Scotty Moore: 1931-2016

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Sam Phillips always said that Scotty may have been the most honest man he ever met. That was as high a compliment as Sam could bestow. In fact, Sam almost went on to imply, if it came down to a choice between Scotty’s version of a story and his own, choose Scotty’s! Now don’t get me wrong – Sam never actually said that. But that was how much he thought of Scotty. And he wasn’t just talking about facts – he was talking about character.

That was one of the main reasons he put Scotty together with Elvis in the first place. Elvis was nineteen, Scotty was twenty-two, and Elvis referred to him as “the Old Man” almost from the start. Scotty was always the one to  provide a calming influence, even as all hell was busting loose around them in new and unpredictable ways.

But it wasn’t just a matter of temperament. His easy-going manner could not fully disguise the depth of his intellect or musical ambition. Of all the artists who found their way to Sam’s studio, Scotty was the one to whom Sam most readily revealed his vision of the future. They started meeting at Taylor’s Restaurant three or four afternoons a week, when Scotty was trying to get his own hillbilly group, the Starlite Wranglers, recorded, several months before Elvis Presley entered the picture. “By doing the record I became pretty good friends with Sam. He knew there was a crossover coming. He foresaw it, and practically every day after work [Scotty worked as a hatter at his brothers’ dry-cleaning business, which left his afternoons free] I would drift by the studio, and we would sit there over coffee at Miss Taylor’s Café and say to each other, ‘What is it? How can we do it?’”

There were times when I first met Scotty in 1976, when I wasn’t sure that he could even be lured into a conversation, let alone an interview. He was forty-four years old, and as proud as he was of his historic contributions and accomplishments, he had little interest in dwelling on them. He had his own friends, his own enthusiasms, his own tape-duplicating business, his own life. Why should he live in the past? In fact, were it not for the help of Gail Pollock, his employee at the time and devoted companion until her death in the fall of 2015, I’m not sure if he ever would have entertained the idea of doing a full-length interview, let alone a succession of them over a period of more than twenty years. But Gail persuaded him that I had a good track record (she checked) and an honest face (we soon became good friends, all  three of us). And once he started to talk, once he agreed to start scrutinizing the past, he gave it his full attention, just as he did with any of the endeavors upon which he seriously embarked: his guitar playing, his engineering, his producing –well, let me take it several steps further, just the whole manner in which he conducted his life.

“Ooh, you’re making my brain hurt,” he would say when we really got into it some years later, after I had started my Elvis biography. But he never dismissed any line of inquiry, no matter how far afield it might seem (or actually be); he took every question seriously and always provided the facts as he knew them, or, upon consideration, as he came to understand them. He never exaggerated his role, he never fabricated a connection,  he never  answered a question when he didn’t know the answer – he just gave the matter his careful, considered attention.

I hope it doesn’t sound like I’m making Scotty out to be some kind of brooding introvert. Nothing could be further from the truth. I mean, there are introverts, and there are introverts. Someone like Sam Phillips, for example, for all of the brilliant extroversion of his work, was at heart a solitary figure. But Scotty loved to have fun – there was no question about it, there was no piety about it, there was certainly never any boastfulness about it, but there was never any doubt that Scotty in his own quiet way – sometimes with a soft chuckle where from others you might expect a loud guffaw – always had a good time. It was no different from the day we first met: Scotty valued his life, he valued his music, above all he valued his friends.

Guitar players of every generation since rock began have studied and memorized Scotty’s licks, even when Scotty himself couldn’t duplicate them afterwards. (“It was all feel,” Scotty said of the early RCA sessions. “On 'Too Much’ we just got lost, but somehow or another we finally recovered!”) He lived long enough to see himself sought out and celebrated by rock icons from Keith Richards to Bruce Springsteen to Paul McCartney. Those tributes, both genuine and personal, certainly meant a lot to him. But I’m not sure if it wasn’t the informal “thumb-picking” sessions with old friends like Chip Young and Thom Bresh (maybe with Tracy Nelson singing!) that didn’t give him the most satisfaction.

He remained to the end a deeply thoughtful, deeply modest man with a twinkling manner and a dry sense of humor (“Very dry,” Scotty would say), whose intentions were to celebrate the moment, place no faith in the business part of the music business, and always maintain the kind of informal convivialities that make life worth living. I never saw Scotty seek out a public moment, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen him happier than he was at his 80th birthday party at the Gibson Beale Street Showcase in Memphis (see accompanying photograph). There, in a packed room full of family and friends, for a moment the private became public, and despite a number of offers to see him back to his hotel room, Scotty stayed well into the early hours of the morning, when the party was finally over. That’s the way I like to remember Scotty – well, I like to remember him in so many ways – but always as a man surrounded by friends, happily enjoying not the limelight but a lifetime of shared experiences.

Lost Highway: A Video Companion (Vol. 2)

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This seemed like it might really be fun. It was a lot of fun to put together anyway!

Here’s an erratic, eccentric collection of video clips to accompany the book, available at the time of posting anyway, and subject to addition, subtraction, suggestion, and revision – but whichever the case, it should in the end simply lead you to discover – lead me to discover, too – more music.

This is the second of four installments, covering the second section of the book: “Hillbilly Boogie.” Once we’ve posted all four, we’ll put them together in one giant  Lost Highway video playlist!

Part Two: Hillbilly Boogie

SCOTTY MOORE: Elvis, Scotty and Bill: A Sidelong View of History

This may seem a little different with its focus on technology, in this particular case a conversation between Scotty and modern-day-man-of-all-good-guitar-sounds Deke Dickerson about Deke’s newly restored EchoSonic amp. But the Echosonic was a revolutionary development in the early 1950s (Chet Atkins had the first in Nashville), creating the “slapback” reverb effect (with a “3rd Dimension Tone”) for guitar alone that Sam Phillips was to make the hallmark of his entire Sun sound. And listening to Scotty talk and play (a brief, very pretty slice of “I’m Left, You’re Right, She’s Gone”) you’re introduced to both the self-effacing charm of the man and the sheer intelligence of his playing, a combination of delicate filigree and rhythmic drive. You’re also introduced to Ray Butts, inventor of the Echosonic, a self-taught electronic genius from Cairo, Illinois, who figured in many of the musical developments of the ‘50s and ‘60s, including taking care of Sam Phillips’ Nashville studio for a while.

CHARLIE FEATHERS: The Last of the Rockabillies

“Good Rockin’ Tonight”

Nobody could be more delighted with Charlie Feathers’ music than Charlie Feathers himself. This is a good example, even if it’s missing some of the raucous atmosphere of the Hilltop Lounge in Memphis, where I first saw him around this time. Charlie was a man of many parts (and many yelps, and many glottal stops), who could not have believed more firmly in himself or his destiny – he possessed a wonderful gift for invention and fabulation, which manifested itself both in his music and his life.

Charlie always cited a black sharecropper named Junior Kimbrough from his own hometown of Hudsonville, Mississippi, as one of his first influences, along with Bill Monroe, the “Father of Bluegrass,” who brought his tent show to town every summer.

Check out both of their clips for that same unassailable self-belief. I don’t think there’s ever been anything more compelling than the “trance music” that Junior played every Sunday afternoon at the little juke joint he operated near Holly Springs, Mississippi, close to where he and Charlie grew up (just as a side note that’s the great music historian/writer/ethnomusicologist Bob Palmer providing the introductory narration – and I was there that afternoon with my friend Shelley Ritter, now head of the Delta Blues Museum).

Bill Monroe, I’m sure, needs no introduction, but listen to the sheer intensity of “Close By,” a song I never really knew before (that’s Ernest Tubb, incidentally, introducing Monroe). Although, technically speaking, it may have been “accidental” that Elvis settled on Monroe’s “Blue Moon of Kentucky” as the second side of his first Sun single, Sam Phillips didn’t believe in accidents – and in this case neither do I.

Junior Kimbrough: “All Night Long”

Bill Monroe: “Close By” 

ELVIS PRESLEY AND THE AMERICAN DREAM

I’m not going to even try.

For sheer Elvis, check out the DVD of “Elvis ’68: Comeback Special,” which is available in many iterations, including a cool Deluxe Edition(BMG 82876-60924-9) – but I’m sure you can get it shorter and cheaper. What’s so great about it is: there’s no holdback, you can actually see Elvis really trying.

Another fun exploration would be Elvis’ second picture, Loving You, which is frequently overlooked but boasts a fine performance by the star, a witty script and very-much-to-the-point directing from Hal Kanter, some great songs, a brief cameo by Elvis’ parents (in the audience at one of his shows), and a beneficent take on Elvis’ rise to fame, kind of similar to A Face in the Crowd in a way – but nice. 

SNAPSHOTS OF CHARLIE RICH

“Mohair Sam”

There’s nothing that could ever really interfere with, or seriously impair, Charlie’s individuality. Not even popular success. Here, on a strictly novelty number, surrounded by silly dancers and singers, Charlie gives it his distinctive, off-beat all, employing the Charlie Rich phrasing that has become second nature to equally distinctive singers likeDan Penn, Ron Sexsmith, James Hunter, Nick Lowe, to name a few,along with a muted version of his lush-and-angular piano style.

The next number, the Doc Pomus-Mac Rebennack title track from the 1992 album that Joe McEwen, Scott Billington, and I put together (along with the incomparable Roland Janes, who engineered and was best friend to the project at the Phillips studio in Memphis) shows off much more of Charlie’s distinctive chops. Erroll Garner meets Memphis Slim meets – dare I say it? – cocktail piano.

When the album came out, there was great excitement, but because of Charlie’s genuine discomfort with crowds (even at the height of his success, he suffered from a kind of agoraphobia), only three initial showcase dates were booked, at jazz rooms in New York, Boston, and Los Angeles.

Charlie blew off all three, as well as all media appearances other than Fresh Air (but only after he was permitted to smoke in the studio) and the Ralph Emery show, which he always enjoyed doing, simply because he felt comfortable with Ralph. The album was always supposed to be called “You Don’t Know Me,” from the time I first started sending around a demo tape (six years before we got into the studio) with Charlie’s heartbreaking version of the title song. But then Charlie took command of “Pictures and Paintings,” too, and the title changed.

“Pictures and Paintings”

SLEEPY LaBEEF: There’s Good Rockin’ Tonight

“Strange Things Happening” 

This just knocks me out every time. Sleepy had been talking about Sister Rosetta Tharpe’s “Strange Things Happening” as the foundation for rock ‘n’ roll ever since I first met him in 1977, but it took until 1994to get him to actually record it. Watch the band’s enjoyment as Sleepy gets more and more into it. You’ve got to turn this up LOUD. Just dig it as Sleepy goes into overdrive after his second solo. (TURN IT UP!) I’ve always thought of this as one of the great moments in TV history – because, like Howlin’ Wolf on Shindig! (the #1 moment of all time, needless to say), it transcends TV. Sleepy’s interview shows him as he really is, relaxed, thoughtful, and passionate, too.

For another musical side of Sleepy, check out the second selection, which is performed once again with great energy, great panache, great guitar-playing, but in an entirely different mode. Jerry Wexler said Solomon Burke was the best soul singer of all time – with a borrowed band. The underlying point, I think, is that when it happens, it happens. And it’s happening here.

“Hillbilly Blues”

Sister Rosetta Tharpe: “Up Above My Head”

And for the ultimate bonus treat here’s the musical evangelist whom Sleepy, Elvis, Carl Perkins, Jerry Lee Lewis, and Johnny Cash all credited explicitly with being their musical inspiration. You can’t go wrong with Sister Rosetta – there’s a jump-and-joy that translated directly into the underlying message of rock ‘n’ roll. But it’s the jump that for me is the ultimate mystery. Where does that guitar style come from (even more so on her classic records)? What gives it that lift-off which, however familiar, never fails to lift off?

MICKEY GILLEY: A Room Full of Roses

“Ferriday Medley” by Mickey and his cousin, Jerry Lee Lewis

Isn’t this fun? You know, there could be dozens more examples of this (I’m sure there are). But you’ll never get a more relaxed rendition of good-natured competition and enthusiastic collaboration in one package. (This may well be because ranking order is never in question. Just in case you were in any doubt, Jerry Lee’s motto could be, “Nobody Cuts the Killer.) And the repertoire reveals so much of the polymorphous origins of the music (from blues to ragtime to pure country and pure pop – every bit of it to be savored). Once again, there’s no irony here – just the pure fun of making music, doesn’t really matter where it’s from. (Watch out, all you narrow-minded historians and ideologues – I’m talking to myself now.) And while you’re at it, pay particular attention to the precise geographical location of Ferriday – and then take a drive down to visit the Lewis Family Museum, curated by Jerry’s sister (and Mickey’s cousin) Frankie Jean.

JACK CLEMENT: Let’s All Help the Cowboy Sing the Blues

“Old Flames Can’t Hold a Candle to You”

One of the things you’ll take away from reading about Jack is the protean nature (not just the protean talent or the quicksilver temperament) of the man who claims to be an exile from Alpha Centauri. He was Sam Phillips’ first musical employee, Jack was the one to first hear and recognize the raw talent of a barely 21-year-old Jerry Lee Lewis (when Sam was out of town), it was Jack who discovered Charley Pride – oh, just read the chapter. And don’t under any circumstances miss the great documentary about Jack by Morgan Neville and Robert Gordon, Shakespeare Was a Big George Jones Fan. But what you might miss, if you don’t pay too close attention, is Jack’s serious side – think Falstaff with a greater degree (or maybe not, maybe I’m underrating Falstaff) of self-awareness. Check out Jack’s Elektra album for his heartbreaking version of “When I Dream (I Dream of You”) – and besiege the filmmakers to release their beautiful video of the song, which I don’t think made the final cut. But in the meantime check out this clip of Jack with his friends (Jim Rooney, Marty Stuart, Philip Donnelly, among others) in Ireland. The wisecracks and witticisms will never cease – should never cease – but underneath lies a tender soul.