CD]

Alec Palao, producer of Tuff & Stringy and the mastermind of the Bakersfield International reissue program: "Clarence's solo on 'Tell Me' is one of his greatest moments, in my opinion, and a very early example of his total prowess on the electric, as opposed to acoustic guitar."

I think I've been helped by chronology here, but I was saving the best for last regardless. "Tell Me" is, quite simply, one of the greatest guitar showcases ever recorded. If there was any lingering doubts as to Clarence White's comfort with the electric guitar, this song doesn't just clear them up, it goes all Bruce Lee one-inch-punch on them. It's as if he distilled all that he'd learned from Joe Maphis and James Burton ... not to mention the other great electric guitar influences percolating in his brain at the time ... and perfectly integrated them with his bluegrass background. The final :50 in particular demonstrates a breathtaking sense of rhythm, a creative fearlessness, and a total command of his instrument. In the parlance of bebop, the dude is dropping bombs, one after the other, daring you to keep up.

What makes this awe-inspiring performance all the more remarkable ... and not in a good way ... was that it wasn't even available to the public until the Gosdins' CD, Sounds Of Goodbye was reissued in 2003. It's like finding out last week that Jimi Hendrix (pictured left) recorded an obscure chestnut called "Machine Gun." Are you kidding me?!?! I can see how "Tell Me" might have been too experimental for the pop charts, but not releasing it in any form for over three decades? And the music industry wonders why so many of us wish for its unhealthy demise. Regardless of that oversight, the performance has stood the test of time. In fact, I'm certain that one hundred years from now, our descendants will still be listening to that track and marveling at its stunning brilliance.

Previous Installment: Clarence White and his Bluegrass Bebop: 1964-65 (Part 1)

Next Installment: Clarence White and the Rise of Nashville West: 1966-67 (Part 3)

Clarence White and his Bluegrass Bebop: 1964-65 (Part 1)

Download full playlist (6 mp3s + tracklist/24 MB)

My original plan was to focus solely on Clarence White as an electric guitarist, but it would be professionally remiss to sidestep his formidable acoustic guitar background. So, let's take a brief tour through CW's stint in The Kentucky Colonels, before matriculating to Telecaster. Above all, this post and the several that follow all seek to answer the question:

WHY DOES CLARENCE WHITE MATTER?

Clarence White is one of the greatest guitarists of the 20th century, unique in the canon of six-string pioneers for being the only one to revolutionize both acoustic and electric playing.* As a founding member of The Kentucky Colonels, White brought Doc Watson's high speed blues runs to bluegrass. For years, Lester Flatt and Jimmy Martin were the genre's stylistic templates, using the acoustic guitar as a rhythmic bulwark upon which the mandolin players, fiddlers, and banjo players would add their solos. But Clarence had too much music for bluegrass to contain, becoming the first bona fide lead guitarist in a bluegrass band, demonstrating both ungodly speed and a breathtaking sense of timing and syncopation.

* This may not be true, but I've been racking my brain for years and cannot come up with anyone else who fits the "revolutionary" description on both fronts. Feel free to lambaste me in the comments.

Clarence then brought his unique bluegrass sensibility to rock, becoming the first rock guitarist ... and practically the first rock musician ... so inclined. But his "revolution" wasn't merely marrying bluegrass to rock. In 1968, he had drummer and machinist, Gene Parsons (pictured right), develop the B-Bender guitar, which featured a mechanism acting as a pulley inside of CW's Telecaster, essentially transforming the instrument into a kind of handheld pedal steel (pictured below). While Parsons deserves the lion's share of credit for this brilliant innovation, it wouldn't have happened without Clarence White. It was his maverick vision of how the electric guitar COULD sound that midwifed the B-Bender into existence. For a full history of the B-Bender ... or to buy one, for that matter ... please visit Gene's StringBender website.

35 years after his death, it's probably fair to say that Clarence's impact on bluegrass has far outweighed his impact on rock. The shadow of Clarence White hangs over EVERY bluegrass guitarist who's followed in his wake. He is the benchmark, the standard of excellence, and I can't see that ever changing. As a rock guitarist, I think his long association with The Byrds, combined with his bluegrass background, have meant that his electric guitar work has been ... a bit unfairly, but understandably ... filtered through the narrow aperture of country-rock. However, as we analyze Clarence's catalog over the next several weeks, it should be obvious that his body of work transcends genre and stands with the best musicians of the 20th century, in imagination, spirit, and soulfulness.

CLARENCE WHITE & THE KENTUCKY COLONELS

Kentucky Colonels - Fire On The Mountain [CD] - All songs are available by downloading the playlist at the top of the page.

From a March 1965 gig at the Ash Grove in Los Angeles, here's a :51 run-through of the old-timey country standard, "Fire On The Mountain." Clarence only plays from :30-:37, but in those 7 seconds he throws down three 100 MPH lead figures, even veering into another key, as he and fiddler, Scotty Stoneman, lead the Colonels through their unique bluegrass bebop. More on that in a moment.

I lead off with this track because the first thing to jump out at you is Clarence's breakneck speed. However, it's not like other guitarists at the time weren't playing fast. Hell, here's one of CW's mentors on guitar, Joe Maphis, a very young Larry Collins, and Merle Travis tearing up Town Hall Party in 1958/59 (watch video). The difference between these cats and Clarence is that no one had played that kind of lead guitar in bluegrass before.


Doc Watson & Clarence White - Beaumont Rag [CD]

Recorded in July 1964 at the Newport Folk Festival, "Beaumont Rag" demonstrates that while some musicians can play fast, Doc Watson (pictured right) and Clarence White could play fast and swing. Clarence aficionados probably recognize this number as "Julius Finkbine's Rag," but that tune was based on this fiddle standard made famous by Bob Wills. You gotta love Doc's exclamations throughout the second half of the piece. You can tell he's genuinely wowed by Clarence's picking. I mean, who wouldn't be? But this IS Doc Watson, ya know???

One thing that particularly impresses me ... and that tends to get overlooked in the rush to praise their lead skills ... is the way both men provide sturdy rhythm guitar for each other. While soloing pays the bills, so to speak, Watson and White never forget that their first responsibility is to the song. This is a major reason why Clarence was so effective in the Kentucky Colonels and also why he was such an in-demand session player. While he could obviously take off on mind-boggling solos, he also knew when not to play, how not to step on the toes of his fellow musicians. This is a very underrated quality and one to keep in mind as we go along.

Kentucky Colonels - The Shiek Of Araby [CD]

Django Reinhardt - The Sheik Of Araby [CD]

From November 1964, here's Clarence demonstrating the profound influence of Django Reinhardt (pictured left), who recorded the track in 1937 with the Quintette du Hot Club de France. While a million guitarists have been influenced by Reinhardt, precious few have matched his creativity, wit, and heavy right-hand like Clarence. This last quality is crucial. Way too many supposedly great guitarists can play fusillades of notes, but their tone is light, airy, and supper-club tasteful, as though the notes have been designed to not offend. Screw that. What I love about Clarence and Django (and just about all of my favorite guitar players) is that their tone is heavy and rhythm-centric and their overall style displays absolute fearlessness. There is no daintiness to their music, no sense of propriety. It's as if their guitar sound is attacking acceptable notions of tone, timing, rhythm, and syncopation.

GUNSLINGING BYRDS

Which brings me back to the notion of "bluegrass bebop." In the liner notes to the Colonels' great compilation, Livin' In The Past (linked multiple times for purchase), Jerry Garcia calls fiddler Scotty Stoneman, "the bluegrass Charlie Parker." While I don't disagree with this assessment ... in fact, it's pretty perceptive for a damn hippie, heh ... I think you can make a case that Clarence White, even more than Stoneman, was the bluegrass Bird. Or Byrd, if you will. Like Parker, CW was a blazing fast player whose melodies swung at all tempos, was deceptively rooted in the blues, and had a borderline inhuman command of time and rhythm. In fact, here's quotes about both men that curiously mirror one another:

Gene Parsons on CW:
"When we played together in the Byrds, Clarence was always experimenting with new licks. He'd leave these big holes -- these anticipated beats -- and he'd just kind of leave you hanging out in the middle of nowhere. And then all of a sudden he'd come up from underneath, in a totally unexpected place, and really stretch out. That's what was always exciting about his playing. He'd knock you right out of your seat."
--Rick Petreysik, "Echoes of a Country Rock Legend," Guitar Player, September 1992, page 83

French jazz critic André Hodeir on Bird:
"Charlie Parker's idea of rhythm involves breaking time up. Instead of (Coleman) Hawkins' regular accent on the strong beat or Lester Young's flowing style, Bird's accentuation comes alternately on the beat and between beats. The astonishingly rich rhythm of his music comes from this alternation, from the continual oppositions. The variety of formulas he uses in a single solo makes it possible for him to avoid all rhythmic monotony and thus to attain a more nearly perfect idea of swing than perhaps any of his predecessors."
--André Hodeir, Jazz: Its Evolution and Essence, 1956, pages 108 & 110

If you're a Bird novice, you're in an enviable position. You get to learn about one of the 20th century's greatest musicians and a player who dwarfed his contemporaries. In a bigger picture, it's fitting that in the 3 years spanning last century's midway point (1949-51), two artists reigned over their respective fields with such authority that they're still totally relevant: Hank Williams and Charlie Parker. For starters, I'd recommend a single-disc overview, like the Ken Burns JAZZ Collection, which can usually be found for cheap on Amazon.

Charlie Parker - Ko Ko [CD]

Kentucky Colonels - Alabama Jubilee [CD]

As for Clarence, here he is from that same March 1965 Ash Grove gig and what I consider to be the finest showcase of his guitar work as a member of the Kentucky Colonels. All of his talents come together on this piece. You get the lightning quick picking, the deft feel for swinging the blues, the solid rhythmic support during Roland's mandolin solo, and the spirited sense of improvisation and musical freedom that marked his entire career. My only criticism is that the recording itself runs into the red at times, giving a few parts an unwelcome crunchiness. If you can't appreciate this, you probably should jab a screwdriver in your ear.

Next Installment: Clarence White and his Transition to Telecaster: 1965-66 (Part 2)

Clarence learns how to play electric guitar, including highlights from his first year of session work.

RIP Clarence White

35 years ago today, the great guitar player, Clarence White, was killed by a drunk driver as he and his brother, Roland, were loading out after a gig. Clarence has been one of my favorite musicians for as long as I can remember, so I've decided to pay homage to him in a fun (and hopefully unique) way.

Beginning with my next post, I'm gonna take a year-by-year look at CW's electric guitar legacy. Though he revolutionized bluegrass guitar playing with The Kentucky Colonels, my favorite stuff has generally featured him on electric. So, my examination of Clarence's career actually begins midstream, in late 1965, as the Colonels are disbanding and he's discovering the joys of the Fender Telecaster. What followed over the next few years was an astounding process of reinvention, in which Clarence created a totally unique style of playing electric guitar, as revolutionary within the context of country and rock as his acoustic style was in the context of bluegrass. Oh, and just so I'm totally clear, I'll be posting about one year at a time, over the course of several months. Covering his entire electric output in one post? That's pure craziness, even by my own lofty standards of insanity.

As a teaser of said electric prowess, here's a couple tracks from the recently released Byrds album, Live At Royal Albert Hall 1971, recorded probably within a few months of the above picture. The first track is a cover of the old Jimmy Reed blues number, while the second track is the greatest country-rock song ever written about meeting aliens. Two songs with very different stylistic needs, united by CW's personal stamp of genius.

Byrds - Baby, What You Want Me To Do

Byrds - Mr. Spaceman

FYI, Live At Royal Albert Hall 1971 has been issued, not by The Byrds' longtime label, Columbia, but rather by stalwart independent, Sundazed Music. While the album is available in the CD format, Sundazed earns mad props for also issuing this album in a high-definition vinyl 2-LP set. I'm no preacher man, but if you can toss a little coin in the Sundazed collection plate, I'd say they've earned it.

Sideman Spotlight: Earl Palmer

My previous post on Sam Cooke featured a brief aside about drummer Earl Palmer. At the time, I wasn't sure if Palmer manned the kit for "Bring It On Home To Me" ... I since found out it was actually Frank Capp ... but in researching the "did he or didn't he" factotum, I found myself listening to a decent sampling of Palmer's recorded work. Which brings us to today's discussion.

Too often, "greatest ever" musician discussions become a roll call of showoffs and shredders. You know who I'm talking about. The guitar hero who crams 400,000 notes into a 30-second instrumental break or the drummer with the 172-piece kit who is damn well gonna make sure you hear all 172 pieces. Yawn City. These guys are like rocket-armed quarterbacks who'd rather demonstrate arm strength than make good decisions that win games.

"Hey Coach, did you see how far I threw that ball?"
"Very impressive. Too bad I called a screen pass."

To paraphrase from the Book of Watt, ballhogs may get the sexy highlights, but I'll take the tugboats and their service to the song. The sideman aesthetic ... at least in any music this side of post-bop jazz ... is essentially less is more. Less playing, more listening. It's not that sidemen can't solo or be a lead voice, but functionally speaking, their role is that of support. It may be a singer they're supporting, but at the very least a good sideman supports the needs of the song. The best sidemen are not necessarily the fastest or loudest, but they are invariably the best listeners and know when NOT to play. God bless the tugboats. Their sense of economy is a necessary corrective to overrated "squeaky wheel" showoffery.

Incidentally, while there's an operational difference between a sideman and a session man ... a sideman is generally a member of a touring band, while a session man is part of a band only in a studio context ... their roles are fairly similar. In fact, all session men are ad hoc sidemen, but not all sidemen are necessarily session men. Some musicians are both. Clarence White was a session man for years, including early stints with The Byrds. Later, he became a sideman in The Byrds, but also worked as a session man when the band wasn't touring. I know, it's all very complicated. But we're testing on this next week, so please take notes.

This brings us back to the greatness of Earl Palmer. I'm not sure how much touring he did, but his early work in New Orleans as part of Dave Bartholomew's studio band (1947-57) laid the groundwork for rock drumming. In 1957, he moved to Los Angeles, where he continued his prolific session career, playing on approximately 3 billion records. OK, that's a slight overstatement. Regardless, he is certainly one of the "greatest drummers of all-time," but you'd be hard-pressed to find a bona fide solo in his lengthy discography, and you certainly won't hear one today. While I won't go into a full-blown career overview ... mainly because I might run out of internet ... I do want to cover a handful of his career highlights to showcase his versatility and talents in a variety of contexts.

THE SONGS OF EARL PALMER

Fats Domino - The Fat Man - 1949

Sorry about this track's crappy sound (you can't hear Palmer's drums all that well), but a better version doesn't exist. I was on the fence about including it, but it's the first significant recording in Palmer's career, so it's in. It's also Fats Domino's first single and you gotta love his pseudo-trumpet falsetto. It's also significant because, according to Earlpedia, "(Palmer's) playing featured one of the first instances of the back beat that has come to be the most important element in rock and roll. Palmer has said, 'That song required a strong afterbeat throughout the whole piece. With Dixieland you had a strong afterbeat only after you got to the shout (last) chorus. It was sort of a new approach to rhythm music.'"

Little Richard - I Got It - 1956

"I Got It" is an obscurity in the Little Richard catalog, but it's almost identical in structure to classics like "Tutti Frutti" and "Ready Teddy," and I think it better showcases Palmer's talents. The song has Earl punching in on the 2 and 4 (the back beat) while mirroring the bass pulse with quarter notes on the ride cymbal. The tune is vintage Little Richard, but Palmer's fills, accents, stops, and starts ... especially beginning with the first chorus at :47 ... elevate it (and the band) to another level.

Lloyd Price - I'm Glad, Glad - 1956

"Lawdy Miss Clawdy" was more influential, but you won't find another Lloyd Price song with better Palmer. First, you gotta love the rolling intro. Second, after one verse, you hear not only get the hard back beat, but you get that heavy bass drum, New Orleans parade beat turnaround into the second verse. In fact, I've included this song because it's a perfect fusion of Palmer's second line background with rock's big beat future.

Professor Longhair - Tipitina - 1953

I'm going back a few years for a reason. While the Lloyd Price and Little Richard tunes took "The Fat Man's" back beat and ran with it, this Professor Longhair classic stays locked in the New Orleans rhumba/parade tradition. Palmer eschews the cymbals completely in favor of snare and bass syncopations, accenting on the 2, but before the 4. This is straight up, second line marching band fundamentals. The song also demonstrates Palmer's instinctive tugboat mentality, playing with the song's needs in mind. While the Little Richard and Lloyd Price songs required him to push the beat, "Tipitina" needed the drummer to lay back and join the parade.

As a bonus, I found this video footage of Palmer leading a mid-'90s band through "Tipitina." It begins with him explaining the rhythm and his role on the original recording. Earl is joined by famed New Orleanians Allen Touissant on piano and the late "Red" Tyler on saxophone. Please note how Palmer subtly slows the beat when Tyler joins the chorus. While he undoubtedly could've gone faster, Palmer knew that his first job was to support the lead voice. Pure tugboat.



Ritchie Valens - La Bamba - 1958

By the time this song was recorded, Palmer had left the cozy confines of New Orleans for Los Angeles session work. Ritchie Valens' signature tune, "La Bamba," was probably an early challenge for Palmer in LA since it was undoubtedly one of his first encounters with Mexican music. Nevertheless, Palmer is the consummate sideman, effortlessly laying down the beat and embracing Latino flourishes (a woodblock ostinato and conga fills) without being too busy. Totally pro.

Sam Cooke - Rome Wasn't Built In A Day - 1962

Sam Cooke - Shake - 1964

Note: The Sam Cooke legal defense team has removed these mp3s. Contact me by email and I can hit you with the tracks backchannel.

Like I wasn't gonna come back to Sam Cooke. Please. "Rome" has to be one of the most underrated tunes in the Cooke catalog. Sam's smooth croon is, as usual, in top form and the horn charts anticipate much of the work at Stax. But what makes this song move are Palmer's marching band trills, like snare giddyups, throughout the song and the syncopation between his snare and bass drum. Together, they give the tune a unique rhythmic tension, elevating it from generic pop to a soulful R&B/pop fusion.

"Shake" differs markedly from "Rome," let alone so many previous Sam Cooke songs, in its total absence of melody. In that respect, it anticipates much of James Brown's coming music ... if not soul music, in general ... which was driven by rhythm, often disregarding melody entirely. However, Palmer's back beat and fills are the foundation upon which Sam, the horn section, and the rest of the rhythm section spreads out. Also, I do want to say that while "Shake" may have been perfected by Otis Redding (with the great Al Jackson on drums, no less), let's not forget that Sam died before he could answer Otis' gutbucket rendition with his own Harlem Square-esque ministrations. Just sayin.

Lalo Schifrin - Mission: Impossible TV Theme - 1966

Bet you didn't see this one coming. Sho nuff, that's Earl Palmer keeping 5/4 time on Lalo Schifrin's immediately recognizable theme song. Subtle, jazzy, hip ... yep, Earl's involved.

Randy Newman - Sail Away [early version] - 1972

"This was the way I first had the song. Maybe it's better. Milt Holland, Jim Keltner, and Earl Palmer did a great job."
--Randy Newman, from the liner notes to the Sail Away reissue

This version of Randy Newman's ode to the slave ship is remarkable for 2 reasons: 1) No orchestra, which is so familiar to longtime fans, and 2) You can practically hear "Louisiana 1927" clawing its way out, especially with Earl Palmer's marching band drum rolls underneath Newman's piano like a clarion call from Rampart Street. While the released version on Sail Away is a classic for a good reason, this demo is a revelation. And you gotta love the :20 outro, with the polyrhythmic drums probably meant to invoke the chaos of the auction block as the bells eerily stand in for slave chains. Subtle, but powerful.

Tom Waits - Whistlin' Past The Graveyard - 1978

In retrospect, Tom Waits working with Earl Palmer is a no-brainer. If you're gonna write R&B-influenced jazz songs, why wouldn't you want Earl Palmer in your band? However, this session is also noteworthy because it featured an important studio reunion. Years earlier, Palmer had worked with Waits' producer, Bones Howe, when a much younger Howe engineered Sam Cooke's "Rome Wasn't Built In A Day." In fact, the piano player on "Whistlin'" is Harold Battiste, who worked with Palmer and Howe on Sam's legendary "A Change Is Gonna Come" session. Meanwhile, the tenor saxophonist here is Herbert Hardesty, who worked alongside Palmer in Dave Bartholomew's studio band on those Little Richard and Fats Domino hits from the '50s. The lesson here is that if you stick around long enough, your worlds will collide.

Elvis Costello - Poisoned Rose - 1986

"It was the rhythm section that was daunting. On drums: Earl Palmer who, among many other things, had starred on most of the great Little Richard sides. On bass: Ray Brown, whose jazz recording credits could, and probably do, fill a book."
--Elvis Costello, from the liner notes to the King Of America Rhino reissue

My final Palmer number comes from Elvis Costello's great 1986 album, King Of America. Elvis' voice has rarely sounded better than it does on this song, his vocal prowess no doubt driven by the fact that Ray Brown and Earl Palmer were on hand, forcing him to bring his 'A' game. However, as good as Elvis sounds, Brown and Palmer make this song, their push-pull tension, subtle accents and fills, and tasteful understatement transforming a very good song into something damn near transcendent.

And so concludes our Sideman Spotlight on Earl Palmer. While the rest of the world heaps plaudits on showoffs and ballhogs, I wanted to give a little pub to one of American music's great tugboats. Palmer fashioned a 60-year Hall of Fame career out of being the consummate role player, bringing his best to each song, and in so doing being one of the unspoken pioneers of R&B and rock 'n' roll.

If you'd like to investigate further (and in much greater detail) you should check out his book, Backbeat: Earl Palmer's Story. To hear more of his recorded work, you may wanna spring for The World's Greatest Drummer, Ever!, a collection put out by the British Ace label. This is where I got the Little Richard and Lloyd Price tracks, so if you enjoyed those, keep in mind that there's 28 other songs, all I believe from his 1950s heyday.

Anatomy of a Classic: Bring It On Home To Me

Sam Cooke is my favorite singer and has been since I was 13-14 years old. While most of my friends were obsessing over U2 and Depeche Mode concert tickets, I was obsessing over Sam Cooke records. While time has mostly vindicated me, even I have to laugh that while I liked The Joshua Tree well enough, given my druthers I would've rather listened to Sam sing, "They Call The Wind Maria." Yeah, I was a blast at keggers.

The one song that stood up and harpooned me in the vital organs was his 1962 hit, "Bring It On Home To Me," the subject of today's analysis. While I wouldn't say it's his greatest song ... "A Change Is Gonna Come" probably deserves that honor ... it's the perfect synthesis of his gospel background and pop aspirations. I was actually a bit shocked to read in Peter Guralnick's bio, Dream Boogie: The Triumph Of Sam Cooke, that "Bring It On Home To Me" was based on an earlier composition. In 1959, Charles Brown and Amos Milburn, a pair of blues pianists whose commercial peak was the late '40s/early '50s, duetted on "I Want To Go Home," a song that Sam heard Brown sing in Newport, Kentucky shortly after its release. (For more info on this track and a great summation of Brown's career, check out The B-side: A Celebration Of The Other Side, a great blog devoted to obscure, mostly-R&B 45s).

Charles Brown & Amos Milburn - I Want To Go Home

Listening to the Brown/Milburn duet, one is struck by the obvious lineage. But, comparing the tracks is instructive in that it also reveals Sam's genius for reinvention. Where "I Want To Go Home" is a good, bluesy chunk of coal, Sam refashions it into an unforgettable diamond, a monster of a song, and one worthy of further exploration.

For analytical purposes, I've divided "Bring It On Home To Me" into its five constituent parts, one for each verse. To accompany the analysis, I've included all five sections and the complete song below as a downloadable zip file, so queue those up in your mp3 player and follow along. Folks, you simply can't buy this kind of customer service.

The Adios Lounge Presents "Bring It On Home To Me"
Download full playlist (10 MB)

Bring It On Home To Me - Intro/Verse #1

The song opens with some gospel-flavored piano, as strings and bass subtly linger in the background, and double-time drums push the beat forward. Having listened to this song approximately 500,000 times, I am assured of one thing. The drums are this song's secret weapon. Keep this in mind as we go along.

If you ever change your mind
About leaving, leaving me behind
Baby, bring it to me, bring your sweet lovin'
Bring it on home to me, yeah (yeah!)

While the drums are the secret weapon, the obvious reason for this tune's classic status is Sam Cooke and Lou Rawls (pictured left). I defy anyone to come up with a better example of harmony singing in the history of recorded music. Look, I love The Boswell Sisters, The Louvin Brothers, Sam & Dave, and Statler & Waldorf as much as the next guy, but they're shooting for the silver medal, if you know what I mean. Sam's raspy tenor has few equals on the best of days, but riding atop Lou's honey baritone? Fuggedaboutit. And when they kick in with the call-and-response "Yeah!" parts? That's not just great, that's lucky to be a member of the human race great.

Bring It On Home To Me - Verse #2

I know I laughed when you left
But now I know I only hurt myself
Baby, bring it to me, bring your sweet lovin'
Bring it on home to me, yeah (yeah!)

Where the strings were unobtrusive (if not nearly inaudible) in the first verse, they now make their presence known in earnest. Swelling violins jump out at the "I know I laughed" line, giving the song a nice build and some harmonic depth. However, it's the drums that push things along, swinging hard into the third verse with triplets on the snare and giddyups on the ride cymbal. It's a drum sound that recalls the parade syncopations of Earl Palmer, veteran of several Sam Cooke sessions, as well as so many seminal New Orleans R&B records. It wouldn't surprise me a bit if it was actually Earl manning the kit here. In a way, it would be à propos. Earl Palmer spent his entire career in the role of secret weapon, so the fact that he might be directing traffic undercover is perfect.

Bring It On Home To Me - Verse #3

I'll give you jewelry and money, too
That ain't all, that ain't all I'd do for you
Baby if you bring it to me, bring your sweet lovin'
Bring it on home to me, yeah (yeah!)

The violins go from background swell to lead role in this verse, essentially replacing the piano in that capacity. With the strings up top, the bass down low, and the drums in the pocket, the piano deftly fills holes in the arrangement.

Bring It On Home To Me - Verse #4

You know I'll always be your slave
'Til I'm buried, buried in my grave
Oh honey, bring it to me, bring your sweet lovin'
Bring it on home to me, yeah (yeah!)

Once again, the bottom shifts subtly as the drums go into a double-time pattern on the ride and what sounds like a half-time pattern on the snare. That rhythmic change is accompanied by the introduction of a saxophone, the horn taking over as the band's lead voice. In just over two minutes and four verses, the song has masterfully, yet almost imperceptibly, undulated rhythmically while slowly building to its harmonic climax. Rene Hall may be the arranger of record, and he no doubt conducted the orchestra, but the gospel arrangement has Sam's fingerprints all over it, showcasing his growing command of the studio. Orchestrated gospel was the sound of the future and while it was being refined at Motown and Stax, it also pointed ahead to the work of Willie Mitchell and Al Green, in some ways the real successors of the Sam Cooke legacy.

While I haven't addressed the lyrics to this point ... mainly because it's a pretty straightforward lost love song ... this verse has always intrigued me. How many black singers in 1962 would've sung about being a slave, even metaphorically? Sure, it could've been a simple, convenient analogy, but what if it wasn't? Remember, we're smack dab in the middle of an increasingly militant civil rights era, Sam is a year removed from refusing to play a segregated Memphis show, and a year away from hearing Dylan's "Blowin' In The Wind," and later covering it. And of course, "A Change Is Gonna Come" looms on the horizon. Sam's own background as a gospel singer adds another level of intrigue. Gospel songs, like the spirituals before them, were filled with hidden messages. Codes, if you will. The fact that this was one of Sam's first "pop" songs to openly embrace his gospel roots was probably more coincidental than meta-commentary, but could the use of "slave" have been a code from Sam to his black audience? Mere speculation, no doubt, but not without historical precedent and perfectly in temper with the times.

The lyrics in this verse also provide a sobering reality check, with their reference to being "buried in my grave." Sam (and his fans) obviously couldn't have known at the time, but in less than three years, he would indeed be buried in his grave. As great as this song is on neutral turf, the tragic events surrounding his murder have only given it a sense of gravity above and beyond the initial construction.

Bring It On Home To Me - Verse #5/Outro

One more thing (?), you know I tried to treat you right
But you stayed out, stayed out late at night
But I forgive you, bring it to me, bring your sweet lovin'
Bring it on home to me, yeah (yeah!)

We enter the song's home stretch with the drums again propelling the beat forward, the violins mirroring their lead part from Verse #3, and the piano filling in gaps as it echoes the snare. The sax reintroduces itself on the fade-out, which is probably the only disappointing thing about this track. It ends a bit too soon. Another 20-30 seconds, with the sax going off in the manner of Sam's buddy, King "Soul Twist" Curtis (pictured above on the Harlem Square cover), would've been badass. And by badass, I mean orgasmic.

Two things are worth mentioning here: 1) This was the singles/AM radio era, so it's not like anyone else was including extended outros on their studio output, and 2) The release of the Harlem Square Club show proved that Sam knew perfectly well how to extend his songs so as to bring his audience to orgasm. So, maybe there is something to be said for leaving us wanting more. Forget what I said about disappointing. I don't know what I was thinking.

Parting Thoughts

Everybody knows that Sam Cooke is one of the greatest singers of all-time. But this track proves that his skills as a producer and arranger ... at least co-arranger ... have, if anything, been historically undervalued. "Bring It On Home To Me" also marked a major turning point in both Sam's career and the direction of black music. Where songs like "Twistin' The Night Away" and "Having A Party" hinted at the gospel fervor, "Bring It" wholeheartedly embraced it. In a sense then, the title works on two levels. While superficially a plea to his departed woman, it could also be read as Sam himself bringing it home. Artists like Ray Charles, Bo Diddley, Little Richard, and James Brown had been bringing the black church into popular music for nearly a decade, but none of them had the gospel bona fides of Sam Cooke. All of them, including Sam, had crossed over from black audiences to white, but only Sam made the crossover from gospel star to pop star, having gained his initial fame as a member of The Soul Stirrers (pictured above). And with the release of "Bring It On Home To Me" he was creating the gospel/pop synthesis known as soul music, becoming the first major star in that genre. The irony, of course, is that it took Sam looking deep into his past to articulate his vision for the future. While he didn't necessarily abandon his white audience, he trusted his instincts that his white audience wouldn't abandon him were he to make his sound "blacker." As the next chapter of his career unfolded, it was clear that his instincts were correct.

Need Sam?

For those of you new to Sam Cooke, may I recommend Portait Of A Legend: 1951-64. I was lucky enough to turn onto Sam just as The Man And His Music was released, but I think this remastered collection might be superior ... it helps that it's actually in print ... and will serve much the same purpose for a new generation of fans.