Elton John goes rhinestone cowboy for an appearance, 1980
Emmylou Harris and George Jones backstage, 1981
A famous name glows for a show, 1971
Pete Anderson and Dwight Yoakam, 1985
Lucinda Williams, 1985
Ronnie Mack performs ten years before establishing his popular “Barndance” program, 1978
Linda Ronstadt, 1974
Tanya Tucker at the Nashville Network live telecast, 1983
The Silver Fox, Charlie Rich, at the piano, 1980
Jerry Lee Lewis visits Tom Petty post-performence backstage, 1984
Etta James showcases her R&B revue, 1981
Rick Nelson crosses over, 1972
Neil Young onstage, 1984
Leif Garrett and Linda Thompson in the audience, 1979
The
sign outside the squat rental hall reads Le Monge, an odd faux-French
touch for a North Hollywood neighborhood that never had any pretensions,
not even when music’s elite came cruising past the liquor stores and
auto body shops lining this stretch of Lankershim Boulevard. Back then
the low-slung building was the Palomino, aka the Pal, a honky-tonk that
would reign for more than 40 years as L.A.’s top country spot. Now it’s
just a banquet facility that’s seen better days. During the Pal’s
prime, from the early 1960s through the mid-1970s, such country icons as
Johnny Cash, Willie Nelson, Waylon Jennings, Merle Haggard, Buck Owens,
Hoyt Axton, Kitty Wells, George Jones, Charley Pride, and Ernest Tubb
played the foot-high stage, sweating under the hot lights, the audience
inches from their feet. Emmylou Harris sang with a band that included
Elvis Presley’s guitarist James Burton and his pianist Glen Hardin. The
Flying Burrito Brothers, who were fronted by country-rock artist Gram
Parsons, entertained on Monday nights. (The hard-living Parsons, whose
mix of country, blues, and folk influenced a generation of musicians,
was beaten up one night by a group of rowdy marines.) The crowd was just
as star studded. Jerry Lee Lewis was a fixture. Linda Ronstadt had a
boyfriend, Jerry Brown, who was let in for free but insisted on paying
the cover. Liza Minnelli was a fan of Tony Booth, the leader of the
house band, the Palomino Riders. Hugh Hefner often arrived with his
teenage companion, Barbi Benton.
The Pal was born in 1949, the
baby of Hank Penny, a renowned radio and TV personality, bandleader,
musician, and songwriter. He and business partner Amand Gautier had
owned a successful club and were looking to start another. Penny
happened upon the Lankershim building. The rent was cheap at $200 a
month, and it didn’t bother the pair that the previous three tenants had
failed. But the place’s name, the Mule Kick, didn’t sit well with
Penny, who subsequently dubbed it the World Famous Palomino. He erected a
massive neon sign, a rearing bronco balanced in an upturned horseshoe,
which was visible for miles against the Valley’s night sky until its
dismantling in 1995. Penny ran a respectable club, insisting that
cowboys remove their hats when they entered the building. If they
refused, Tiny, the enormous bouncer, escorted them out. By all accounts
the club was a hit, but Penny had taken on so many outside commitments
that he decided he had to let it go.
“Within minutes, Fogerty, Dylan, and Harrison were onstage with Taj, trying to remember each other’s songs.”
The
club’s second owner, Tommy Thomas, was the Palomino’s P.T. Barnum. He
and brother Billy took over the lease in the early ’50s and bought the
building soon after. Thomas spent nearly a decade casually hewing to
Penny’s model, save with a greater emphasis on the drinking. In 1959,
his only local competitor, the Riverside Rancho, closed. A much larger
venue, the Rancho had maintained a stranglehold on the country music
headliners. Now Thomas owned the premier stage. He chose acts not
because he loved their music—he wanted performers who could fill the
house. He knew better than anyone in the business how to take a cultural
obsession and turn it into money. Inside, posters advertising the
night’s lineup were hand drawn with fluorescent paint and illuminated by
little black lights. They would be replaced regularly, but the staples
accumulated, the walls so thickly studded with sharp metal that it was
unwise to lean against them. In those days just about everyone at the
packed club smoked. When the back door opened, smoke billowed out in
waves that made it look as if the building were on fire.
Hank Penny
[CO-OWNER] “Amand
and I bounced all these names around, but nothing seemed to grab either
one of us. I dropped into a men’s shop to get myself a shirt. I opened
the package, and it was like something out of a cheapie musical. The
logo read Palomino Sport Shirt. I said to Amand, ‘I’ve got the name of
the club.’ Amand went to see a friend of his in Glendale who made neon
signs and asked him if he could give us a duplication of a portion of
the logo.”
Pat Shields
[PATRON] “I
first went to the Palomino in 1962. I had never been in that part of
town before. They had a house band that I wanted to hear. It was Gene
Davis, and Red Rhodes was playing steel guitar. They had Delaney
Bramlett and a guy named Jerry Inman, who should have been as successful
as Delaney but never was. I came out at the end of that first evening,
and somebody had stolen my battery. It was a shitty neighborhood. After
that, I was always careful where I parked.”
Robyn Robichaux
[COCKTAIL WAITRESS, 1969 TO 1976] “You
never could tell who was going to be onstage. Literally you did not
know. When Willie Nelson first performed there, he looked like he worked
for IBM. You saw the biggest names in the world. They were playing,
like, the Forum, but they’d also be at the Palomino. For God’s sake, we
had half the Beatles show up one night and the Rolling Stones on
another. One night I saw Leon Russell playing with Jerry Lee Lewis. They
don’t play the same kind of music. And then who jumped up there with
them but Glen Campbell! You’d think he was pretty conservative, but he
had a wild streak and he was a great guitar player. His bass player,
Billy Graham, would hop up there, and then you’d have some of the rock
musicians jump in, and they piled on the stage. Everybody wanted to jam.
Nobody knew what they were going to play. And they would just start,
and you’d think, Oh, my God. The next day you’d tell people, and they’d
say, ‘Why didn’t you call me?’ But it’s not like anyone knew it was
going to happen.”
Tony Booth
[LEADER OF THE PALOMINO RIDERS] “It
was the place to be seen. Even guys who were in town for other reasons,
like Haggard and Jerry Lee or Hank Jr., would come and sit in with us.
Then it became a place for the Hollywood set, too. It was very exciting
to see all the actresses. Victor French was a regular. Athletes started
coming in. The Dodgers showed up. Ron Cey and Don Sutton were there.
Some of the Rams used to come out. Conway Twitty and Mac Davis would
come in a lot. George Hamilton showed up one night after he got through
filming the life story of Hank Williams. He fancied himself a country
singer at that point. He got up and grabbed my guitar. The set was over.
The night was over. He had all the girls gathered around, and he had my
guitar. We just left. I assumed he wouldn’t steal it. When we walked
out, he was singing to the girls.”
JayDee Maness
[PEDAL-STEEL PLAYER FOR THE PALOMINO RIDERS] “You
could have Waylon Jennings playing and Willie Nelson would show up. If
they were in town, that’s where they went, to the Pal, just to hang, and
the hang was the best part of the whole deal. Musicians came in, many
of them every single night they weren’t working. A lot of them would sit
in and just get up onstage and play with us. We’d still do our regular
songs, but if someone wanted to sing, we’d do their songs. It was a real
community of players.”
Pete Anderson
[MUSICIAN, PRODUCER] “I
probably went to the Palomino for the first time in the mid-’70s. Jerry
Inman and the Palomino Riders were playing. The PA system was a Shure
Vocal Master, which was actually just bizarre because it wasn’t very
powerful. I was young and I wasn’t very sophisticated, but they sounded
like a record. I never heard a band that good on the stage. I don’t even
think there was a headliner that night. Back then there was an element
of danger in the bar. There were people drinking and people in the
parking lot. There was whiskey flowing. It wasn’t really a
super-drug-era place—maybe weed. A lot of honky-tonkers would take
uppers so they could drink more. I remember seeing Johnny Paycheck
standing at the bar once, and Waylon Jennings. It was just a very
impressive, kind of frightening place to be young and go into. When
you’re 21, 22, 23, your ‘hanging out at the bar’ chops aren’t up yet.
You’re not a man-man, where you go in, stand at the bar, put your money
down, and get your drink.”
“Asked if he’d like to perform a song, Lewis said, ‘Yeah, I’d like that, but let me get a little drunker first.'”
Shields:
“When Tommy thought about the artists, he didn’t think about their
music. He thought in terms of how much money they’d be worth that
weekend. There was a waitress named Mona, who used to put a bug in
Tommy’s ear because Tommy didn’t listen to the radio and wasn’t a fan.
She was the one who got him to book Merle Haggard for the first time. I
was there. He said, ‘Who?’ She kept saying, ‘Have I ever steered you
wrong?’ Of course she got a real feather in her cap because Haggard
played there several times prior to ‘Okie from Muskogee’ in 1969, and
after that, well…But he did come in as a customer. Tommy counted on some
of the girls to keep him hip as to who was good. He was aware of the
advantage of getting artists in there before they got too big.” Maness:
“Tommy spent a lot of money papering the place. He’d leave free tickets
on the table. He’d advertise on all the country stations and in the
newspaper—never missed. He spent a lot of money, except on the band. He
would bring us in periodically for a band meeting and would noodle on a
piece of paper with a pen and make all these lines and stuff and use
language like a sailor. He’d say, ‘You effing guys, there are 2 million
people in the Valley and you can’t even bring in 400. What’s the
problem?’ On the other hand, we’d go back out into the club and he’d
want us to move chairs. One time I said, ‘Tommy, I don’t get paid enough
to move chairs. I’m not gonna do it.’ He said, ‘Out! Get out, and don’t
come back!’ I came back the next night, and it was like nothing had
happened. I give him a lot of credit because he made the place work. He
would dodge the fire department on the crowd capacity. The club was well
known for the steaks and the cheese bread. I saw him give an armload of
raw meat to the firemen so they’d leave him alone. They actually did,
and they’d say, ‘OK, Tommy, but be careful.’ It’s the truth if I’ve ever
told it.”
By
the late 1970s, the Palomino patrons were aging along with the club.
Midrange performers like Jerry Jeff Walker and David Allan Coe still
pulled in audiences, but the Palomino had more competition with the
opening of the Country Club in Reseda and Perkins Palace in Pasadena.
There were still some memorable nights. Elvis Costello played a
legendary set in 1979. Clint Eastwood featured the club in Every Which Way but Loose and Any Which Way You Can.
It’s rumored that Burt Reynolds built the illegal back patio to
accommodate scenes in Hooper. Thursday’s talent night remained hugely
popular. There was often a line at the sign-up table. Cow punk was
emerging in Hollywood, and in the early 1980s, its better-known
practitioners occasionally drifted over Cahuenga. Lone Justice, Dwight
Yoakam, the Beat Farmers, the Long Ryders, and the Blasters were a few
who, if even for a night, lured in younger patrons. Billy died in
1979 and Tommy in 1985. Billy Jr. took over. He preferred heavy metal to
country. The vibe changed. Periodically the club generated transcendent
moments reminiscent of the old days. Then in 1988, Ronnie Mack, a
Baltimore-born musician, created the “Barndance,” a showcase for
traditional country music that had a fanatical following and aired on
KCSN radio. The Palomino again became the place to be, kick-starting the
careers of Lucinda Williams, Jim Lauderdale, George Highfill, Dave
Alvin, James Intveld, and Dale Watson. Americana sweetheart Rosie
Flores, indie standout Chris Gaffney, and “I Can Help” crooner Billy
Swan were regular participants. Mack also introduced a new generation to
Watts-born saxophonist Big Jay McNeely, rockabilly pioneers Rose
Maddox, Janis Martin, and Wanda Jackson, and “I Put a Spell on You”
singer Screamin’ Jay Hawkins.
James Intveld
[MUSICIAN, PRODUCER] “My
dad had heard about the Palomino on KLAC radio. It was probably 1977.
He said, ‘Hey, they have a talent night. Let’s go check it out.’ We
drove up from Garden Grove. It was a big deal. The club was packed and
pretty intimidating. My perspective as a teenager was that the place
seemed three times bigger than it really was. We watched the first time,
and he took me back the following week and I played. After that I began
driving up by myself. I’d ask the ladies to put me on early because I
had to go to school in the morning. The Palomino was the first
professional stage I had ever been on. I was playing with these
incredible musicians and thinking, Holy fuck! It’s impossible to fathom
now, but anyone could walk in, sign up, and say they had enough talent
to get onstage with that band and sing to a full house.”
Lucinda Williams
[THREE-TIME GRAMMY-WINNING MUSICIAN] “The
main reason to go was that you never knew who you were going to see. It
was such a scene. The exciting thing at that time was the ‘Barndance.’
They’d have the house band and then guest musicians who’d come up and
play three or four songs. That’s how I first played there. I remember
meeting Mary Chapin Carpenter when she started out. Dwight Yoakam would
perform there, and Dave Alvin. I miss there not being a place like that
now. It was great to have somewhere to go to meet people of like mind.
It was a supportive group of musicians and friends. Another great thing
is that you’d see people on the way up, like Dwight, hanging out with
people who were just starting out.” Anderson:
“Dwight Yoakam could talk. He started ringing up Tommy on the phone and
they kind of became pals, and he got the band a gig at the Palomino. We
played a couple of times. We all still had day jobs. Somehow Dwight got
Tommy to let us open for Lone Justice. They were the darlings. You could
not pick up a newspaper where Judy Raphael and Todd Everett, the big
music writers in town, weren’t writing about them. That was really the
big catalyst for us. It may have been ’83, I’m guessing. We were in
front of a big crowd. We really could play. It was Dwight with that
voice—some of his songs, some covers, cool stuff. That was the door
opener. That was what the Palomino did for us.”
Todd Everett
[MUSIC JOURNALIST] “I
had a night off from my newspaper work, and I drove out to the Pal to
see Taj Mahal perform with a band that included the great Jesse Ed Davis
on guitar. It was, as I recall, a Thursday night, and there wasn’t much
happening at the club. It may even have been raining. In any event, the
turnout wasn’t what Taj deserved—if there were more than 50 people in
the room, including the Palomino staff, I’d be surprised. I tended to
wander around the room from a base near the back bar. I spotted two
familiar faces: Bob Dylan and George Harrison. The two had worked
together on The Concert for Bangla Desh. I didn’t know that they hung
out, but there they were, just chatting and laughing. I spotted another
celebrity: John Fogerty. I had interviewed him a few weeks earlier. It
had gone pleasantly enough, so I stopped by his table. ‘Did you see
Dylan and Harrison over there by the back bar?’ I asked. No, he hadn’t,
but he did cast a glance that way. ‘Do you know them?’ No, he didn’t.
‘Come here,’ I said, and dragged John over to where Dylan and Harrison
were standing. ‘Excuse me,’ I said, interrupting their conversation.
‘This is John Fogerty.’ They didn’t know who I was and didn’t care. But
they sure knew who John was and immediately started talking with him.
Within minutes, Fogerty, Dylan, and Harrison were onstage with Taj and
his band, trying to remember each other’s songs. It was a jumble but,
God knows, a historic one. In retrospect, I think the most significant
aspect of the evening was when someone—Dylan, maybe, but I’m not sure at
this point—told Fogerty that if he refused to play ‘Proud Mary,’ it’d
go down in people’s memories as a Tina Turner song. He sang it, and the
old Creedence songs reappeared in John’s concert repertoire after that
night.”
Ronnie Mack
[“BARNDANCE” FOUNDER] “I
never do sound checks, but it was the first time we were there, so I
thought I should. I did this rockabilly song called ‘Shirley Lee,’ and
who was at the bar but Jerry Lee Lewis. James [Intveld] knew Jerry Lee,
so he introduced us. He was as sweet as could be and said, ‘I haven’t
heard “Shirley Lee” in 30 years.’ I said, ‘Mr. Lewis, we’re doing this
radio show. If you’d like to come up and do a song, we’d be honored.’ He
said, ‘Yeah, I’d like that, but let me get a little drunker first.’ I
called the radio station and asked for extra time and explained about
Jerry Lee having to get drunker. Then I had to go talk to Wick, the
soundman, who was really good but such a jerk. We hadn’t started the
show yet, and I said, ‘Wick, Jerry Lee Lewis is here, and he might want
to do something, but the piano is down on the floor. Can we get it up on
the stage?’ He said, ‘Fuck him. Why did he have to show up tonight?’ So
we lugged the piano onto the stage, and we did our set. I went down and
asked if Jerry Lee wanted to come up, and he said, ‘I’m gonna come up.
Let me get a little more drunk.’ “About an hour and a half later,
Lucinda [Williams] was just getting started when I see Jerry Lee walking
through the crowd with a real young girl on one arm and another real
young girl on the other arm, and he’s heading for the side door. James
said, ‘Go ask him if he’s going to come up.’ I’m like, ‘Well, obviously
he’s not going to. He’s on his way out with a girl on each arm,’ but I
went. We met up at the door, and I said, ‘Mr. Lewis, did you not want to
come up?’ Now he’s really drunk, and he starts pointing at Lucinda and
screaming, ‘What is this shit? It’s the worst shit I’ve heard in my
life!’ The place is packed, and everyone around us is looking, and I’m
so embarrassed. Everything I had ever heard about him was true, but he
had those good-looking girls regardless.” Intveld:
“Every time you’d walk into the Palomino, it had that same vibe. You’d
see all those pictures of country and western stars up there, and you’d
turn to your left, and just before you’d get to the stage, there was
that big picture of Johnny Cash on the wall. You’d recognize all the
photos and all the stuff that had been there for years. It was like
being in your own living room. The backstage was cool. You came in the
front door, and you’d walk down past the bar, up past the bathrooms, and
there was a skinny hallway. You walked down the hallway, and there was a
rectangular room with those stackable metal chairs all around. That’s
where all the great shit was happening. You could be there for three,
four hours and not even know what was going on in the other room.
Everything would go on there, from people smoking weed to drinking
moonshine to jamming. There was all kinds of storytelling. Really
wonderful stuff happened in that room, probably more there than even
onstage.”
Occasionally
a famous band seeking a unique venue would take over the Palomino. The
Red Hot Chili Peppers shook the building in 1988, as did Green Day in
1992. But the end was near. In May 1994, Tommy’s widow, Sherry, a former
Palomino waitress who had retained co-ownership of the club, wrested
control from Billy Jr. The building was deteriorating—the roof leaked
whenever it rained—and the bar frequently ran out of liquor when Billy
failed to pay the distributors. That August, Sherry told the Los Angeles
Times that she was intent on restoring the Palomino to its former
glory. A year later, without a word to anyone, Sherry put the place up
for sale. She locked the doors and walked away. Mack:
“I’m not sure how much Sherry really knew about how Tommy ran the club.
I think she had inherited a lot of debt from Billy, too. She asked me,
‘Why doesn’t Garth Brooks play here or Dolly Parton?’ I said, ‘They
don’t play honky-tonks anymore. They can fill the Forum. You need to get
Delbert McClinton, Commander Cody, or Albert Lee, the kind of people
who would still play this sort of place.’ She wasn’t aware who they
were.”
Bryson Jones
[BARTENDER, 1994 TO 1995] “Anthony
Roberts was the soundman at the end, and he went to get his gear out of
the place. He had to break in. He said it was really sad. All the
pictures were still up. Nobody had gotten any of that. I would assume
they were all thrown away.”
Tommy Gelinas
[FOUNDER AND CURATOR, SAN FERNANDO VALLEY RELICS MUSEUM] “Not
long after the club was first sold, a fan named Scott McNatt asked the
new owner if he could have the sign. It ended up in one of Scott’s
warehouses in Chatsworth. He knew it had historical value, so some
friends suggested he call me. We’re in the process of restoring it. You
can see it every Saturday we’re open.”
SHOT
AT NORTH HOLLYWOOD'S "PALOMINO CLUB" HONKY-TONK, AUGUST 16, 1976, THIS
12-PART SERIES FILMED FOR BBC IN 1976, REMAINS THE GREATEST OF ALLJERRY
LEE LEWIS DOCS EVER CAPTURED, FEATURING PERFORMANCES OF ROARIN'
AMPHETAMINE AND WHISKEY-FUELED ABANDONMENT:
'SPEAK A LITTLE LOUDER TO US
JESUS,' 'WHOLE LOTTA SHAKIN' GOIN' ON,' AND 'WINE WINE WINE'
Jerry Lee Lewis - ALL YOU NEED IS LOVE COMPLETE
Tony Palmer's ultimate depiction of the Killer on his Golgotha.
You can see him and sister Linda Gail, sing "Speak A Little Louder To Us Jesus," thanks to Tony Palmer - British documentarian, without compare, who committed to an ambitious project.
He planned in 1976 a book that would tell the history of popular music (ALL OF IT) -- All You Need Is Love (John Lennon told him it would be a great title).
The book never came to be, but through the contacts of Lennon, Palmer with the BBC, produced the largest Rock Documentary of the last thirty years.
Jerry Lee Lewis • All You Need Is Love • Best 5:31 clip (Tony Palmer)
Episode 1 begins with the distorted, over-amped, amphetamine-fueled face of 'The Killer,' as you'll never see him again; looming, red-faced, in a fish-eyed, demonic visage, where it sees him through until Episode 13, in interviews, sodden in whiskey-soaked pill-pride.
Here, Palmer talks about shooting images of Jerry Lee Lewis for what would be, All you need is love (Episode Thirteen: Hail! Hail! ROCK 'N' ROLL):
"When I went to interview Jerry Lee Lewis in Las Vegas, he wasn't performing on a stage, or even a riser, but in the entrance of the Holiday Inn."
All you need is love was released in 1977 (don't forget, a program paying tribute to legendary architects of Rock was more than controversial, it was not considered pertinent).
And only because of him do we witness performances such as this, featuring iconic figures blowing through the fucked-up, lean days of disfavor, caution to the wind, for the ultimate exhibition of their art form--unmuddied, undiluted, and undiminished by their plight.
mrjyn
Produced Linda Gail Lewis record, played Buddy Holly, GBOF, retired (over 100) club, National Enquirer photog and I watched Jerry and Kerrie's backyard wedding from roof and partied till dawn at Hernandos. Popped tabloid cherry by selling original Jerry Lee mugshot and arrest report from Elvis "assassination attempt." Front row for Fats and Friends. karate chopped by Killer, New Year's Eve, Ritz, 198?, after he saw my girlfriend and said, "Git rid of him, and we'll make love."
Interests:
jerry lee lewis, linda gail lewis, frankie jean lewis, myra gail lewis, killer, chiller, International Affair, Hernandos Hideaway, Bonnie Bakley, K.K., Pumpkin, Jaren, Sean
Jerry Lee Lewis - ALL YOU NEED IS LOVE COMPLETE • https://dai.ly/x8qeda
Jerry Lee Lewis • All You Need Is Love • Best 5:31 clip (Tony Palmer) • https://dai.ly/xaek7h
Jerry Lee Lewis Wayne Cochran (1er Midnight Special 4/6/73) PLUS Linda Gail Lewis duet [2em MS 4/27/73] AND
Complete JLL show-listing videography
