R.I.P. Larry Knechtel: Five Songs to Remember Him By :: Music News :: Articles :: Paste
R.I.P. Larry Knechtel: Five Songs to Remember Him By
Defining the legacy of keyboardist and bassist Larry Knechtel, 69, is a rather daunting task. Although his career spanned more than 50 years, a large portion of it, especially his contributions in the '60s, still remains uncredited.But what is documented of his career is nothing short of impressive. Knechtel did the majority of his work in the studio, though he also contributed to live performances, most notably by playing bass at1968 comeback TV special. Most recently, he played organ on theElvis Presley'sTaking the Long Way tour, after playing keyboard on the album of same name.Dixie Chicks'
Knechtel died on unknown causes on Thursday, Aug. 20. Those close to him call him "honest, humble, hard-working and charismatic," though as news of his death circulates, we hope that he finally gets all of the credit he deserves. Perhaps remembering these five songs will help:- "Wouldn't It Be Nice" (organ):The Beach Boys- "Mr. Tambourine Man" (bass):The Byrds
Sammy Johns - "Chevy Van" (co-produced with Jay Senter)- "Light My Fire" (bass)The Doors
Simon and Garfunkel - "Bridge Over Troubled Water" (arrangement):
August 26, 2009
R.I.P. Larry Knechtel: Five Songs to Remember Him By :: Music News :: Articles :: Paste
Remembering Jim Dickinson | Sing All Kinds | Memphis Flyer
Remembering Jim Dickinson | Sing All Kinds | Memphis FlyerTuesday, August 25, 2009
Music Remembering Jim Dickinson
Posted by Andria Lisle on Tue, Aug 25, 2009 at 1:01 PM
I've said goodbye to a lot of cultural heavyweights and big personal influences over the last few years: Otha Turner, Ike Turner, Rev. Gatemouth Moore, Ernest Withers. I've also been mourning my father, who died in 2007. Now I've got yet another name to add to the list.
Now I have to ponder a Memphis without Jim Dickinson in it. He could be fierce — he once described producing as "pushing a band off a cliff and taking a picture as they crash to the ground" — and he was often unrepentant in his declarations about other producers and fellow musicians. Yet he was also a link to the wild-and-wooly mid-20th century river town that Robert Gordon so aptly documented in It Came From Memphis — a world I'll never know, save through the moments captured on studio tape.
As a journalist, I considered myself incredibly lucky to be able to call up Dickinson and quiz him on any number of topics. He was a raconteur who yielded hours of commentary that I plied into articles for the Memphis Flyer, MOJO, and more. He could provide the technicolor details on legendary Aretha Franklin and Rolling Stones sessions in Muscle Shoals, and educate me about relative unknowns like Chicago radio personality Two Ton Baker the Music Maker and Bill Harris, the bandleader on The Jack Benny Show. His gravelly voice would hypnotize me as he spun yarns about the buffalo trails which evolved into modern-day Union Avenue, or meticulously detailed the size of the jar of pickled pigs feet that Aretha once dropped on a hotel lobby floor.
In a typical flash of curmudgeonly brilliance, Dickinson once told me, "I was always looking for something beyond the music — the beauty, the mystery, whatever it was. And all of these people had something that went beyond just music: philosophic depth. That stuff was really hard to come by, so as a result, when you did find it, you thought you'd found the Rosetta Stone. This is the key to arcane knowledge. I feel sorry for the kids who have to download these little pieces of shit from their computers, and this is the art that's supposed to represent their lives! Back when I was young, you had to reach for the culture that you're trying to identify with!"
I also got to know Jim and Mary Lindsay, his wife, through my friendship with their sons, Luther and Cody. In the mid-1990s, I co-released a slab of vinyl called Hambone's Meditations that featured one of Jim's tracks, "Cut Me at 7 and a Half." And, as recently as this spring, I produced a documentary short on Cody for the Commercial Appeal that featured Jim in a small role.
Luther sent me an email this weekend, entitled "Daddy's Last Words":
I refuse to celebrate death. My life has been a miracle of more than I ever expected or deserved. I have gone farther and done more than I had any right to expect. I leave behind a beautiful family and many beloved friends. Take reassurance in the glory of the moment and the forever promise of tomorrow. Surely there is light beyond the darkness as there is dawn after the night. I will not be gone as long as the music lingers. I have gladly given my life to Memphis music and it has given me back a hundredfold. It has been my fortune to know truly great men and hear the music of the spheres. May we all meet again at the end of the trail. May God bless and keep you.World boogie is coming,
James Luther DickinsonMeanwhile, the accolades for Dickinson, who died Saturday, August 15th, continue to pour in.
Here's an obit from Malcolm Jones that appeared in Newsweek, memories from former Radiants frontman Randy Haspel, an oral history by Joe Nick Patoski, and a piece by Chuck Prophet.
Best MJ Memory Yet: Michael Jackson the Record Collector - Michael Jackson visits Recycled Records - by Andrew Rush - Chuck Prophet: blog
Chuck Prophet: blogMichael Jackson visits Recycled Records - by Andrew Rush
Last night after we closed the doors at the record store, three men came to the door. Two looked like rich gay guys dressed in dark clothes and moussed hair, but the third guy was dressed up like an Arab sheik, covered from head to toe. He had sunglasses on and he had a cotton veil pulled across his face. He was in all white. One of the guys was asking us to let them in. We began to brush him off, but then he insisted, "It's very hard for him (the sheik) to shop." Anyway, it was starting to seem weird, so Mike, my colleague, let them in. It almost felt like we were going to be robbed.
They wanted to know right away where the spoken word section was. I showed them to the back of the store and when the veil came away and the sunglasses came off and I saw that incredible face, I thought it was a gag. His facial hair looked like stage hair and he had a bandage on his incredibly thin nose. But, when I heard that voice ask, "Do you have any more Edgar Allen Poe," I knew that it was really and truly the King of Pop, Michael Jackson. When I returned to the front of the store, his companion said to us, "I think you know who it is by now" Anyway, that began an hour and a half of my night with Michael Jackson a night in which I shared with him some of the songs which I love the best and he shared with us his inimitable sweet, boyish presence. I still feel really weird, but I assure you, I shit you not!
I'll just have to get to the memories randomly, as the magic really hasn't had time to coalesce in my mind. He kept singing that line from "The City of New Orleans" by Arlo Guthrie, "Good morning, America, how are you∑" He smelled kind of like a Catholic priest. They all were wearing cologne. But Michael had the scent of the super-rich, reclusive count. We played one of his favorite songs for him at his friend's request: "Lightning Strikes" by Lou Christie. We didn't have any records by the band that does his favorite song, The Cowsills. He asked for Free Design but we didn't have it. He also wanted 101 Strings. He bought a lot of Harry Belafonte, Sarah Vaughan, Shirley Temple, boys' choirs, Disney stuff, and a lot of 60's pop.
I asked him at one point if he wanted a Smurfs record and he said, "No, thank you." He said, "Do you have that song "Paper Cup" by the Fifth Dimension?" He also bought a bunch of old nude stuff-clipped out pictures from nudist magazines and old shots of posed nude women. I asked him if he wanted any of these old TV theme paperbacks we had and began to read off the titles. "I'll take the Brady Bunch!" he said. He also bought a big poster of Burt Bacharach. His friend wanted only sealed records, but Michael didn't seem to care about condition or which issue it was. In fact, he didn't seem like a record collector at all. He just seemed like he was buying a bunch of records on a lark. At one point when we had taken him down to the basement to look through all of the junk, he turned and asked me, "Do you like Diana Ross and the Supremes' music?" I said that I did and I asked him what his favorite song was by them. He said "Stop In the Name of Love", I think. I told him that mine was "I Hear A Symphony", and he said that he loved that one, too. He said he thought it was a shame that their reunion tour that was supposed to happen didn't because they couldn't get along.
At that point, he told me that he really wanted an old portable record player and I said that I had one at home that I would sell to him. He asked me, "Can you get it?" So, I ran home to get it and brought back a Wandering Stars CD to give him, as well. He asked me how much I wanted for the record player. I asked, "How much do you want to pay me for it?" He said, "Well, you have to name a price." I told him $15 and it was a deal. He paid with a $100 bill. All he had were $100 bills. Then he asked me, "Does it work?" I told him it did and he asked me, "Can you plug it in?" The crazy thing was that I had run most of the way home and it is practically a 90-degree angle straight uphill. So, when I got back to the store, I kept coughing and I thought to myself, "I gotta cool it, or Michael's not gonna want to be near me anymore!" Because at that point, I had touched him. I had gently held his arm as I had directed him toward the stairs when we were going down to the basement. But, he really didn't seem like a germ freak at all. He was really normal in that respect. In fact, he wasn't imposing at all. He was a guy who you just wanted to be nice to! I played him Bertha Tillman's "Oh My Angel" and Walter Jackson and "Can You Hear Me" off of David Bowie's "Young Americans." I called him Michael and he would avert his eyes and smile. When I gave him the WS Cd, he asked, "Is it copyrighted?" I said yeah and he said, "Good."
He autographed a record for each of us that worked there. Mine was "Thriller." When Mike, my colleague, held up a copy of the soundtrack to "The Wiz", one of Michael's companions (one who said they had been friends since they were 12 years old) said, "I know a very talented young man who was in that movie he played the scarecrow." At this, Michael smiled shyly. Another time, this same guy was showing Michael a CD by some female vocalist. I couldn't see who it was. Anyway, he was saying, "Remember, we were on stage and she was holding you and she wouldn't let go?" Michael didn't seem to remember and his friend continued, "Remember, we were there with Liz?" Michael then said, "I'll have to see the tape."
You know, his skin was very white. He was wearing makeup, like foundation. And, his eyes were really wide. He was wearing jeweled, woven black leather shoes. I couldn't really see his hair, but it looked pretty long and straight. The crazy thing was indeed, that we were hanging out with Michael Jackson, but even more, that he was dressed up like a sheik the whole time! Also, we were really hanging out with him. It wasn't like we just shook hands backstage or something. I was bugging him about whether he liked the songs that I wanted him to like just like I do my friends! Super. He was super sweet-- hard to stress that enough. When they were getting ready to leave, they asked for wet paper towels with a little soap to wipe off their hands with. I said yes, I have to wash my hands about twenty times a day working in a dirty record store. Michael said, "You should get some HandiWipes; they're really great. Better yet, Baby Wipes." Anyway, I'll probably remember more, but I will say that after they left, they were going to a Mexican restaurant in Hayward.
Jim Dickinson (1942 - 2009) R.I.P. Chuck Prophet: blog
Chuck Prophet: blog
Jim Dickinson (1942 - 2009) R.I.P.
Have faith in the process. Trust the producer. Listen to the songs. Never, NEVER, stop rolling! Don’t answer the phone in the studio, it could be the company telling you to stop! Don't let anybody make you feel bad about what you're doing. You can burn out but that doesn’t mean you can’t get lit again. I’ve seen in happen.
- Jim Dickinson (1942 - 2009)
I just learned that Jim died. I’m punched in the chest.
Jim's presence here may be gone. And it was a big presence. But his music, his spirit? Well, hell, you know how this sentence ends.... I’m sad. Deeply. But the memories that swirl tonight under the ceiling fan aren’t sad at all.
Jim’s health hadn’t been good for some time. I reached out to his son Luther last week to see how Dad was doing. They were preparing for a benefit show for Jim and Luther sent me a text, "Dad woke up at midnight after sleeping all day, and started barking orders. Still producing!"
Dickinson: you might know him as the guy who produced Big Star's 3rd, or the guy on the back of the "Paris, Texas" soundtrack rolling what looks like a round of duct tape across the keyboard of a Steinway grand piano (they opened tuned that piano, by the way. "It took days!"). Or playing with Dylan. Or maybe you know him as the man who played those three notes of tack piano on the Stone's Wild Horses. Jim was a magnet. The people that stopped by the sessions were unreal. Sputnick Monroe? Sure. And Ry Cooder coming by and sharing a chat with us. Casually picking up every one of the 15 guitars laying and playing a half riff. Always searching.
He was a sensitive man. But full of mischief and fun. Corny as it sounds, he was like a father to me. I was definitely a student. I always feel his presence. He left his mark.
Jim was also a dedicated man, dedicated to the art of record producing and to his family. He believed making records was a fight of Light vs. Dark-- but he refused to work Saturdays so he could watch his Memphis Wrestling on TV. A tangle of contradictions, his gruff exterior never hid his huge heart.
As a producer, when he sensed that Green on Red lacked faith in ourselves, fearing it was all hollow, a scam, Jim said, "Never let anybody make you feel bad about what you're doing" . He offered belief. And made you feel your work was important. It was clearly important to him. What a gift he gave us.
Makes sense that Jim once wanted to teach history. Every session, every van journey, was a history lesson with Jim. Often in the morning of a session -- and Jim was old school: he was punctual -- Jim would play music to inspire us. Might be scratchy vinyl of Kerouac recitations, or Mac Rice demo's on 7" reels he'd cribbed from Stax. (Tina the Go Go Queen was on there.) Or Black Oak Ark sessions Jim produced back when Ardent was still 8 track. Back when Jim engineered. "Sure, I used to go out and do the hand claps with the band." It was all part of our extended education.
I made several records with Jim, including two-and-a-half Green On Red slabs, and the odd session Jim hired me for. With my band, we backed Jim on a live record. Jim had been a constant presence in my life. A mentor. A friend. Just the other day a Radio 6 DJ accused Jim Dickinson of producing my last record. She was wrong, but I said, "Yeah, well, it's like he's always in the room." I told the truth. "Jim was always excited about new music. He loved The Cramps. He never got old.
“Yeah, you’re right this Johnny Dowd record is DANGEROUS. Gives me faith it can still be done this late in the game, Chuck.”
Some of my favorite Dickinson memories:
Green On Red picking Jim up at LAX back in 1986 or so, to take him to the studio. Jim mentioned he'd like some weed. No problem. We took a slight detour to Alvarado St. where you hold a ten dollar bill out the window and a kid runs off with it. Out of nowhere someone lowers a basket from a rooftop on a fishing pole with a bag of weed in it.
Jim later said to me, "Boy, you guys. I have to say I was really impressed."
How happy Jim was when Dylan started performing Across the Borderline in concert? “Bob Dylan singing MY words!”
On over-dubbing the solo on GOR's Morning Blue: "Come on Chuck, grow up, play something cohesive!"
Over-dubbing the backing vocals on GOR’s Zombie for Love, Jim said "make it sound like one of the black extras for the cheap horror movies: Eye's a S-s-s-s-ombie/Eye's a S-s-s-s-om-beee". With Dan Stuart singing, Dickinson playing drums without sticks but those paint stirring things from the hardware store instead.
On showing me his version of Shake Your Money Maker, I asked ‘Is that on Elmore's version Jim?’ "Hell no, that comes from the Fleetwood Mac version. It SMOKES over Elmore's" . The immortal Jim Dickinson: Fleetwood Mac could smoke Elmore James.
The biggest honor (but I was mighty honored when he covered my songs) was that I was his first one in -- calling me as soon as he got back from the Time Out Of Mind sessions. Sharing Dylan stories; Dylan needling Lanois: "Maybe if I took some more advice on how to sing I'd have a career by now." On the passing of Sam Phillips: "They say God created all men equal. Still, I think God created Sam with just a little extra.” On tuning: “Tuning is a decadent European habit bordering on the homosexual.” Said with no malice, just his grin. And again on tuning but years later: “This auto tune is great. I’d run the drums through it if I could.”
On producing the Replacements: "Did you know Paul Westerberg wears make up?"
In the studio producing -- David Hood and Roger Hawkins were the rhythm section-- listening to those guys reminiscing about the Stones at Muscle Shoals. Hood: "Who was that chick with the camera that hung around?" And Hood again: "Jagger wore the same clothes five days in a row. Until Wexler showed up and Jagger came out of the hotel elevator wearing that white suit."
Jim giving me a white label copy of Big Star's Sister Lovers. There weren't really cassettes back then. Ardent pressed up white label LP demos to try and get a deal for the cracked masterpiece that wasn't to come out until years later. They even sprang for a tailored suit and sent Jim out to LA to play it for some A & R people out there. Jim showed up one day to a session wearing a colorful scarf and I asked where he picked it up. "That's about all I have to show from Sister Lovers" . On the acetate he gave me he wrote in his inimitably crude style with a felt pen: "Big Star Sister Lovers --- produced by Jim Dickinson. Eng. John Fry. NOT 4 SALE."
Rehearsing with Jim for a couple of gigs that later turned into the Thousand Footprints in the Sand live record, I asked, "Is that a major or a minor chord you're playing there?". Jim looked down studied his fingers at the keyboard and said, after a pause, "I don't know, I just kind of float it."
Once when Dan Stuart and I made the trek to Hernando for dinner at the Dickinson house: Jim said, "I was hoping you might be willing to go down in the basement and fuck with my kids". And so we did. Went down there and fired up the Marshals and jammed with Luther and Cody on some thrash metal. When we resurfaced, Jim was really pleased. Just beaming. Jim and Mary did something right, because they raised two boys who are a couple of the kindest and most gentle men you'll ever meet.
That was a long time ago. The dot where Memphis is on the map became a tunnel and a journey and a life’s work. And now the new heroes are the business men. It’s a mixed up shook up world. Indeed.
Don’t answer the telephone in the studio, it could be the company telling you to stop…
God bless Mr. Jim Dickinson. God blessed us with him.
--Chuck Prophet, Baja California, Mexico, August 2009
by Chuck on August 17, 2009 • Filed under Friends • 8 COMMENTS • 
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